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━──── Being a vampire sucks. Ryuji could attest to that with a certainty sharper than his own fangs. Ask him about his immortal life, and that's exactly what he'd say, deadpan, eyes glinting with just a hint of annoyance. "Being a vampire sucks." And if you waited long enough──he might even chuckle at his own irony.
Humans, he thought, had absolutely no idea. They pranced around with their outlandish myths and oddball theories, all so sure they knew what vampires were like. Ryuji had to bite his tongue sometimes (not literally──he'd tried it, and it hurt) whenever he overheard mortals exchanging their favorite myths in cafés and late-night convenience stores. The worst of it? They really seemed to believe it. Sunlight, garlic, holy crosses, wooden stakes... apparently vampires were helpless against anything that was either sharp or on a priest's shopping list.
And as for their appetite for blood? The whole image of a vampire "stalking dark alleys for an unsuspecting human, fangs out and ready to drain someone to the last drop"──he almost felt insulted. Did they really think vampires had nothing better to do? The reality was far simpler, and, if anyone asked him, much more tragic.
In truth, vampires were just a bunch of miserable immortals with severe family and parenting problems. No one ever said that out loud, of course, but Ryuji knew the truth. Every vampire he knew was a walking bag of unprocessed trauma wrapped in a nice, fashionable coat and the occasional oversized collar. They didn't need blood half as much as they needed therapy. A good shrink, maybe a cup of herbal tea for the nerves, and a soft couch with a throw blanket would have gone much further than any elaborate blood-drinking ritual.
In fact, he was certain: What vampires need? Therapy. Thera-fucking-py. Not blood. Blood could be found in a thousand places, but a skilled therapist? Now that was something rare. And he wasn't talking about the type of "therapy" where an immortal sat in a dim room and brooded on their existence for a century or two. No──real therapy, preferably with someone licensed and non-judgmental.
And yet, the Sakamaki household... well, they'd missed that memo. If there was a mansion on Earth filled with more questionable parenting and sibling rivalries that could par his own, he hadn't heard of it. Ryuji rolled his eyes just picturing it. Lunatic vampires, all of them, though not by choice.
They could've turned out better, maybe even friendly, if they'd just had a halfway-decent upbringing. Instead, they were like a collection of beautiful porcelain dolls──all glossy and perfect on the outside, but filled with cracks, each one balancing on the edge of some existential breakdown.
He had no clue how he'd managed to keep it together all these hundreds of years. Really, he was pretty sure he was the only sane one left in the family. Yes, sane. Out of the seven siblings, he was the most level-headed, and anyone who doubted it was clearly just in denial. Clearly. No one could even come close to his level of stability and rationality──especially not in this family.
