Hananan!😼

The front door is unlocked, which is either extremely convenient or the setup to a horror movie that ends with him being found in pieces, and Ace is choosing to interpret it as the former because he has already committed to this and turning back now would mean he wasted gas money and the emotional energy of hyping himself up.

He pushes it open with a theatrical slowness that he hopes will translate well to the final edit, assuming there is a final edit and not just a news report about his mysterious disappearance. The door swings inward without even a creak, which is almost disappointing because a good creak would have been excellent for the atmosphere and also would have given him something to make jokes about for at least thirty seconds of runtime.

The interior of the manor is exactly as grand and elaborate as the exterior suggested it would be, all sweeping staircases and crystalline chandeliers that look like they cost more than his internal organs would fetch on the black market, and the kind of ornate furniture that makes him afraid to breathe too hard in case he breaks something and has to sell his kidney to pay for it.

Ace pans the camera around to capture it all while maintaining a running commentary that is approximately sixty percent "whoa" and forty percent nervous laughter. "Okay, okay, so this is either the fanciest abandoned building in the entire country or I have made a huge mistake, but we're going to keep going because that's what champions do, and also because I already told my roommate I'd be back with either ghosts or a criminal record!"

Except here is the thing that is beginning to gnaw at the back of his brain with the persistence of a dog that has found a particularly interesting bone: this place does not look abandoned at all. There is no dust, which there absolutely should be if no one has lived here in years, unless the ghost is really committed to cleanliness and spends its afterlife with a broom.

The floors are so polished that he can see his own reflection in them looking back at him with an expression that clearly says "you have made poor choices," and the chandelier above his head is sparkling like it has been recently cleaned by someone with opposable thumbs and a functioning concept of property maintenance.

The furniture is arranged with a care that speaks to someone actively living here and caring about feng shui, and there are fresh flowers in a vase on a side table that have absolutely no business being fresh unless someone has been here within the last few days, which completely contradicts the entire premise of this video.

Ace keeps his commentary light and jokey because that is his brand and also because acknowledging the creeping sense of wrongness out loud would make it real and would probably trigger his anxiety, which is already on standby like a dog waiting for the mailman. "So either the ghost has really taken pride in home ownership, or I'm currently committing a felony, but let's not think about that too hard because I'm on a journey of discovery here and also I need the content!" His voice echoes slightly in the cavernous space, which would be creepy if he were not already thoroughly creeped out by the fact that everything is so aggressively clean.

The footsteps, when he hears them, are so perfectly timed that for a moment he wonders if he has somehow triggered a speaker system designed to scare off intruders, but then he remembers that he is in real life and not a theme park haunted house, and the footsteps are getting closer with the steady rhythm of someone who is very much real and very much about to discover him trespassing.

His brain is screaming at him in a voice that sounds suspiciously like his brother's, the one that usually says things like "I told you so" and "this is why mom worries about you," and the voice is currently informing him that he is about to get arrested for breaking and entering and possibly also for the crime of being an idiot with a camera.

He spins around with the phone still recording because if he is going down, he might as well have footage that his lawyer can use to argue temporary insanity or maybe use as evidence that he clearly has no survival instincts and should be pitied rather than prosecuted.

That is when he sees you, and his brain immediately flatlines.

You appear in the viewfinder of his camera first, which is the only thing that prevents him from dropping the phone entirely because his hands have temporarily forgotten how to perform their basic evolutionary function of gripping objects.

You are walking down the staircase with an effortless grace that makes it look like you are gliding rather than stepping, as if gravity is a suggestion rather than a law you are obligated to follow, and you are dressed in what can only be described as full Victorian vampire regalia.

The outfit is all dark fabrics that look like they cost more than his car and intricate embroidery that probably required someone to go blind stitching it, and there is a cape that billows behind you in a way that should be physically impossible because there is no draft in here to justify that kind of dramatic movement. You look like you have just stepped out of a high-budget period drama, except those actors never look this good because they are constrained by things like realistic lighting and the unfortunate reality of being human.

Ace's brain, which has been operating on a combination of adrenaline and the fumes of poor decision-making, comes to a screeching halt and then reboots. The single thought that manages to load is that holy fucking sky daddy, you are the most attractive person he has ever seen in his entire life, and he has seen a lot of people because he works in customer service and is forced to interact with the general public.

Your skin is so smooth that it almost seems to glow in the chandelier light, as if you are being personally illuminated by a benevolent deity who wants to make sure everyone can appreciate your bone structure. Your features are arranged in a way that makes him wonder if there is a specific god responsible for facial symmetry and whether they were having an exceptionally good day when they made you, possibly after winning the lottery or receiving good news.

The vampire costume, which should look absolutely ridiculous because who just wears a full vampire costume in their own house on a random night like some kind of method actor who has lost the plot, looks completely natural on you. It looks like you were born to wear dramatic capes and brood aesthetically in old manors while looking like a painting that would be displayed in a museum under a placard that says "unknown artist, but holy shit look at that face."

Ace's brain is trying to process this information while simultaneously trying to remember how to perform basic functions like breathing and blinking, and it is failing at both.

He stops filming before he says anything because his survival instincts, which have been notably absent for most of the evening and possibly for most of his life, have suddenly kicked in with the reminder that he is currently trespassing and should probably not immortalize this interaction on video in case it needs to be used as evidence in court.

His hands are shaking slightly as he lowers the phone, and he tries to arrange his face into something apologetic and non-threatening, which is difficult when his brain is still stuck on the loop of wow, wow, holy shit, wow, is this what a religious experience feels like, wow.

"I am so sorry," he blurts out, and his voice cracks slightly on the last word in a way that makes him sound like he is going through puberty again, which is mortifying but probably appropriate given that he is currently having what can only be described as a crisis. "I know I shouldn't be here, I'm really super sorry for just walking in, but in my defense, the door was unlocked? Which I feel like is maybe something you should look into if you don't want random people wandering in, because that's kind of a security issue and also maybe a liability thing. Like, what if I had been a real criminal and not just a broke college student? You should really consider getting a lock or maybe a sign that says 'no trespassing' or possibly a moat with alligators, but also I'm really, really sorry and I'll leave right now and we can pretend this never happened and you never saw me and I will take this secret to my grave."

He is rambling, which is what he does when he is nervous, and he cannot seem to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth even though he is aware that he sounds like a chihuahua that has been given espresso.

You tilt your head to the side, and the motion is oddly fluid in a way that reminds him of a cat examining something it has not quite decided whether to pounce on or ignore entirely.

Your expression is somewhere between amused and curious, as if he is a raccoon that you have found raiding your house and are now evaluating for entertainment value. "Who can actually harm a vampire?" you ask, and your voice is smooth and slightly amused, and it takes Ace's brain approximately three seconds to process this statement and another five to formulate a response that is not just keyboard smashing.

He laughs, and it comes out shaky and a little too high-pitched, like a kettle that is about to start whistling. "Right, yeah, the whole vampire aesthetic, I get it!" he says, gesturing vaguely at your outfit in a way that he hopes conveys appreciation and not the internal screaming currently happening in his head. "Very committed to the bit, I respect that immensely!"

You move closer to him, and Ace has the sudden realization that you are not walking so much as drifting, as if your feet are making contact with the ground purely as a courtesy and not because physics demands it. You come to a stop directly in front of him, close enough that he can see the details of your face and also close enough that he is now having to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact because apparently in addition to being unreasonably attractive, you also have the audacity to have good posture.

Your eyes are red, which he had noticed before but had assumed were contacts because what else would they be, but now that you are this close, he cannot see the telltale ring of a contact lens edge or the slight discoloration that happens when colored contacts sit on top of a natural iris. The red seems to go all the way through, as if your irises are made of garnet or blood or some other substance that has no business being in a human eye, and Ace's brain is starting to send up warning flares that he is determinedly ignoring.

Before he can formulate a coherent thought about this or make another attempt at apologizing properly and fleeing the scene of his crime, you step forward and wrap your arms around him in a hug. The hug is surprisingly nice given how cold you look, and for a moment Ace's brain blue-screens entirely because he was not prepared for physical contact and also because you smell really good, which seems like an irrelevant detail but his brain is clinging to it anyway.

"Thank you so much for taking the offer," you say, and you sound genuinely delighted, the way someone sounds when their food delivery arrives early, and Ace's brain is trying to figure out what offer you are talking about and also why you are hugging him when he feels a sharp, sudden pressure against his neck.

The pain is brief and bright, like a needle piercing skin, and then it dissolves into something that feels disturbingly good in a way that makes Ace wonder if he has been drugged or if this is just what dying feels like.

You are biting him.

Your teeth, which he is now forced to acknowledge are probably real fangs and not cosmetic dentistry, have punctured his skin and you are drinking his blood, which means that either you are a real actual vampire or you are the world's most dedicated method actor with filed canines and a deeply concerning hobby. Honestly, the former seems more plausible at this point, and Ace's brain is attempting to process this information while also dealing with the fact that his body has apparently decided that this is fine.

He should push you away. He should be screaming or fighting or doing literally anything other than standing here and letting this happen like a blood bag with a pulse and no survival instincts. His brain is sending urgent messages to his limbs that they are completely ignoring, as if his body has unionized against him and decided to go on strike at the worst possible moment.

There is warmth spreading through his veins that has nothing to do with blood loss and everything to do with the way your mouth is pressed against his neck, and his knees have gone slightly weak in a way that is both humiliating and entirely beyond his control.

His hands, which should be pushing you away, are just hanging limply at his sides like sad noodles, and he is making a concentrated effort not to think about how nice this feels because that way lies madness and also probably some revelations about himself that he would prefer to avoid.

When you pull away, he makes a sound that is absolutely, undeniably, mortifyingly a whine. It is breathy and involuntary and the kind of noise that he will probably think about at three in the morning for the rest of his life, and he watches in mounting horror as you look at him with an expression that can only be described as deeply judgmental.

Your eyebrows are raised in a way that suggests you have just learned something about him that you find both surprising and vaguely concerning, as if you have opened a box expecting cookies and found something significantly weirder.

"Oh," you say, and you sound like his roommate when he saw Ace's embarrassing browser history. "You have those tastes."

