WARNING: This story contains gory violence, and is not for the faint-hearted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All character names are the ones Hidekaz Himaruya has either officially assigned or suggested for each character. Macau, however, has yet to be assigned one. I've decided to use 'Jin' as his human name.
Anyways, read on! And I hope you enjoy this story!

Black eyes, passionate eyes,

Burning and beautiful eyes!

How I love you, how I fear you,

It seems I met you in an unlucky hour!

'Aiyah... That did not go well…' Yao rested his head against the cool countertop, pulling his tie loose. He could still feel his legs trembling, the uneasiness in his stomach stirring as if he were still in that interview, cold eyes examining him and preying on him.

(Mr. Wang, your record tells us you've lost your last two jobs because of 'violent outbursts'… Care to explain?)

No, the interview had not gone well at all. And all because he had snapped a few times! Anyone in his position would have reacted the same if they had been in that same dreary office, that same boxed up place that reeked of morning coffee and cigarette smoke that was taken in secret during breaks. Frustration was bound to boil up in a space that small, a space so full of the same tired faces.

Yao felt his face burn up at the memory of having to explain this, irritated that there really was no other way people could see him. He was violent in their eyes, unpredictable. Really. Yao Wang – dangerous and unsuitable for a civilised workplace! He had never harmed anyone, never became physically violent. He couldn't even bring himself to swat a fly!

And yet.

(I'm afraid we can't just hire you, considering your history…)

Yao sighed against the countertop. He always worked hard, always responded fiercely when challenged, and kindly when accepted. But what he knew himself to be didn't matter anymore. It was what they told him, what had been decided for him the moment he let his honest words slip out of his mouth. Lose self-control for a second, and it's all gone.

'Hey!' A hand slapped Yao's back roughly, a brusque voice jolting Yao in his seat. He snapped his head up to the brunette on the other side of the counter, irritated just by the sight of him. Yong Soo. Perhaps the only person that ever stuck around Yao, or at the very least, bothered to talk to him.

'Man, this job stuff really matters to you, huh?' Yong Soo laughed, the sound too loud for Yao's comfort. Yao forced a smile, wondering why he had ever let this guy stay close to him. His smile faded into a grimace, no longer wanting to even pretend anymore. Yong Soo's expression softened, Yao immediately regretting not trying hard enough with his fake smile. It was hard to stay annoyed at a kid as devoted as Yong Soo. Irritating as he was, he was the only guy to ever keep by Yao's side, even if his intentions were questionable.

'Why don't you make me that signature drink of yours…?' Yao said, straightening up in his seat and folding his arms. Yong Soo's eyes brightened, the smile returning to his face.

'Aw, man. You're going to love it this time, okay?' Yong Soo ducked down behind the bar, the sound of bottles clinking. 'Lately I've been adding this super secret ingredient… And Yao, let me tell you, it is the best drink ever now, okay? Like, trust me on that!'

'I believe you…' Yao said half-heartedly, stealing a surveying glance at Yong Soo's workplace, wary of the rough looking strangers seated nearby. The lights flickered uneasily, and the smell of tobacco smoke made the air stifling and overwhelming.

For a bar, it wasn't anything special. And considering it was in the shabby part of town, it wasn't particularly rough either. His cousin Jin had bought the place a few months ago, made it into a 'recreational centre' – if you want to call it that. It was more so a seedy den, coming alive at night when the cheap fluorescent signs glimmered, ice cold drinks sliding across the smooth countertop and the tables decked out with playing cards and rolled tobacco. Greasy strangers shuffled in with wads of cash, perfumed 'escorts' guiding them to the back of the bar if they hadn't lost it all in a game of poker.

It was as glamorous as you could hope for in this shithole of a town.

Glass hit the surface of the counter, drawing Yao's eyes back to Yong Soo. He watched the burgundy coloured drink slosh over the rim, and as Yao reached for the glass, Yong Soo grabbed his shoulder and leaned in.

'Dude…' A smile quirked on Yong Soo's lips. 'Behind you.'

Yao frowned, tilting his head towards the corner of the bar. He groaned.

'Aiyah! Again? What is wrong with that guy?' Yao felt his blood boil, the stuffy heat of the bar sticking to his skin. 'When did he even-' He huffed and turned back around before the man could catch him watching. 'I don't even know him!'

