Leaving in the dark of night was one man's signature move. With a different partner almost every night, he was already long gone when they woke up in the morning, a deterrent for them forming a lasting attachment. Even those that he'd slept with repeatedly were given the same treatment. They weren't special. None of them were, good only as food and for shallow pleasure. Still, he'd eat them all up until he couldn't stand the taste.
As he exited the stairwell of one apartment building in a very human way, Ryo was met with the brisk, night air. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if wiping away any remnants of the woman's mouth having been on his. He adjusted his coat, reaching into the pockets to retrieve his gloves, and donned them, one at a time. The cold didn't particularly bother him, it never did, but he always dressed appropriately for the weather. The different seasons gave him the opportunity to adjust his style accordingly.
He was going about business as usual, making his journey home for the night, when he slowed and came to a stop.
Those words. Of all the words that endlessly hummed in the back of his mind, a few, simple words stood out among them. He actually
heard them. How long had it been?
He stood still in the night. It seemed as though several minutes had passed, but time had slowed down all around him. He could no longer feel the cold, the air didn't move, the light that illuminated the sidewalk didn't flicker. But that strange tranquility was shattered when his wings appeared and unfurled, he taking off into the skies with an unnatural, incredible speed. He blinked across the night sky, vanishing and reappearing a great distance from his vanishing point, covering ground with ease.
When he finally touched down, he was in an unfamiliar place, outside of an old, unkempt building he'd never seen before. Ryo stared at it for a moment, before moving toward the door.
Someone had called out for him, and a vague, almost fleeting curiosity drove him forward. His actions were dictated by little more than a whim, but it lead him inside.
Met with the sorry form of someone lying limp on the floor, a smirk found its way onto his face. Not because they were dead, no, dying, not
quite dead, but because of what else he saw there. It wasn't recognizable to mortals, but he could undeniably sense another a god. And they'd left him for dead. Ryo chuckled at the thought.
"How fucking tragic." Although he said it, his tone of voice held no sympathy.
It seemed an idea came to him, though, and his smirk became more defined, an amused glint in his eyes. Stealing another god's play thing could be
entertaining.
"I guess I'll help you out." He approached them, his eyes being drawn to the face, the face of a young man. For another moment, he stared, before kneeling down beside him. Each of these moves were slow and, continued to be so, as he leaned over him. Without warning or any evidence on the outside, he bit down into the flesh of his own cheek, biting and tearing at it until his mouth filled with his own blood. He then leaned all the way in, hands on either side of the other man's head on the floor, and closed his mouth over his. The blood transferred from one mouth to the other, Ryo feeding it to him.
The blood acted as a catalyst and, in the moments that followed, the man's body was restored. He was no longer dying. In fact, he was in far better shape than he had been in. Ryo didn't waste time, though. Immediately after pulling way, swallowing down the stream of blood that still flowed, he'd scooped up the man up in his arms and carried him away from the place where he had gone to die.
He brought him home.
He brought him home, to his bed. And joined him there.