Ace's brain comes crashing back online with the force of a freight train that has lost its brakes and is now careening directly into a wall of humiliation. "Wait a minute," he says, and his voice is strangled and slightly too loud, echoing in the cavernous space in a way that makes him want to sink directly into the floor.

"Why are YOU judging ME right now? You're the one who just bit me! You are the one currently covered in my blood, which I notice you are not apologizing for, and yet somehow I'M the weird one in this scenario?" His hands are gesturing wildly now, as if he can physically swat away the embarrassment. "And also, isn't it a thing that vampires make their prey feel good? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere, probably in a book or maybe a very educational movie, so this is not on me, this is just, like, standard vampire procedure! This is vampire biology! Don't try to make this weird when it's clearly a normal physiological response to vampire venom or pheromones or whatever!"

You blink at him with a gentleness seen only in adults dealing with small children who have just said something incredibly stupid. "I have no idea where you got that information, but no," you say, and you sound almost apologetic, which somehow makes it worse. "That is not a thing that happens. There is no vampire venom. There are no pheromones. You are just a masochist." You pause, and then add with what sounds like genuine sympathy, "I am sorry that you had to find out like this. This is probably not how you wanted to find out."

Ace opens his mouth and then closes it again, and then opens it once more before closing it a second time, doing a very good impression of a fish that has just been told some devastating news about the ocean.

He does not have a response to that. His brain is currently trying to process the idea that he might have just discovered something about himself that he would have vastly preferred to remain ignorant of, possibly forever.

"Okay," he says slowly, and his voice sounds distant and strained. "Okay, we're going to put a pin in that and come back to it never. We're going to put that in a box and bury it in the backyard of my psyche and never speak of it again. What do you mean I showed up? I didn't even know you existed until like five minutes ago when I broke into your house, which I am still very sorry about by the way!"

You reach into the folds of your elaborate cape, which apparently has pockets because of course it does, and pull out a stack of bills that is so thick it looks like a prop from a movie about bank robbers. The money is bound with one of those paper bands that banks use, and Ace can see that the bills are hundreds, which means he is currently looking at more money than he has seen in one place since he opened his student loan statement and had a small crisis.

"I advertised money in exchange for blood, and you showed up," you explain, as if this is a perfectly reasonable chain of events and not completely insane. "I assume you saw the posting? It has been up for three weeks now and you are the first person to respond, which is surprising because I am offering quite a lot of money. I was starting to think I would have to increase the amount."

Ace stares at the money in your hands and then at your face and then back at the money, and his brain is attempting to do some very rapid calculations about his current financial situation.

He makes approximately nine dollars an hour at his customer service job, where he is verbally abused by people who are angry about things that are not his fault and are determined to make it his problem. He has three of these jobs. He is in debt to the amount of a small house. The stack of money you are holding is more than he makes in two months, and you are offering it to him in exchange for something his body is apparently producing for free.

The math is mathing in a way that is deeply tempting and also probably a sign that he needs to reevaluate his life choices, but then again his life choices are what got him here in the first place.

He cannot tell you that he was trespassing for no other reason than that he is an idiot who breaks into people's houses for YouTube content that gets seventeen views, so he just nods dumbly and takes the money when you thrust it into his hands. He's gonna pretend he was striking two birds with one stone. The bills are crisp and real, and they feel substantial in a way that makes his palms sweat slightly. There are so many of them that he could quit at least two of his part-time jobs and still make rent, and possibly even have enough left over to buy groceries that are not instant noodles.

"Yeah," he hears himself say, and his voice sounds distant and strange, as if it is coming from outside his body. "Yeah, same time next week works. This is fine. This is a normal thing that is happening. People do this all the time, probably. This is basically just a slightly weird part-time job."

You look absolutely delighted by this response, and your entire face lights up in a way that he finds endearing against all odds. You reach out to pat his shoulder in a gesture that might be meant to be comforting but mostly just reminds him that your hand is cold and also that you have superhuman strength and could probably snap him like a glow stick if the mood struck you.

"Oh, wonderful! I am so glad we could come to this arrangement! Please make sure to eat iron-rich foods and drink plenty of water. Spinach is excellent, and red meat if you are not vegetarian. I would hate for you to become anemic, as that would be bad for both of us. Also, please try to get adequate sleep and avoid excessive alcohol consumption, as that affects the blood quality."

Ace is now being given nutritional advice by a vampire, which is somehow the most surreal part of this entire evening.

You are lecturing him about his health with the same tone his mother uses when she calls to ask if he is eating vegetables, and he feels a surge of bitterness about the fact that even supernatural creatures are apparently concerned about his poor life choices. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he mutters, and he shoves the money into his jacket pocket before you can change your mind about giving it to him or before he can fully process what he has just agreed to. "I'll eat a steak or something. Maybe some spinach. I'll drink water. I'll be the healthiest blood bag you've ever had, congratulations."

His neck is starting to sting where you bit him, and he can feel the wet warmth of blood starting to trickle down toward his collar, which is going to be a fun thing to explain if anyone sees him. He reaches up to press his hand against the wound, and his fingers come away red, which confirms that this is real and not some kind of elaborate stress dream brought on by too much student debt and not enough sleep.

He is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to be literally anywhere else, preferably somewhere he can have a private crisis about the fact that vampires are real and he has apparently agreed to be a recurring juice box for one of them.

"I'll see you next week, I guess," he says, and he is already backing toward the door in a way that probably looks deeply undignified but he is beyond caring at this point. "Try not to bite any other random intruders in the meantime. And maybe consider locking your door, seriously, the security situation here is really concerning."

He stumbles toward the exit, and his legs are not quite working the way they should, as if someone has replaced his bones with pool noodles when he was not paying attention.

He is still buzzing with the aftereffects of whatever the hell just happened to him, and his brain is trying to compile a list of what he needs to do when he gets home, which currently includes: have a crisis, question his life choices, wonder if he needs to get a tetanus shot, and possibly google whether vampire bites can give you rabies.

The cool night air hits his face when he makes it outside, and he gulps it down like a drowning man breaching the surface, and his hands are shaking when he pulls out his phone to check the time. It is somehow only midnight, which means this entire experience has taken less than thirty minutes, and he has no idea how he is supposed to go back to his normal life after this when his normal life now includes being a vampire's personal capri sun.

He makes it to his car on autopilot, and he sits in the driver's seat for a long moment just staring at the steering wheel and trying to convince himself that what just happened was real and not some kind of elaborate hallucination brought on by the questionable gas station food.

The money in his pocket is real and substantial and slightly uncomfortable to sit on. The sting on his neck is real and getting more insistent. The memory of your red eyes and the way your mouth felt against his skin is real and probably going to haunt him for the foreseeable future. He is going to have to live with all of that, and also with the knowledge that apparently he is a masochist, which is information he could have gone his entire life without confirming.

He starts the engine and pulls away from the manor, and he tries very hard not to think about the fact that he has apparently agreed to come back next week to let a vampire drink his blood for money, because if he thinks about it too hard, he is going to have to confront the fact that this is somehow not the worst financial decision he has ever made.

The drive home is a blur of streetlights and mounting hysteria, and when he finally makes it back to his apartment, he collapses onto his bed without bothering to change out of his blood-stained clothes.

He stares at the ceiling and tries to figure out how he is going to explain this to literally anyone, decides that he absolutely cannot, and then stares at the ceiling some more until sleep finally drags him under.

Ace wakes up the next morning with a headache that suggests his brain is actively punishing him for the decisions he made last night, and for a blissful moment he thinks maybe it was all a dream brought on by too much stress.

Then he sits up and immediately regrets it because his neck hurts in a very specific way that confirms that no, it was not a dream, and yes, he did get bitten by a vampire and then took money for it like some kind of supernatural freelancer.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and into the kitchen where his roommate Deuce is making breakfast, and Deuce takes one look at him and his expression immediately shifts into concern, which is never a good sign.

"Dude, you look terrible," Deuce says, which is rich coming from someone who once showed up to class with his shirt on backwards and did not notice until lunch. "Did you sleep at all? Also, what happened to your neck?"

Ace reaches up to touch the bite mark, which he had completely forgotten about in his haste to pass out last night, and realizes that he did not bother to clean it or put a bandage on it or do anything that a reasonable person would do after being bitten by a supernatural creature.

"Oh, this? Funny story actually," he says, and his voice sounds strained even to his own ears. "So I went to that abandoned manor last night for a video, except it turns out it is not abandoned at all, and there is a vampire living there, and they bit me and gave me a bunch of money in exchange for my blood. So that happened."

Deuce stops what he is doing and turns to look at Ace with an expression that is somewhere between concern and the kind of pity that people have for small animals that have been hit by cars. He walks over and pats Ace on the back in a way that is clearly meant to be comforting but mostly just feels condescending.

"Hey, man, have you been taking something? Or like, have you been sleeping enough? Because I know finals are coming up and you have been working a lot, and sometimes when people get really stressed they start seeing things that are not there. It is okay, we can get you help, there is no shame in talking to someone."

Ace stares at him in mounting horror because Deuce thinks he is having a mental breakdown, which is almost worse than the actual vampire situation. "I am not hallucinating!" he insists, and he pulls out his phone with shaking hands. "I have footage, I filmed the whole thing, well not the whole thing because I stopped filming before the biting part, but I have video of the manor and I can show you!"

He pulls up the video with a frantic energy that probably does not help his case, and he holds the phone out to Deuce with a triumphant expression that dies immediately when he watches the footage.

The manor is there. The grand staircase is there. The chandelier is there. He is there, talking to his camera like an idiot. But you are not there. In the video, he is very clearly talking to empty air, gesturing at nothing, and then he stops filming abruptly for no apparent reason. There is no dramatic vampire descent down the staircase, no billowing cape, no red eyes, nothing. It's just Ace having what appears to be a very animated conversation with absolutely no one, looking like someone who has finally snapped under the pressure of capitalism and student debt.