'Maybe he knows you.' Yong Soo shrugged, drying a glass with a towel absent-mindedly. A laugh burst out of him. 'Maybe he thinks you're a pretty lady!'

'Shut up!' Yao hissed, resisting the urge to glance back again. 'You want him to hear you?'

Yong Soo scoffed. 'It's your stalker, not mine.'

Yao pursed his lips, withholding the slew of curses that were ready to lash out. He gave in and stole a glance at the man again. His face was deathly pale, white-blonde hair giving the impression of an angel, or perhaps a ghost. It's a sight that left Yao wanting to look back for more, though he could never tell if it was out of admiration or morbid curiosity. The man turned his head to look at Yao, their eyes meeting briefly before Yao snapped his head back to the bar in a panic. Yong Soo laughed.

'Do you want me to go over there and tell him you like him, too?'

Yao gave Yong Soo a glare. 'Do you want me to tell Jin you've been pocketing change from the nightclub's earnings?'

'Ah, shit. Okay, forget what I said…'

Yao found himself looking at the glass on the counter, still full of the dark drink. He could see the man's reflection in it, warped and stretched over the glass. For nearly a month this man had been following Yao around, leaving his shadows and reflections to terrorise him. But he never got close, never attempted to approach Yao or talk to him. Only ever watching from afar, silent. It sent Yao's stomach churning like it did during the interview, the feeling of uneasiness that often came with being watched, being observed like prey. Why Yao had been picked out from the crowd, he wasn't sure.

Moments passed, and the reflection of the man continued to watch Yao. He felt a shiver crawl down his back, but he tried not to show it.

'Hey, uh…' Yong Soo leaned onto the counter, lowering his voice. 'You gonna do something about this Yao? To be honest, I'm starting to get a little freaked out. He looks like a total creep, man. You don't think he's after me, too?'

Yao scoffed, wiping the condensation off the ice cold glass. 'You want to go have a word with him?'

'Me? Fuck, no. You do it, man.'

'I'm not going alone.'

'And I'm not going anywhere near that weirdo. He was your stalker first, you should be the one to tell him to back off.'

Irritation grated at Yao. As always, Yong Soo was only ever involved if it convenienced him. Clingy when it suited him, and equally distant when it suited him. He pushed the drink towards Yong Soo.

'Fine, then. I'll take care of it myself.' Yao pushed himself off his seat, making his way towards the dimly lit corner of the bar. His thoughts raced by with scenarios, horrible and terrifying outcomes, things Yao could say to save his life if he had to. His heart started pounding wildly as he realised what situation he was getting himself into. This was a stupid, stupid thing to do – but what else could Yao do? He wasn't going to live in the shadow of this strange man, and he certainly wasn't going to go to the police for a matter Yao could fix himself.

He swallowed down the nervousness that was overtaking him, clenching his fists and mustering up whatever anger, whatever ferocity he had left in him. He wasn't prey, and he wouldn't let this man think that for a second.

As he approached the table, the man looked up at him, violet eyes gazing in curiosity. They were wider, more innocent looking than Yao had expected. More angel than ghost, those eyes, the sight of them leaving Yao's throat dry. What was he here to say again?

The man continued to gaze in expectation, patient in waiting for Yao to say something. Yao cleared his throat, forcing a hoarse voice out of his lips.

'Hey, uh… Listen. I know you've been, uh… f-following me around, and… and...' Yao's legs were trembling, feeling – no, knowing – that there was something very off about this man. Unsettling, creepy, unnerving in his intent gaze. Ghoul-like and haunting, terrifying and -

The man smiled, softly as he spoke. 'Ochi chernye…'

Tender. There was something tender about him, too, Yao realised, and the thought made his resolve melt away faster than it had appeared.

'W-what?' Yao shifted his balance, crossing his arms.

'Your eyes… they are very nice, da?' The man chuckled quietly, his words coated with a thick Russian accent. 'Please, sit.'

'I-' Yao stuttered, perplexed by the offer and startled by this man's fixation on his eyes. 'N-No! I didn't come here to sit, I came here to-'

'Sit.' The man asked again, though this time it sounded more like a demand than an offer. Yao felt his legs grow weaker, and took a seat in spite of the pride it cost him. He was going to talk to him, anyway. There wasn't a need to stand, no need to go on the offensive straight away, Yao thought to himself.

'What is your name?' The man asked.