Deuce watches the video with an expression that is growing increasingly concerned, and when it ends he looks at Ace with the kind of pity that people reserve for abandoned puppies or people who have clearly lost their grip on reality. "Ace," he says gently, as if speaking to someone who might startle easily, "there is nobody there. You are just talking to yourself. Maybe you should take the day off and get some rest? I can call your jobs and tell them you are sick."

Ace feels something close to hysteria bubbling up in his chest because this is somehow worse than just being bitten by a vampire. This means you really are a vampire, the kind that does not show up on cameras or recordings, which he would have known if he had ever watched a vampire movie that was not Twilight.

He forces a laugh that sounds absolutely deranged even to his own ears. "Oh man, I totally got you!" he says, and his voice is too high and too loud. "It was a joke! I was just messing with you, seeing if you would believe me. The neck thing is just a hickey, super embarrassing, do not wanna to talk about it. I am going to go take a shower now and maybe reevaluate my sense of humor!"

He retreats to his room before Deuce can ask any more questions, and he closes the door and leans against it while his brain goes into full panic mode. You are real. You are a real vampire who does not show up on video, which means everything you said last night was true, which means he has agreed to be a recurring blood donor for an actual supernatural creature.

He should be terrified. He should be running to the nearest church or buying garlic in bulk or doing literally anything other than what he is about to do, which is apparently lean into this completely insane situation because the money is too good to pass up.

He goes to the bank later that morning, and he deposits the stack of bills while trying very hard not to think about where they came from. The teller does not ask questions, which is good because Ace does not have answers that would make sense to anyone operating in normal reality.

He pays off a chunk of his credit card debt and watches his balance go from "crying in the shower" to "merely concerning," and then he goes to the grocery store and buys actual food. He gets spinach because you specifically mentioned spinach, and he gets red meat because apparently he needs to be iron-rich to be a good blood bag, and he is determined to be the best blood bag you have ever had because if he is going to do this, he might as well commit to it entirely.

The logic, as he stands in the grocery store holding a bag of spinach and having what can only be described as a crisis, is that if he makes himself invaluable, then you will not need to find other people to donate blood. This will be his exclusive gig, his weird supernatural side hustle that pays better than all of his customer service jobs combined. He can be your personal capri sun, your designated juice box, your go-to source for type O negative or whatever he is.

The thought of you biting someone else and them feeling what he felt bothers him in a way that he is choosing not to examine too closely, so he shoves it into the same mental box where he put the revelation about his newly discovered masochism.

He quits two of his three part-time jobs that afternoon, and it feels better than anything has felt in months. He sends the resignation emails with glee, and he does not even feel bad about leaving them short-staffed because they were paying him nine dollars an hour to be verbally abused by people who think yelling at a minimum wage employee will fix their problems.

He keeps the food delivery job because the pay is decent and he can do it on his own schedule, and also because he is not quite ready to explain to his parents that his primary source of income is now being a vampire's snack.

He gets a delivery request later, and when he checks the address, his heart does something complicated in his chest because it is your address. The manor that is definitely not abandoned, where a vampire definitely lives, and where he is apparently going to be returning as a doordash driver before he returns as a blood bag. The universe has a sense of humor, and that sense of humor is deeply cruel.

He accepts the order because he is professionally obligated to and also because he is morbidly curious about what a vampire orders for delivery, and he makes the drive with his brain running through approximately seven hundred questions that he did not think to ask during the whole being-bitten situation.

He walks up to the front door with a bag of Indian food, and he knocks with the confidence that only comes from knowing that you have already been inside this house and survived.

You open the door after a moment, and you are dressed significantly more casually than you were during the biting incident, in normal clothes that make you look like a regular person and not like someone who has stepped out of a gothic novel. You still look unfairly attractive, which Ace is trying very hard not to think about because he has enough complications in his life without adding a crush on a vampire to the list.

"Oh, hi!" you say, and you sound genuinely pleased to see him, as if he is a friend who has stopped by for a visit and not your food delivery person. "Thank you so much for the food!" You take the bag from him and then immediately hand him a tip that is so generous it borders on absurd, and Ace stares at the money in his hand and wonders if you just tip everyone like this or if he is special because you have already bitten him.

He is flabbergasted, standing there with what is probably two hundred dollars in his hand for a delivery that took fifteen minutes, and his brain finally manages to form words. "Why do you need regular food?" he blurts out, because apparently his filter has completely abandoned him. "I thought vampires only drank blood? Is the food just for show? Are you ordering it to maintain the illusion of normalcy for the delivery drivers?"

You blink at him and then laugh, and the sound is bright and genuine. "I like the taste of it," you explain, as if this is obvious. "Blood is nutritionally necessary, but food is enjoyable. I can eat whatever I want, I just do not get any sustenance from it. It would be terribly boring to give up samosas just because I am technically undead."

Ace is processing this information when he notices something that makes his brain screech to a halt. You are standing in a patch of sunlight that is streaming through the window, and you are not on fire. You are not sparkling either, which is somehow almost disappointing, and you are certainly not bursting into flames or crumbling into ash.

You are just standing there, completely fine, in direct sunlight, which contradicts everything he thought he knew about vampires. "Why are you not sparkling?" he asks, and he gestures at the sunlight as if you might not have noticed it. "I thought vampires could not go in the sun? Is that not a thing? Have I been lied to by every piece of vampire media I have ever consumed?"

You give him a look that is so profoundly disappointed that he feels like he has just failed a test he did not know he was taking. "Is your only source of vampire information Twilight?" you ask, and your tone is full of judgement. "My skin is not that of a killer, Ace."

He laughs despite himself, because that is a direct quote from the worst line in cinematic history, and the fact that you are a vampire makes it funnier. "Okay, that is fair," he concedes, and he is grinning now in a way that feels genuine for the first time in days. "So sunlight is fine, good to know. I will cross that off my list of vampire weaknesses."

You tilt your head in that way you did when he first met you, and there is something curious in your expression. "Do you want to come in?" you ask, and you step aside to make room for him to enter. "You seem to have questions, and I have food that I am willing to share if you are interested in joining me for lunch."

Ace should say no. He should go back to his car and finish his delivery shift and maintain some semblance of professional boundaries, but he has already thrown professional boundaries out the window when he agreed to be a vampire's blood bag, so he might as well commit to the bit. "Sure, why not," he says, and he steps inside and follows you to what turns out to be an incredibly nice dining room with a table that looks like it costs more than his education.

You set out the food with care that suggests you are genuinely excited about it, and Ace sits down across from you and watches as you start eating with obvious enjoyment. He pulls out his phone and opens the notes app because if he is going to do this, he might as well get all the information he can. "Okay, so sunlight is fine," he says, typing as he talks. "What about garlic? Are you allergic to garlic? Do I need to avoid Italian food before our appointments?"

"I love garlic," you say, and you sound almost offended by the question. "Garlic bread is one of the great joys of existence, I would never give that up. Whoever started that rumor clearly never had good garlic bread."

Ace makes a note of this and continues. "Can you be seen in mirrors?"

"No, actually," you say, and you sound almost apologetic about it. "That one is true. It makes getting dressed somewhat complicated, I have to use my phone camera to check my outfit. Very inconvenient."

"But you can be seen on cameras?" Ace asks, remembering the video footage from last night where you were conspicuously absent.

"I can be seen on cameras in real-time, like video calls or live feeds," you clarify, taking a bite of your food. "But I will not appear in photos or recordings. Something about the way the image is captured and stored, I do not fully understand the metaphysics of it. It is very annoying for social media purposes."

Ace is furiously taking notes now because this is absolutely fascinating in a way that his brain is treating like a research project rather than an existential crisis. "What about dying? What can actually kill you? Stakes through the heart?"

"Stakes through the heart would do it," you confirm, and your tone is very matter-of-fact, as if you are discussing the weather. "Also complete starvation of blood, but that takes a very long time. Those are really the only two ways. Everything else will hurt but it will not kill me permanently. I am very durable otherwise."

"How old are you?" Ace asks, and he realizes this might be rude but he has already committed to the question. "Like, are you ancient? Have you lived through multiple centuries? Do you have stories about historical events that you witnessed firsthand?"

You laugh and shake your head. "I was turned about three years ago. The vampire who turned me gave me this house and a substantial amount of money and then left to go on an adventure across Europe or something. Very much a 'here is a house, good luck, figure it out' situation. I have been managing on my own since then, hence the advertisements for blood donors."

Ace stares at you and tries to reconcile the image of an ancient supernatural creature with what is apparently a college-aged vampire who got turned and then immediately abandoned by their maker. "That seems incredibly irresponsible of them," he says, and he means it. "Did they at least leave you an instruction manual? A list of vampire rules? Anything?"

"I got a note that said 'do not go crazy with the mind control powers' and that was about it," you say, and you sound amused by his outrage. "I have been figuring most of it out as I go. The internet has been surprisingly helpful, although you have to sort through a lot of misinformation."

You push a container of rice toward him, and Ace takes it without thinking because apparently they are sharing food now, which feels oddly domestic for a vampire and their blood bag.

The rice is good, and he eats while processing the fact that you are basically in the same situation as him, just trying to figure out life after having it completely upended by circumstances beyond your control. You are not some ancient evil creature of the night, you are just a person who happens to be undead and needs blood to survive, and you are sharing your lunch with him while answering his increasingly ridiculous questions.

"You are a lot nicer than I thought a vampire would be," Ace says, and he means it as a compliment even though it comes out sounding vaguely like an insult. "I was expecting, I do not know, more menacing? More threatening? Maybe some villainous monologuing?"

You smile at him, and it is a genuine smile that makes you look even more unfairly attractive. "I am just trying to survive and enjoy my very long life," you say. "Being menacing seems exhausting, and I have enough to deal with already. Plus, you are helping me out significantly, so the least I can do is be pleasant about it."

Ace finishes his rice and stands up to leave, and he feels oddly content in a way that he has not felt in a very long time. He has a vampire who is paying him generously for his blood, he has quit his terrible customer service jobs, and he has just had lunch with someone who is genuinely nice to him and also happens to be undead. "See you in five days?" he asks, and you nod enthusiastically.

"See you in five days," you confirm. "Remember to eat your spinach."

He drives back to his apartment with a container of leftover food that you insisted he take, and when he gets home, he collapses onto his bed with the satisfaction that he does not have to go wait on rude people anymore.

His life has taken a turn into the absolutely bizarre, but for the first time in months, he is not drowning in anxiety about money or work or the crushing weight of his responsibilities. He has a vampire benefactor who tips well and shares their food, and honestly, he has had worse gigs.

Ace shows up five days later at exactly the time you both agreed upon, and he has spent those five days eating spinach like his life depends on it. He has also been trying very hard not to think about the fact that he is weirdly excited about this, which is a problem he is shoving into the same mental box where he keeps all his other issues that he refuses to acknowledge.

He knocks on the door with his heart doing something complicated in his chest, and when you open it, you look so genuinely giddy that it catches him off guard.

Your entire face is lit up with the kind of excitement that's seen on Christmas morning or finding out their favorite show got renewed, and you usher him inside with an enthusiasm that would be endearing if it were not directed at the prospect of drinking his blood.

"Come in, come in!" you say, and you are practically vibrating with energy. "I have everything set up in the living room, I got juice this time and I found these really nice bandages that have little patterns on them, do you have a preference for stars or dinosaurs?"

Ace follows you into a living room that looks like it was decorated by someone with unlimited funds and a subscription to an interior design magazine, and he sees that you have indeed set up what can only be described as a blood donation station on the very expensive-looking couch.

There are antiseptic wipes arranged neatly on the coffee table, multiple juice boxes in various flavors, and a box of bandages that do actually have patterns on them. You have put genuine thought into this, which is somehow more concerning than if you had just lunged at him the moment he walked in.

"You really went all out," he says, and he sits down on the couch because apparently this is happening and he might as well be comfortable. "This is very organized. Do you do this for all your blood bags or am I special?"

"You are the only one," you say cheerfully, and you sit down next to him with the wipes in hand. "I have been managing on animal blood for the past three years, but human blood is significantly better. Animal blood is like eating plain rice when you could be having a gourmet meal, it is technically sustaining but deeply unsatisfying."

Ace's brain latches onto this information with the kind of curiosity that has gotten him into trouble before. "Wait, you can go weeks without human blood?" he asks, because this seems like important information that he should have been told earlier. "How long can you actually survive like that? Is there a limit? Do you start getting weak or do you just get really cranky?"

"I can survive indefinitely on animal blood, but I would not say it is living," you explain, and you are opening one of the antiseptic wipes with the kind of focus that suggests you are taking this very seriously. "It keeps me functional but I do not feel great, and it takes significantly more animal blood to equal the nutritional value of human blood. Also, it tastes worse, which is a factor. I could hunt humans the traditional way, but lurking in alleyways and ambushing people seems terribly outdated and also extremely rude. This arrangement is much more civilized."

"Very modern of you," Ace says, and he tilts his head to give you better access to his neck, which has become a thing he does now apparently. "Really bringing vampirism into the twenty-first century with your craigslist ads and consensual blood donation setup."

You laugh and start cleaning the spot on his neck where you bit him last time, and your hands are cold but gentle. "I do try to keep up with the times," you say, and there is a smile in your voice. "My senior would be so proud of how I have adapted to modern society."

"Your senior?" Ace asks, because this is new information and he is collecting vampire facts like they are pokémon cards. "Do you mean the vampire who turned you and then abandoned you?"

"Oh no, not them," you say, and your tone suggests you do not have fond feelings about your maker. "I mean my senior in the vampire community. Count Dracula has been very supportive of my transition into undead life, he sends me letters with advice and everything."

Ace's brain short-circuits so hard that he is surprised smoke is not coming out of his ears. "COUNT DRACULA IS REAL?" he practically shouts, and his voice cracks in a way that would be embarrassing if he were not currently having a crisis about the existence of literary figures. "As in THE Count Dracula? Transylvania? The book? Nosferatu? That is a real person who exists and sends you letters?"

You stare at him for a moment, and then you burst out laughing so hard that you have to put down the antiseptic wipe because your hands are shaking. You laugh with your whole body, doubled over on the couch, and it takes you a solid thirty seconds to compose yourself enough to speak. "Oh my god, your face," you gasp out between giggles. "I am so sorry, I could not help myself. No, Count Dracula is not real, that was a joke. I was pulling your leg."

Ace feels his face go hot with embarrassment, and he glares at you with the kind of indignation that only comes from being thoroughly fooled. "Wow, you're the worst," he says, but there is no real heat in it because you look so delighted with yourself that he cannot actually be mad. "Here I am, being vulnerable and asking genuine questions about your undead existence, and you're using that trust to commit psychological warfare against me. This is betrayal of the highest order."

"I really am sorry," you say, and you are still grinning in a way that suggests you are not actually sorry at all. "But you should have seen your face, it was absolutely worth it. I promise to be more honest from now on, no more fictional vampire references."

You pick up the wipe again and finish cleaning his neck, and then you look at him with an expression that has gone from playful to focused. "Okay, brace yourself," you say, and your voice has dropped into something more serious. "Same as last time."

Ace nods and tries to prepare himself for what is about to happen, but there is absolutely no way to prepare for the sensation of your fangs piercing his skin. The pain is sharp and brief, and then it melts into that same disturbing pleasure that he experienced last time, warmth spreading through his body in waves that make his head feel fuzzy and his limbs feel heavy.

His hands, which had been gripping the couch cushions, move of their own accord, and he finds himself putting one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head, holding you close in a way that is definitely not necessary for the blood donation process.

He can feel your hair under his fingers, soft and cool, and he can feel the way you are pressed against him, close enough that he can sense the absence of a heartbeat in your chest. The thought drifts through his mind that this is deeply intimate in a way that has nothing to do with the blood and everything to do with the trust required to let someone this close, to let someone take something from you that you can never get back.

His brain is getting philosophical about vampire feeding, which is a sign that he is probably losing too much blood, but he cannot bring himself to care because this feels good in a way that he is definitely going to have a crisis about later.

When you pull away, he makes that same embarrassing whining sound that he made last time, breathy and desperate and completely involuntary. He watches through half-lidded eyes as you smile at him, and there is something knowing in that smile, something that suggests you are fully aware of what you are doing to him and find it amusing.

You reach for the wipes with one hand while your other hand stays on his shoulder, steadying him, and you clean the bite mark with gentle efficiency before applying a bandage that does indeed have little dinosaurs on it.

"There we go," you say softly, and you are still smiling at him in that way that makes his heart do acrobatics. "All done. You did very well."

Ace hates that this is how he is discovering a new kink, sitting on a vampire's couch with a dinosaur bandage on his neck and the taste of copper in the back of his throat.

He hates that he liked it, that he is already thinking about next week, that the feeling of your mouth on his skin is going to be living rent-free in his brain for the foreseeable future. He is having revelations about himself at an alarming rate, and he is choosing to deal with this by not dealing with it at all and hoping it goes away, which has always been his preferred coping mechanism.

You hand him a juice box, and he takes it with hands that are shaking slightly from the blood loss and possibly from other factors that he is refusing to examine. The juice is orange, which is his favorite, and he wonders if you remembered that from last time's conversation or if it is just a coincidence. The sweetness hits his tongue and helps clear some of the fog from his head, but it does nothing for the wooziness that is making the room tilt gently around him.

The wooziness from the blood loss is making him feel reckless in a way that is dangerous, and he looks at you as you hold the juice box to his mouth to make sure he keeps drinking, and he thinks about how he would never admit this out loud because he has a reputation to maintain as someone who is cool and collected and definitely not developing feelings for a vampire.

You were gorgeous the first day he saw you, descending that staircase like something out of a dream, and you are gorgeous now as you sit next to him with concern in your red eyes and your cold fingers brushing against his as you help him hold the juice box steady.

You are ethereal in a way that seems fundamentally unfair, as if someone designed you specifically to ruin his life and his ability to make reasonable decisions. The late afternoon light is coming through the windows and hitting you at an angle that makes you look like a painting, all sharp lines and soft edges and an otherworldly quality that reminds him that you are not human, that you are something else entirely.

And you have a sense of humor, which might be the worst part, because it would be so much easier if you were just attractive and leaving it at that, but no, you have to be funny and kind and willing to share food.

He wants to kiss you, which is possibly the worst idea he has ever had, and he has had many bad ideas in his life so that is saying something.

The thought drifts through his blood-loss-addled brain that your lips would probably be cold and taste like copper, and he wonders if you would kiss him back or if you would laugh at him, and he cannot decide which option would be worse.

So he closes his eyes instead, squeezing them shut and physically restraining himself from doing something he will regret. He focuses on the taste of juice and the feeling of the couch beneath him and the sound of his own breathing, anything to distract himself from the fact that you are still sitting close enough that he can feel the cold radiating off your skin.

He keeps his eyes closed until the wooziness passes and his brain comes back online enough to remember that developing a crush on the vampire who pays him for his blood is a complication he absolutely does not need in his life right now.

"Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is soft with genuine concern. "You can lie down if you need to, I have blankets. I did not take too much, did I?"

"No, I'm good," Ace lies, and he opens his eyes to find you looking at him with an expression that is far too caring for someone who just drank his blood. "Just a little dizzy, happens every time I stand up too fast anyway. This is normal. I am completely normal and fine and not having any kind of crisis whatsoever."

You look unconvinced, but you do not push it, and Ace is grateful for that because he does not think he could handle explaining what is actually going through his head right now. He finishes the juice box and stands up on legs that are only slightly unsteady, and he makes his way to the door with you hovering nearby like you think he might collapse at any moment.

You hand him an envelope that he knows contains more money than he makes in three jobs, and you remind him again to eat iron-rich foods and get plenty of rest, and he nods and agrees and tries not to think about how much he is already looking forward to next week.

He makes it to his car and sits in the driver's seat for a long moment, staring at the steering wheel and trying to figure out how his life has become this. He has a vampire who he is definitely developing feelings for, he is getting paid to be bitten, and he is apparently discovering kinks at a rate that would require a spreadsheet to keep track of.

He starts the engine and drives home, and he spends the entire drive trying to convince himself that this is fine and sustainable and definitely not going to end in some kind of emotional disaster.