'Why do you want to know?' Yao said, perhaps too abruptly. He anticipated an equally aggressive response, but only found the other man waiting patiently. 'Y-Yao.' He finally added.

Why did I do that? Yao's hands fidgeted beneath the table, thoughts running through his mind in a delirious panic. I wasn't supposed to be giving him my name, I wasn't supposed to be –

'What's your name?' The question spilled out effortlessly, and perhaps involuntarily, out of Yao's mouth. He cursed himself for it, hating the curiosity that was guiding him. Or was it politeness? Fear? Yao didn't even know anymore. Perhaps all three.

The Russian chuckled. 'Now… shall I tell you what I tell most people?' He leant over the table, the smell of vodka lingering in the air. 'Or do you want to hear my truthful answer?'

'What do you tell most people?' Yao raised an eyebrow.

'Ah, I did not think you were the timid kind…' The man leant back.

'I'm not!' Yao snapped. 'Who are you anyway? What kind of a person has two names?'

The Russian fiddled with a small empty glass in his hands, his smile faltering as he trailed his gaze to the dark wood of the table. 'A kind of person who shouldn't exist.'

The two stayed quiet for a moment, Yao watching the other man turned the glass round and round in his hands with a faraway look on his face as the air around them bustled with raucous laughter and drunken slurs.

'Why are you following me?' Yao broke the silence delicately, his voice gentler now. Somehow he felt that this man wasn't just some deranged psychopath. Well, perhaps he was a psychopath, but Yao didn't think he meant any harm. Maybe it was something about his lilac eyes, or the way his voice carried a child-like softness in it.

The man looked up at him, his expression coy and shy. 'It's nice to have friends, isn't it?' He poured himself a shot of vodka from a bottle, the sharp scent piercing the air.

'Friends?' Yao repeated back dumbly, unsure what to make of such a statement. Did this guy really think he was Yao's friend? '...Yeah. I guess friends are nice.' He said, words measured out carefully.

'Mm, da!' The man hummed, a tender smile gracing his lips as he gulped down the vodka from the tiny glass. 'Would you like some?' He gestured with the glass.

'No, I'm fine.' Yao smiled weakly. He still hadn't answered his question, but Yao did not want to antagonize him by asking again. Perhaps calling the police really was the best course of action. Having affirmed this, Yao decided he would make a call as soon as he got home. For now, it seemed this man wasn't of too much danger.

The Russian set the glass down decisively and got up. 'I have to go now. We should do this again sometime, da?' He slung a heavy-looking bag over his shoulder. 'Until we meet again, myshka.'

'Wh- That's not my name!' Yao turned around in his seat, the Russian already making his way out. 'Wait!' The man turned to face him.

'What's your name? Your real one, I mean.' Yao found himself asking. Of all the questions he could have asked, somehow this felt most important, the most crucial for Yao. He needed a name for that gentle face, the unsettling presence that had been following him around for the past month, the strange voice that made him shiver in an odd way.

The man's pale face lit up. 'Ivan.' He said with a fond lilt in his voice, before promptly turning back around and leaving the bar, Yao's eyes never tearing off his back until he disappeared into the night.

'Ivan…' Yao mumbled to himself, so that he wouldn't forget. He almost regretted asking for his name, the prospect of reporting him to the police making him feel weirdly guilty. Before he was merely a deranged ghost of a man, a creep following him around town. Now he was Ivan, the child-like Russian that seemingly only wanted Yao's friendship.

'That man didn't pay for his drink…' Yong Soo's voice made Yao jump in his seat slightly. Yong Soo laughed, slapping Yao's back. 'Relax, man. He's gone. Anyway, what the hell happened between you two?'

'I… don't know.' was all Yao could manage to say.

'Did you tell him to back off?' Yong Soo grabbed his shoulders excitedly. 'Did you threaten to call the cops on him or something?'

'No...' Yao said, his eyes still stuck on the door of the bar. He shrugged off Yong Soo's hands. 'Um… I think I'm going to head home now.'

'You're not staying? You haven't even said 'hi' to Jin yet! Hold on, I'll bring him! I think he's upstairs in his office…'

Yao said nothing and left the table, ignoring Yong Soo's objections as he did so. He made his way past the crowd in the bar, shoving past tobacco stenched strangers to get to the exit. He opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit street, the cool night breeze tainted by a rotten odor. Yao covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve. It was the wretched smell of this town, or at least, this particular part of town. The part where you didn't want to walk home alone – day or night. The part where all the shifty happenings of the city occurred. The part where strange pale faced men followed you into a bar and asked for your name.