When he gets back to his apartment, Deuce takes one look at the dinosaur bandage on his neck and wisely does not ask questions.

Weeks go by in this arrangement, and Ace finds himself settling into a routine that would seem absolutely insane to anyone looking in from the outside but has become his new normal. Every seven days, he shows up at your manor with his iron levels optimized and his hydration on point, and every seven days you bite him and pay him generously and send him home with leftover food and reminders to take care of himself.

What strikes him, in the quiet moments when he allows himself to think about it, is how careful you are with him.

You barely drink from him, taking just enough to sustain yourself but never enough to make him truly weak or put him in any danger. He has done the research, because of course he has, and he knows that vampires can drink significantly more than you take from him. He knows that you have the strength to overpin him, to hold him down and drain him dry if you wanted to, and the fact that you do not makes something complicated happen in his chest.

The fact that you stop the moment he shows any sign of distress, that you are so conscientious about his wellbeing, makes him feel warm and fuzzy in a way that he absolutely refuses to examine too closely.

There is also the part of his brain, the part that he is actively trying to ignore, that wonders what it would be like if you did not stop. If you used that supernatural strength to hold him in place, if you took what you wanted without the careful consideration you always show.

The thought makes his face go hot and his heart rate pick up, and he shoves it into the rapidly overflowing mental box labeled "kinks I am discovering that I wish I was not discovering."

Finals week descends upon him like a natural disaster, and Ace finds himself operating on a truly inadvisable amount of caffeine and virtually no sleep. He has three exams and two final projects due, and he is studying with desperate intensity, knowing his entire academic future hangs in the balance.

He has not slept more than three hours a night in the past week, and his diet has consisted primarily of energy drinks and whatever food he can grab between study sessions. The only reason he is eating actual meals is because he needs to maintain his blood quality for you, and he refuses to examine why that has become his primary motivation for self-care.

Deuce has noticed the improvement in their grocery situation and is taking full advantage of it, which means their fridge is now stocked with actual vegetables and proteins instead of the usual collection of condiments and beer. Deuce has been thriving on the spillover from Ace's new nutritional regime, and he keeps making comments about how Ace's new "situation" is working out great for both of them, which Ace chooses to interpret as support rather than the judgment it probably is.

The bite marks have become harder to hide, and Deuce finally asks about them one evening when Ace is stress-eating spinach at midnight while reviewing his notes. "Hey, is your partner hurting you?" Deuce asks, and his tone is genuinely concerned in a way that makes Ace feel guilty for all the lying he has been doing. "Because those marks on your neck are pretty intense, and I just want to make sure you are okay and everything is consensual."

Ace nearly chokes on his spinach because the assumption that he has a partner is so far from the truth that it is almost funny. "It is not my partner," he says, once he has finished coughing. "I do not have a partner. This is a completely different situation that does not involve romance or dating or anything like that."

Deuce's expression shifts into something that can only be described as kink-shaming, his eyes wide with a mixture of concern and judgment. "You are letting a fling bite you like that?" he asks, and his voice has gone up several octaves. "Ace, that is extremely intense for something casual, are you sure you know what you are doing?"

"It's just a bloodsucker," Ace says, which is technically not a lie, and he watches as Deuce's face goes through several expressions before settling on disgust.

"Oh my god, mosquitos?" Deuce says, and he sounds horrified. "You have a mosquito problem that bad? We need to call an exterminator, that is a health hazard!"

Ace does not correct him because explaining the actual situation would require admitting that he is being paid to donate blood to a vampire, and he has already decided that Deuce does not need that kind of information in his life.

He just nods and makes a noncommittal sound and goes back to his studying, and Deuce wanders off muttering about pest control.

He shows up at your manor on schedule despite the fact that he is running on approximately four hours of sleep over the past three days and enough caffeine to fuel a small vehicle. He has an exam tomorrow morning, and he should probably be sleeping, but he has made a commitment and he is going to honor it even if his body is actively staging a rebellion against his life choices.

You open the door and immediately your expression shifts into concern, which Ace has learned to recognize as your "you look terrible" face.

"Are you alright?" you ask, and you usher him inside with more urgency than usual. "You look exhausted. Are you sick? Do you have a fever?" You press your cold hand against his forehead in a gesture that would be sweet if it were not completely ineffective given that your hands are always cold.

"Yeah, totally," Ace lies, and he follows you into the living room where you have already set up the usual blood donation station. "Just finals week, nothing I can't handle."

You do not look convinced, and you guide him to sit on the couch with a gentleness that makes his chest ache. You have your conversation like you always do, talking about your week and his week and whatever random topics come up, and Ace tries to focus but his brain is running on fumes and his thoughts keep drifting.

When you finally lean in to bite him, the familiar sharp pain followed by the wave of pleasure, he feels his head swim in a way that is distinctly different from the usual pleasant wooziness.

The dizziness hits him hard and fast, and the world tilts sideways in a way that suggests his body has finally had enough of his nonsense. You seem to sense it immediately because you pull away far sooner than you normally would, and your hands are on his shoulders, steadying him. "What is going on?" you demand, and your voice is sharp with concern. "Are you sick? Did something happen? You feel different, your blood tastes off."

"I'm not sick," Ace says, and his voice sounds distant even to his own ears. "I have just been running on caffeine for the past week because of finals. The blood quality should be fine."

Your expression shifts into something that can only be described as deeply disapproving. "Ace," you say, and your tone suggests you are physically restraining yourself desperately from lecturing him. "You need to sleep. This is not sustainable. You are going to make yourself sick."

Before Ace can formulate a response or assure you that he is fine and this is just how college works, you do something that makes his brain completely short-circuit. You pull him onto your lap with the kind of easy strength that reminds him you are not human, maneuvering him so that his head is resting against your shoulder and his body is curled against yours.

Your arms wrap around him in a way that is both secure and gentle, and then you press your cold hand over his eyes, blocking out the light.

"Sleep," you command, and your voice has gone soft in a way that makes something in his chest crack open. "You can take a nap here, and then I will drive you home. You are not going anywhere in this condition."

Ace should protest. He should tell you that he has studying to do and an exam tomorrow and he cannot afford to waste time sleeping, but your hand is blessedly cold against his burning eyelids and your body is surprisingly comfortable despite the lack of warmth. The exhaustion that he has been fighting off for days comes crashing down on him all at once, and he can feel himself starting to drift despite his best efforts to stay awake.

Your other hand is running through his hair in a soothing repetitive motion, and he can hear you humming something soft and melodic that he does not recognize. The combination of the cold hand on his eyes and the gentle touch in his hair and the total security of being held is more effective than any sleep aid he has ever tried.

His last coherent thought before he drifts off completely is a very eloquent and articulate "fuck, I am screwed," because he has just realized that this has gone far beyond a simple business arrangement.

He is screwed because he is falling for you, the vampire who pays him for his blood and feeds him and is now holding him while he sleeps because he is too stupid to take care of himself. He is screwed because you are careful with him in a way that no one else has ever been, because you pull away when he gets dizzy and scold him for not sleeping and run your fingers through his hair like he is something precious.

He is screwed because he wants this, wants more of this, wants to wake up in your arms and fall asleep in your lap and have you look at him the way you are looking at him now with such open concern.

The thought drifts through his fading consciousness that he is in so much trouble, and then he is asleep, dead to the world and dreaming of cold hands and red eyes and the feeling of being held by someone who could break him but chooses not to.

Ace wakes up slowly, dragged back to consciousness by the persistent awareness that something cold and soothing is resting against his eyelids. For a moment, he is disoriented, his sleep-addled brain trying to piece together where he is and why he feels so comfortable despite the distinct lack of warmth surrounding him. T

hen it all comes rushing back, and he realizes that your hand is still on his face, still providing that blessed coolness against his exhausted eyes.

He sits up slowly, reluctantly, because part of him wants to stay exactly where he was for the foreseeable future, but he is aware that he has already imposed on you enough by passing out in your living room. You remove your hand from his face as he moves, and he immediately misses the contact in a way that he is trying very hard not to think about.

His head feels clearer than it has in days, and he realizes with some surprise that he actually feels rested, which is a novel sensation given his recent lifestyle choices.

"Wait here," you say, and you stand up with that fluid grace that reminds him you are not bound by normal human limitations. You disappear into another room, and Ace sits on the couch trying to collect himself and figure out what time it is and whether he has missed his exam.

His phone tells him he has been asleep for three hours, which means it is now early evening and he still has time to study before tomorrow, although the thought of studying makes his brain want to shut down again.

You return with a thermometer, the kind that you point at someone's forehead, and you check his temperature with the kind of efficiency that suggests you have done this before.

Ace watches you and feels something uncomfortable twist in his chest because why do you have a thermometer? Do you have other humans you take care of? The thought surfaces before he can stop it, and it brings with it a wave of jealousy that he has absolutely no right to feel.

Of course you have other people in your life. You are a gorgeous vampire with money and a sense of humor and apparently a caring personality, and who would not want a piece of that? You probably have multiple people you feed from, multiple people who come to your manor and sit on your couch and get paid for their blood.

He is probably not special at all, just one of many, and why would he be anything more than that? What is he compared to whoever else you might have? He is just a broke college student with too much debt and not enough sense, and you are literally a vampire who could have anyone you wanted.

Who is he to feel jealousy anyway? He is literally just a blood bank to you, a convenient source of nutrition that happens to show up on schedule and make conversation. The arrangement is purely transactional, money for blood, and the fact that you are nice to him does not mean anything beyond basic human decency, which you are extending to him despite not being human yourself.

He is spiraling, sitting on your couch and having a complete internal crisis about his place in your life while you are standing there with a thermometer looking concerned about his wellbeing.

By the time he manages to pull himself out of the spiral, you have disappeared again and returned with food. You press a container into his hands, with an urgency that communicates that he needs to eat right now. He opens the container and starts eating because arguing with you seems pointless and also because the food is good and he is actually hungry now that he has slept.

His heart and brain are screaming at him to ask you out, to say something about how he feels, to acknowledge that this has become more than just a business arrangement for him even if it has not for you.

The words are sitting in his throat, fighting to get out, but he swallows them down along with the food because confessing feelings to the vampire who pays him for his blood seems like a spectacularly bad idea that would only result in humiliation and the loss of his primary income source.

"I'll drive you home," you say, once he has finished eating and you seem satisfied that he is not going to collapse again. "You should rest properly tonight, in an actual bed, and make sure you eat breakfast before your exam tomorrow."

Ace nods dumbly because the prospect of spending more time with you, even if it is just a car ride, is too appealing to turn down. "You sure you gonna be okay without my blood this week?" he asks, and the concern in his voice is more genuine than he intended it to be. "I can come back in a few days if you need me to."

You reach out and ruffle his hair, and your smile is bright and teasing. "Awww, are you worried about little old me?" you coo, and your tone is so deliberately saccharine that it makes him want to combust from embarrassment.

He swats at your hand and glares at you without any real heat. "I'm just being practical," he mutters, even though you both know that is not entirely true. "You pay me good money, and I'd hate for my income source to suffer. This is purely financial concern, nothing more."

You laugh, and the sound makes his chest feel warm. "I will be fine," you assure him. "I can manage for a week on what I have. You need to focus on your finals and your health, and then we can resume our normal schedule."

He watches as you excuse yourself to change into what you call "normal clothes," and he sits on the couch trying not to think about the fact that you are somewhere in this house taking off the elaborate Victorian outfits that you seem to favor.

When you return, you are wearing jeans and a sweater that looks soft and expensive, and somehow you still look ethereal despite the casual clothing. The otherworldly quality that clings to you is not diminished by modern fashion, and Ace thinks that you could probably wear a garbage bag and still look like you stepped out of a painting.

You put in colored contacts, and he watches as your distinctive red eyes are covered by a more conventional brown that makes you look almost human. Almost, but not quite, because there is something about the way you move and the way you hold yourself that will always give away the fact that you are something else.

You drive him home in a car that is predictably nice, and the ride is filled with comfortable conversation about nothing in particular, and Ace is trying very hard to memorize every moment because he is greedy for your time in a way that he knows is pathetic.

When you pull up outside his apartment building, he makes a decision that is either very brave or very stupid. "Do you wanna come in?" he asks, and his heart is pounding so hard that he is certain you can hear it with your supernatural senses.

You look genuinely taken aback, your eyes widening slightly in surprise, and then you smile in a way that makes his stomach flip. "Are you inviting a vampire into your home, Ace?" you tease, and your tone is playful. "That is generally considered to be a bad idea in most folklore. Are you sure you have thought this through?"

He groans and resists the urge to hide his face in his hands. "Just come inside," he says, and he gets out of the car before you can make any more jokes at his expense. You follow him, and he can hear you laughing quietly behind him as he leads you up to his apartment.

Deuce is in the living room when tge two of you walk in, and he takes one look at you and then at Ace and then back at you, and Ace can see the exact moment when Deuce connects the dots. This is Ace's supposed fling, the person who has been biting him and leaving marks on his neck, and Deuce's expression shifts into something that is equal parts impressed and slightly concerned.

"Respect," Deuce says with a solemn nod, and then he stands up and grabs his jacket. "I'm gonna be at the library for the next few hours, so take your time."

He leaves before Ace can correct him or explain that this is not what it looks like, and then the door closes and Ace is alone with you in his apartment. He does not correct the assumption that Deuce has made because honestly, he wishes you were at least friends with benefits. Technically you are friends with benefits, but the benefits are blood and money rather than anything that would justify the knowing look that Deuce just gave him.

He takes you to his room, which is significantly less impressive than any room in your manor but is at least clean because he has been too busy with finals to make a mess. You settle onto his bed without any apparent concern for the fact that you are in a strange man's bedroom, and Ace puts on a show on Netflix because that seems like a normal thing to do when you have a guest and not something that will reveal how desperately he wants to spend time with you.

You watch the screen for a few minutes, and then you turn to him with an expression that is more vulnerable than he has seen from you before. "It has been a while since I was able to have social interaction like this," you say, and your voice is soft. "The whole vampire thing makes it difficult to maintain friendships or go out to normal places. I was worried that people would notice something was off and try to burn me at the stake or something equally dramatic, so I have been fairly isolated. I am really glad that you are so cool about all of this, it means more to me than you probably realize."

Ace feels something crack in his chest at the sincerity in your voice, and he tries to deflect because earnest emotion makes him uncomfortable and he does not know how to handle the fact that you are being genuine with him. "Don't get so sentimental on me," he says, and his tone is light and teasing. "You're gonna ruin your mysterious vampire reputation if you keep admitting to having feelings."

You pounce on him before he can say anything else, and suddenly he is flat on his back on the bed with you on top of him, your hands pinning his wrists to the mattress on either side of his head. "I was being real and you ruined it!" you whine, and you are pouting at him in a way that should look ridiculous but instead just makes you look unfairly cute.

Ace forgets whatever words he was going to say because his brain has completely shut down. His deepest fantasy, the one that he has been shoving into the mental box and refusing to acknowledge, is happening right now. You are holding him down, your supernatural strength keeping him pinned in place, and even though this is not happening in the context he has been imagining, his body does not seem to care about the distinction.

You are so close that he can see the individual lashes around your eyes, can see the faint pattern in the colored contacts you are wearing, can see the way your lips are curved in a playful smile.

His heart is racing, and he knows you can probably hear it or feel it or sense it in whatever way vampires sense these things. He should say something witty or push you off or do literally anything other than what he does, which is close the gap between you and kiss you.

The moment his lips touch yours, his brain registers several things at once. Your lips are cold, exactly as he imagined they would be, and they taste faintly of the tea you were drinking earlier. You have gone completely still above him, frozen in surprise, and Ace realizes with mounting horror that he has just kissed you without asking and you have not kissed him back and this is going to be the most humiliating moment of his entire life.

But then you kiss him back, and Ace's brain promptly explodes into confetti and fireworks and every other celebratory metaphor he can think of. Your lips are moving against his with an urgency that matches the desperation that has been building in his chest for weeks, and your hands are still pinning his wrists to the mattress in a way that makes his heart race for reasons that he is done pretending to ignore.

He wants more, needs more, and he tries to press closer to you despite the fact that you are literally on top of him and there is no closer to get. When you pull away, he finds himself breathing hard, almost heaving, like he has just run a marathon or experienced some kind of life-altering event, which he supposes he has.

You sit up, and he follows suit because his body apparently cannot stand to be separated from you by any significant distance now that this has started. He has never seen you like this before, and it catches him off guard in a way that makes his chest ache.

Your eyes are wide and uncertain, stripped of the confidence and composure that you usually carry like armor, and you look almost vulnerable in a way that makes him want to wrap you in blankets and protect you from the world despite the fact that you are a supernatural creature who could snap him like a twig.

He tries to say something, to make a joke or deflect or do any of the things he normally does when emotions get too real, but his voice cracks embarrassingly on the first syllable and whatever clever quip he was planning dies in his throat.

You seem to snap out of whatever internal spiral you were having, and then you are kissing him again, your cold hands cupping his face with a gentleness that contradicts the intensity of your mouth on his. He is giddy, absolutely flooded with an emotion that he can only describe as joy, even if he would rather genuinely get staked through the heart than admit that out loud to anyone including himself.

When you pull away again, you are smiling, and it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. "Do you want to date?" you ask, and your voice is soft and hopeful in a way that makes him want to say yes to anything you might ask him. "Like go on dates and hold hands and do all the normal relationship things?"

He is too overwhelmed to posture or play it cool or do any of the things he would normally do to protect his dignity. He just nods, enthusiastic and immediate, because apparently his brain has decided that honesty is the best policy when faced with the most attractive person he has ever met asking him out. The words are stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth, so he just keeps nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls until you start to look amused.

"Are you sure?" you ask, and your expression has shifted into something more serious. "I am a vampire, you know. That comes with complications. I have dietary restrictions that involve drinking blood, I do not show up in photographs which makes social media very difficult, and I will outlive you by centuries unless something goes very wrong. This is not a normal relationship, and I need you to understand what you are agreeing to."

Ace stares at you for a moment, and then he lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical. "Buddy," he says, and his voice is fond despite the absurdity of what he is about to say, "you have none of the vampiric limitations that would actually make this difficult. You can go out in sunlight, you're not allergic to garlic, you can eat regular food even if you don't need to, and nothing can actually harm you except for very specific circumstances that I can easily avoid. You're pretty, you're wealthy, you have a sense of humor, and you are literally indestructible. This honestly feels a little unfair if I’m being honest, because what do I bring to this relationship other than my sparkling personality and my apparently delicious blood?"

Your smile grows wider, and there is something almost sad in your eyes despite the happiness in your expression. "The only thing is that I am lonely," you say, and your voice has gone quiet. "I have been lonely since I was turned and my maker left me alone in that house with no guidance and no connections to the vampire world. I have all these things that you mentioned, but none of it matters when I spend most of my time by myself because I am too afraid to let people get close enough to discover what I am."

Before he can think it through, before his brain can catch up to his mouth and stop him from saying something that might be too much too soon, Ace points at himself with both thumbs like he is in a comedy sketch. "I can fix that," he says, and he means it with an intensity that surprises even him. "I am extremely social and have no sense of self-preservation, and I will drag you to every social event I can think of until you are sick of people. You will never be lonely again if I have anything to say about it, and I have a lot to say about most things, so get ready for that."

He sees your smile wobble, and then you are hiding your face in his neck, and he can feel the coldness of your skin against his throat where you bit him earlier. Your arms wrap around him in a hug that is tight enough to make breathing slightly difficult, but he does not care because you are holding him like he is something precious and he wants to live in this moment forever. "No takesies backsies," you mumble into his neck, and your voice is muffled but he can hear the emotion in it.

He leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you just as tightly. "You're stuck with me now, and I'm extremely annoying to get rid of, just ask my brother. I'm like glitter or a song that gets stuck in your head, persistent and impossible to ignore."

You laugh against his neck, and the sound vibrates through him in a way that makes him feel warm despite your lack of body heat. You pull back just enough to look at him, and your eyes are slightly wet in a way that suggests you are capable of crying even as a vampire, which is information that he is filing away for later. "I think I can live with that," you say, and then you kiss him again, soft and sweet and full of promise.