Yao walked down the cracked pavement, wishing it had been cold enough for him to wear a coat to dig his hands into the pockets. Strangers weren't likely to trouble you if you were like that, as Yao had come to learn in the past few years that he had lived here. If you looked like you could be hiding a gun or a knife, no one bothered you. But walking like this, thin white shirt barely keeping the breeze from caressing his skin, he couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable and exposed to the night.

After walking a couple of blocks, the noise of Jin's nightclub fading away, the roads became quiet and desolate. Yao's stomach churned uneasily. He had walked this route before, but never at such an hour. The streetlights became more and more sparse, and the further Yao walked, the more he had begun to regret leaving the nightclub. He steered to the far right of the pavement at every alleyway he had passed, not trusting what may lurk in the pitch black shadows. He may have well been safer to stay the night at Jin's place. But it was too late now. He only had a few more blocks to go until he reached his apartment, anyway.

The rattling sound of a bin echoed in the street, Yao freezing in place. After a moment's silence, Yao felt silly for overreacting, sighing lightly and continuing to walk. It must have only been a rat scurrying, and yet, Yao's footsteps were quicker paced, panicked. He just wanted to get home as soon as possible.

The sound of emerging footsteps alerted him from behind, but before he could even turn around a hand had roughly grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him into the shadows. Yao yelped, kicking and elbowing the figure that had grabbed him. He felt a knife press to his throat and suddenly everything stilled. Blood pumped loudly in Yao's ears as he listened to the gruff voice speak into his ear.

'Whatever you've got, give it. Now.'

Scared to even breathe, Yao's trembling hands reached for his pockets. He pulled out his wallet.

'H-Here.' Yao croaked out, his hand shakily presenting the wallet.

Another figure emerged from the shadows and grabbed it, his coarse face partly illuminated by the moonlight, revealing a long scar across his cheek. He opened up the wallet and looked through it, eventually stuffing it into his own pocket. He looked up at Yao's face, studying him as he approached.

'You're quite the doll, aren't ya?' He grinned. Yao's heart stopped at that moment, an ugly realization seeping in.

'Just let me go! Please!' Yao begged shifting and struggling in the other man's grip, the knife still pressed threateningly against his throat. He had to find a way to get out of here, his mind lucidly racing through a million different possibilities, searching for an escape, an outcome that didn't end horribly.

'You can go…' The man stood with his face almost touching Yao's, his foul breath making Yao's stomach turn inside out. 'After I'm done playing with you, doll.'

'Go to hell!' Yao hissed, kicking the scar faced man away. The man fell onto the ground with a thud.

'You little bitch!' The man growled as he stumbled onto his feet.

Yao pushed back and rammed the figure holding the knife to his throat against the alleyway wall, hearing his grunt. The knife loosened temporarily in the man's grip, and Yao seized it. Decisively and without even a second passing by, Yao plunged the knife into the man behind him. He pulled it out with a sickening squelch and made a run for the street, only to be knocked down by the scar faced man.

'You'll pay for that little stunt, bitch.' The scar faced man snarled, straddling Yao, attempting to pry the knife out of his hands. Yao yelled and grabbed the man's ear with his other hand, digging his nails tightly into the flesh. The man howled in pain, his hold of Yao's armed hand easing. Yao pulled the knife back and thrust it into the man's neck, a spurt of hot blood spraying Yao's face. He cried out, yanking the knife out and stabbing him again. Again. Again. More blood spattered onto Yao, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was gouge this man's eyes out, to hear him scream in pain. All Yao could see was blood, the musty smell of it coating the air. He stabbed and stabbed until his muscles ached, until the squish of the knife plunging into flesh could no longer be heard.

The scar faced man eventually fell to the side, blood no longer bubbling out of his throat. Yao got up to his knees, hand still holding onto the bloody knife tightly. Remembering the other man, he whipped around, expecting to find him ready to pounce. But the other man was gone, a trail of blood disappearing into the black abyss of the alleyway.

Yao looked back to the scar faced man, the knife suddenly dropping from his trembling hand. He was suddenly aware of his own ragged breath, air heaving in and out of him loudly in the stillness of the night. The blood had begun to pool around the corpse near him, and Yao felt a cry break out from his throat. Tears spilled from his eyes, adrenaline ebbing away only to leave behind remorse. What had he done?

He stood up on wobbly legs, looking down to find his shirt completely soaked by that man's – no, that pig's – blood. He deserved it, Yao thought bitterly. He deserved every ounce of pain, if not more. Yao wasn't a murderer. No, this was all self-defense. Yao had every right to bear his blood-soaked shirt without guilt. And yet, all Yao could do in that instant was fall to his knees and sob brokenly.

Footsteps echoed behind Yao, slow and leisurely in their pace. Yao sat still, his mind urging him to pick the knife up, but his body feeling too dead, too hollow, to do anything other than stay there motionless.

'Ah, myshka, what have you done?' A pair of cold hands gripped his shoulders from behind him, one hand traveling up to smooth the hair away from Yao's face. Yao looked up, his gaze meeting a pair of lilac eyes.

'Ivan…?' Yao whispered weakly, his voice barely audible. Ivan only smiled tenderly and lifted Yao to his feet.

'All you needed to do was say the word and I would have done it for you…' Ivan hummed, resting his head on Yao's shoulder.

'What do you mean?' Yao said shakily, turning around to face Ivan. 'What are you doing here-'

'Shh…' Ivan wiped the tears off of Yao's cheeks, smearing flecks of blood as he did so. 'I think it is best if we say nothing more. A dead man will not dispose of himself, da?' He punctuated the question with a child-like lilt, as if this was all merely a game.

'What are you saying?' Yao looked at Ivan incredulously, his pale face glowing in the moonlight like that of a ghoul. Ivan's hands casually proceeded to unbutton Yao's bloodied shirt. Yao grabbed his hands. 'What the hell are you doing?' He snapped.

'We'll have to burn your clothes.' Ivan looked to Yao innocently, as if the prospect was not by any means abnormal. 'You can wear my coat.' He shrugged off his coat – an unusual choice for July weather – and handed it to Yao. 'But we have to act fast, da? Someone could walk by at any second.'

'But… they attacked me.' Yao refused the coat.

'That's not what it looks like from here…' Ivan turned Yao to look at the bloodied mess he had made. The scar faced man, doused in crimson red, was no longer a man anymore. He was a butchered animal, flesh cut and torn at the abdomen, chest punctured several times. His eyes were dark, bloody sockets. They had been gouged out.

When did I do that? Yao's head started to feel light, something bitter and sour rising up in his throat. How did I… Yao looked at his hands, blood stained and wet. His knees gave way as Yao fell to the ground and heaved, his throat burning as he vomited.

Ivan held the hair off of Yao's face and muttered in Russian, words Yao could only guess were meant to comfort him, though it did anything but that. When Yao's throat no longer expelled what felt like battery acid coming out of his mouth, he stood back up, his body sweating and trembling all over.

'W-Why are you doing this?' He asked shakily.

'Hm?' Ivan's lilac eyes lit up in question. 'Why? Because we are friends, myshka.'

'As if!' Yao snapped, though his voice still wobbled unsteadily. 'No sane person would help me, let alone a stranger! What is it you want? Money? A place to stay? What does your silence cost me?'

'Ah, ochi chernye… You wound me. I offer help and you say such things? Nice friends don't do that…' His eyes glowered in the dark, his expression turning cold and vacant. Yao felt the hot, sticky blood on his skin start to dry and cool, the blood in his veins running cold.

'N-No, they don't…' Yao said cautiously, softening his tone. 'I'm sorry.' He watched Ivan's expression warily, relief sweeping over him when Ivan's amethyst gaze eased and became gentle again.

'It's okay, myshka.' Ivan smiled, patting Yao's cheek. 'Now why don't I show you my technique for getting rid of the bodies, da? I think you'll catch on quickly!' A lighthearted chuckle left Ivan's lips.

Yao's heart leapt into his throat at the sight, though he couldn't say for sure if it was entirely out of fear. He nodded weakly and returned the smile, which in spite of the dread that had begun to sprout in his chest, felt genuine. His whole body was shaking, his legs feeling heavy and dead, his head aching as if a mallet had thrashed it.

And yet, somehow... Yao had never felt so alive.

A/N: The text in italics at the beginning is an excerpt from a translation of a Russian poem 'Dark Eyes' by Yevhen Hrebinka.

Please feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think of the story so far!