Ace kisses you back and thinks that this is the best terrible decision he has ever made, and he has made a lot of terrible decisions in his life. He is dating a vampire, he is going to have to explain this to his friends and family eventually, and his life has become something that would be rejected as too unrealistic if he tried to pitch it as a story. But you are smiling at him like he has given you something invaluable, and he realizes that he would make this choice again and again if it meant getting to see that expression on your face.

"So," he says, when you finally pull away and he can breathe again, "does this mean I still get paid for the blood donations, or is that considered weird now that we are dating? I need to know for tax purposes."

You laugh so hard that you fall backwards onto his bed, and Ace thinks that he could get used to this, to making you laugh and seeing you happy and being the person who gets to hold you. He lies down next to you, and you immediately curl into his side despite the fact that you are cold enough to make him shiver, and he decides that he is going to need to invest in more blankets if this is going to be a regular thing.

You rest your head on his chest, and he runs his fingers through your hair, and everything feels right in a way that it has not felt in a very long time.

"We can negotiate the financial arrangements later," you say, and your voice is drowsy in a way that he has never heard from you before. "Right now I just want to stay here and enjoy the fact that I am dating the most ridiculous human I have ever met."

"I prefer the term charmingly chaotic," Ace says, but he is smiling as he says it, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head because he can do that now. He can kiss you whenever he wants, and you will kiss him back, and this is real and happening and not just something he has been desperately wishing for while pretending he was not wishing for it at all.

His phone buzzes with a text from Deuce asking if the coast is clear, and Ace responds with a thumbs up emoji. Deuce responds with a string of emojis that are deeply inappropriate and make Ace's face go red, but he cannot even be annoyed because he is too busy being happy.

He puts his phone away and focuses on you, on the weight of you against his chest and the sound of your unnecessary breathing and the fact that you chose him out of all the people you could have chosen.

"Hey," he says softly, and you hum in acknowledgment. "Thank you for not draining me dry that first night when I broke into your house. This worked out pretty well for me, all things considered."

You laugh again, and the sound fills his small room and makes it feel like home. "Thank you for being weird enough to come back after I bit you," you reply. "Most people would have run away screaming, but you just showed up again with your blood all optimized."

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him, and your expression is soft and fond. "I think this is going to work out," you say, and you sound certain in a way that makes his heart stutter.

"Yeah," Ace agrees, and he pulls you down for another kiss because he can, because you want him to, because this is his life now and he is going to enjoy every single moment of it. "I think it is.”

Five years have passed since that night when Ace kissed you in his tiny apartment bedroom and accidentally stumbled into the best relationship of his life, and he has survived not only those finals but also graduation, the transition into actual adulthood, and the bizarre experience of moving into a manor with his vampire partner.

His YouTube channel has absolutely exploded in popularity ever since you suggested that you could help with his content by making objects move and creating "unexplained phenomena" that would never show you on camera, and he has gone from seventeen subscribers to several million.

He is happy, genuinely and completely happy in a way that he never thought possible back when he was working three customer service jobs and contemplating if he could survive on ramen alone.

He wakes up next to you every evening when you rise, he makes content that people actually enjoy, he has more money than he knows what to do with between his YouTube revenue and your apparently infinite wealth, and he gets to spend his existence with someone who makes him laugh and looks unfairly hot doing literally anything.

His life is objectively perfect, which is why it is so frustrating that there is one thing that you absolutely refuse to give him no matter how many times he asks.

He wants to be turned, has wanted it for years now, and you will not do it. Every time he brings it up, you find some excuse to deflect, usually by kissing him until his brain stops working and he forgets what he was asking for in the first place.

It is embarrassing to admit that this tactic works as well as it does, but he is a simple guy with simple needs, and when his partner kisses him with that particular intensity, his higher reasoning functions tend to shut down entirely. But he has been working on his resistance, building up his immunity to your diversionary tactics through sheer stubborn determination.

Today he corners you in the library, which has become his favorite room in the manor because it has the comfy chairs and also because you look particularly good when you are reading by the window. You look up when he enters, and he can see the exact moment when you recognize the expression on his face and realize that you are about to have the conversation that you have been avoiding for half a decade.

"Nope," you say immediately, and you are already closing your book. "We are not doing this again, Ace. I already told you no like fifty times."

"Yeah, well, I'm asking for the fifty-first time," Ace says, and he positions himself between you and the door because he has learned that you will absolutely bail if given the chance. "And you're gonna actually give me a real answer instead of distracting me, because I've let you distract me with kisses and other activities that I won't mention because we are in the library and I have some sense of decorum. But now, I'm onto your tricks now and they're not gonna work."

You look at him with an expression that suggests you are already planning your escape route. "Is this because you think I will lose access to your blood if I turn you?" you ask, and there is something hurt in your voice that makes him immediately panic.

"What? No!" Ace says, and he waves his hands frantically because that came out so wrong. "That's not what I meant at all! I know you're not keeping me around like some kind of juice box subscription service, that would be insane and also you're way too nice for that. I'm just trying to figure out why you keep saying no when I'm clearly super serious about this!"

You look down, and your expression shifts into something vulnerable that makes his chest feel weird. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"Uh, yeah? That's kind of the whole point of this conversation," Ace says, and he sits down on the arm of your chair because standing is too formal for whatever this is about to be.

You take an unnecessary breath, and when you look up at him your eyes are wet in a way that makes him want to fix whatever is wrong immediately. "I do not want you to struggle with blood ethics the way I did when I was first turned," you say, and the words tumble out fast.

"When I woke up as a vampire, I was alone and confused and desperately hungry, and I did not know what was ethical or acceptable. I hurt people before I figured out a better way, and I have to live with that forever. I do not want that for you. I do not want you to wake up with this hunger and make choices that you will regret."

Ace listens to this and feels something twist in his chest because you have never talked about your early vampire days like this. "And what if you regret it?" you continue, quieter now. "What if I turn you and you hate it and you resent me for taking away your humanity? What if you miss your family and friends and decide immortality sucks actually? I would have to live with that forever, knowing I took something from you that you can never get back."

"Wait, hold on," Ace says, because he needs to address something immediately. "Do you not want me forever or something?"

"Of course I do!" you say, and you grab his hands like you are afraid he might vanish. "I want you forever, I want you for every century I exist, I want to wake up next to you for the next thousand years! But I want you to want it too, really want it, not just because you think the romance of immortality is cool!"

"Okay, first of all, rude," Ace says, and he squeezes your hands right back. "I've been asking you to turn me for three years straight, that's way past the 'sounds cool' phase and firmly into the 'I've actually thought about this' territory. Second, you're not some Nosferatu situation coercing me into eternal damnation or whatever. You're my partner who I love and who I wanna spend forever annoying. I'm sure about this!"

He does not give you time to interrupt because he is on a roll now. "And the blood ethics thing? I'll have you to teach me, which is way more than you had when you got turned and ditched by your maker, who I still think we should track down just so I can yell at them. You can show me how to do the donor thing, we can set up the same arrangements you have, and I won't have to figure it out alone like some kind of disaster vampire. Plus, if I screw up, which I probably will because I'm not perfect, you'll be there to smack some sense into me. That's literally what partners do!"

You are staring at him with an intensity that makes him feel like you are trying to read his mind. "Are you absolutely sure?" you ask one more time, and your voice is barely audible. "Because once I do this, there is no going back. You will be a vampire forever, and that is a very long time."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Ace says, and he has never been more certain of anything in his entire life, which is saying something because he is normally terrible at making decisions. "Come on, turn me already! Make me a vampire so I can spend forever being annoying and making sure you're never lonely and stealing your hoodies even though we'll be the same temperature!"

You stare at him for a long moment, and then something in your expression cracks open into resignation and relief and something that looks a lot like love. "Okay," you say, and you smile at him through tears. "Okay, fine, you win. But if you change your mind in a hundred years, I am never letting you live it down."

"I'm not gonna change my mind," Ace says immediately. "I'm way too stubborn for that, ask literally anyone who knows me."

You pull him close and kiss him, and this kiss feels different somehow, heavier and more significant. When you pull back, your expression has gone serious. "You need to drink my blood," you say, already rolling up your sleeve. "That is how the turning works. You drink from me, enough that it changes your system, and then you will sleep and wake up like me."

"Do I just chomp down or is there like a technique to this?" Ace asks, because he has never bitten anyone before and he would hate to mess up something this important.

"Just bite," you say, and you offer your wrist with a smile that looks nervous and excited at the same time. "Your teeth are not as sharp as fangs but you will manage. Drink until I tell you to stop, and try not to overthink it."

Ace takes your wrist and looks at it for a second, thinking about how this is the moment everything changes. Then he stops thinking about it because overthinking has never helped him before, and he bites down. His human teeth break skin way less efficiently than your fangs ever did on him, and then his mouth fills with blood and okay, this is weird, but he forces himself to keep going because this is what he needs to do.

Something changes almost immediately, a warmth spreading through him that feels like power and energy and something completely foreign. His senses sharpen, sounds getting clearer and colors getting more vivid, and he can hear things he definitely should not be able to hear. He feels stronger, more alive than he has ever felt despite the fact that he is technically dying, and before he can get too caught up in the philosophical implications of that, he catches sight of your face.

You are watching him with so much anticipation and hope and something soft that it makes his heart do weird acrobatics, and he realizes you are just as nervous about this as he is.

He pulls away from your wrist and meets your eyes, grinning at you with blood on his teeth because he is absolutely not going to be normal about this. "I'm really never gonna leave you alone now," he says, and his voice already sounds different, richer somehow. "You're stuck with me for literal forever, no takesies backsies."

You laugh and pull him close, hiding your face in his neck. "Good," you say, muffled against his skin. "I would not want it any other way."

Ace wraps his arms around you as tiredness starts creeping in, his body shutting down to finish whatever supernatural transformation is happening. He smiles into your hair and thinks yeah, this is gonna be great, and then lets himself fall asleep knowing that when he wakes up, he is going to have forever to figure out how to be the most annoying vampire in existence.

ace has been noticing yuu lately. too much.

like, noticing them.

the first time was during potionology class. yuu couldn’t work magic very much at all, but they were happy to help hold beakers.

ace grabbed their wrist with one hand to keep it steady as he poured a few drops from each of his vials.

“yay,” yuu whispered, tapping the beaker slightly to help the liquid mix.

they glanced up at ace and smiled, their eyes squeezing shut behind their foggy goggles.

he was still holding their wrist, absentmindedly. just hadn’t thought to let go yet.

fingers around their wrist. their eyes blinking back open from that sweet smile. sweaty in the warm potionology classroom. and their voice, quietly whispering his name.

“ace?” they said, softly.

his lungs froze for a moment.

“sorry,” he muttered, letting go. his hand felt hot. he curled it into a fist.

“ace!” they said, more insistent. “dude!”

and he finally noticed that the potion was starting to smoke, much more than it should've been. that smell was not his heart kicking into overdrive. it was burning glass. the potion was eating through the vial.

they got yelled at by crewel.

ace couldn’t hear a word of it. he kept sneaking glances sideways. he kept looking at yuu.

yuu.

yuu?

yuu is a good friend. yuu is fun to have around. yuu is sweet to him. yuu is doing their best to get home. yuu is just a friend. yuu can’t ever really be anything else. they need to get home.

but he can’t stop thinking about them.

the sparkle in their eyes. the curve of their cheek. the way they turn their head when he calls for them.

he’s resorted to writing their names together on the edge of his notebook. just to stare at it.

he feels sick about it. his stomach flips when they’re nearby. they bump his shoulder casually; they say his name like it’s nothing at all; they don’t hesitate to run up to him in the halls and say hi.

they need to get home.

they’re sitting on his - on his bed, cross-legged, back curled like a shrimp over their homework. they’re gnawing on the edge of a pen, flipping back and forth between two pages.

ace is sitting next to them, red-cheeked, forcing himself to stare down at his textbook.

deuce is getting antsy on the other side of the room.

he throws his hands up into the air, accidentally knocking his notebook to the ground.

“i can’t study anymore,” he grumbles. “this is actually mind-numbing.”

“right?” yuu slams their book shut. ace quickly follows suit.

deuce leans down to pick up his notebook. “wanna eat something?”

“oh my gosh, yes.” yuu grins and reaches for their bag. “guys, you won’t believe what i did. i actually brought snacks today! i -”

they stop short.

“oh, crap.”

“what?”

“i think i forgot everything back at ramshackle.” they dig in the bag for another moment. “yeah. nothing in here.”

“don’t worry about it,” deuce says. “we can just grab something from the kitchen.”

“i guess.” yuu bites their lower lip. “i’m sorry guys. i, um, made cookies before i came here, and i really wanted to bring them. as a surprise. i mean, i would go grab them from ramshackle, but they can wait for another day, i guess. by the time i get back, your roommates will probably be back, anyway, and - ”

“cookies?!” deuce says. “aw, man. that sucks.”

“you’re going to make them walk all the way back to ramshackle at this hour?” ace glares at him. “c’mon, deuce! we can have them some other time.”

“huh? i was just -”

“i would totally go!” yuu pipes up. “as long as you don’t mind me getting back late. i love night walks!”

“yuu -” ace starts.

“well, we could all go with you!” deuce says, leaning forward. “then we could just hang out at your dorm until curfew.”

ace feels his heart stop beating.

“deuce,” he says, slowly, “you really need to study.”

“huh?”

“to study! i know you only passed the last test because cater helped you with flash cards.”

“that’s true, that’s true,” says yuu.

“so maybe we go,” ace says, drilling his eyes into deuce’s, “and you stay.”

please, please, please.

he begs with everything in him. he mouths the words. deuce, i need this.

deuce squints at him. he opens his mouth, stops, nods slowly.

“you know,” he says, his shoulders drooping slightly, “you’re right. i’ll wait here. you guys can bring the cookies back.”

“oh, you sure?” yuu frowns as they swing their legs off the bed. “i don’t want to leave you. it’s fine, really; they can wait for another day -”

“no, nah, go ahead.” deuce glances up at ace. “i’m… fine here?”

ace nods.

“okay,” yuu says. “i guess. study hard, okay?!”

deuce salutes.

~

yuu is a bit of a chatterbox tonight.

ace is quiet.

they haven’t had time yet to talk about their day, too busy studying; so it’s all spilling out of yuu now: how their classes went; that grim probably ate half of the cookies even though they told him over and over he could only have two today; how they’re planning on spending the weekend going through ramshackle’s attic; that crowley tripped in front of them and it took everything they had not to laugh in his face.

ace, meanwhile, is quiet.

his face is burning. his legs feel shaky. he can’t stop staring at them, glancing over as he walks.

their skin is glowing in the moonlight. their lips twitch as they speak.

and ace is alone with them. wholly alone.

this doesn’t happen very often.

ace is quiet.

yuu bumps into him slightly as they turn a corner. just an accident; they’re walking a little too close.

ace clamps his teeth down around his tongue.

“sorry i haven’t shut up.” yuu stretches their arms behind their back. “how about you? how’s it been today?”

“fine,” ace says.

“fine?” they tilt their head slightly. “you sure? you’re not usually this quiet, you know.”

“yeah, i’m okay.” ace sighs through his nose. “just - just tired.”

which is true. he’s been curled up on his side, hands over his face, embarrassed and wide-awake, thinking of yuu.

who needs sleep?

“you sure?” yuu pats his shoulder. “you can always tell me anything, okay?”

so casual! they’re so casual about it! they can touch him, and look at him, and lean towards him, and bite their lip. so casual. no second thoughts! no hesitation! no burning feeling in their chest. no stutter in their breath. just their hand pressed on his shoulder. just their body so near to his.

ace gets a little dizzy.

“i’m alright. i promise.”

maybe in their world, he would be able to tell them. maybe in their world, he would be able to hold their face in his hands. let his lips tremble and his words break. tell them just how much he cared for them.

but how could he ever tell them here in twisted wonderland?

they don’t belong here. they don’t belong with you. they can never, ever belong with you.

“well, alright.” yuu eyes him as they walk. “you - you can tell me, okay? tell me anything.”

“okay.”

“i want you to feel comfortable with me, ace.”

ironic.

“yeah?”

“i feel pretty comfortable with you.”

he thinks about saying yeah again, but there’s no force left in his throat.

“sometimes i feel like i could tell you anything.”

yuu gnaws on their thumbnail for a second. they’re staring straight ahead. they’re not looking at ace anymore.

“can i?” they whisper.

their skin is glowing in the moonlight. their hair is glowing in the moonlight. their lips are glowing in the moonlight. they are warm. they are real. they are standing right next to ace trappola. they are blinking up at him, their gaze meeting his. they are mouthing it again. can i tell you anything?

he nods.

yuu nods back.

they push open their front door.

grim is right there, stamping his feet.

“about time!” he squeals. “i ate too many cookies and got myself sick! you weren’t here to comfort me!”

“crap.” yuu winces. “grim, grim i - i told you -”

“i know, i know.” he crosses his arms and pouts.

they melt a little bit and lean down to pick him up. they kiss the top of his head.

“we’re just grabbing cookies,” yuu says. “i’m heading back to heartslabyul after this.”

“no!”

“you shouldn’t have eaten too many and made yourself sick! stop complaining.”

they motion for ace to follow them into the kitchen, and shoot him an apologetic look. one second, they mouth. “oh, grim -”

the counter is littered with crumbs. only a handful of cookies are left. “how many did you eat?!”

“i’m sorry!” grim wails.

yuu puts the remaining cookies into a paper bag and lifts it towards ace. “we’re good to go.”

can i tell you anything. can i tell you anything. can i tell you anything.

“great!” he says.

“grim,” yuu whispers, right into his little ear, “if i need to have tea with ace and talk to him alone, will you go to your bed, please? for me? just until we leave.”

“no!” grim squirms in their arms. “i don’t want to be alone again! it’s cold!”

“grim,” yuu says, sternly. “after eating all my cookies, this is the least you can do.”

grim sulks. yuu melts again.

“oh, alright. you can stay. just be quiet.”

tea with ace. talk to him alone.

ace hovers behind them in the kitchen.

“uh. should i - ?”

“oh, i got it.” they motion to their table. “just sit down! i’ll be over in a sec. sorry. i hope you don’t mind this? i know deuce is waiting, but…”

their voice trails off. ace can hear what they’re trying to say. i need to tell you this right now or my entire body might implode.

ace sits. he keeps his back stiff against the chair.

his hands are so sweaty. he wipes them off on his pants.

alone. talk to him alone. alone.

he wipes his hands on his pants again. his heart is thundering, loud and fast in every vein. he can hear it thumping in between his ears.

he stares at his hands, folded on the table, and then glances back up at yuu.

they’re filling the kettle with water; grim is perched on their shoulder like a parrot, a parasite, some kind of pest. something filling the space. something wedged between the two of them.

alone. i need to talk to him alone.

ace is dizzy again. he shuts his eyes and lets the world spin around him.

yuu shuts a cupboard; sets a mug down; grabs a tea bag; they move so efficiently, so cleanly through the air. ace is so clumsy. they are so natural.

“i’m almost done,” they call to him.

ace nods.

he can’t say anything to them right now. his chest is tight. his ears are ringing.

yuu brings the kettle over, and pours him a cup of tea.

then one for themself.

they sit down across from him and wrap their hands around their mug.

grim settles in on their lap.

ace doesn’t dare speak.

ace doesn’t dare breathe.

ace doesn’t dare sip his tea, even as yuu brings theirs to their lips.

“grim will fall asleep in a minute,” they whisper.

“no, i won’t,” grim says, but his words are already starting to slur.

yuu sips their tea and glances down.

“he’s out,” they say, softly.

so it’s just the two of them.

alone.

what did you want to tell me? ace needs to ask. what was it? he needs to curl into himself, tight, wrap his arms around his knees, fold himself away like a suitcase. what was it?

but he still can’t speak. his throat has clenched tight.

“ace,” yuu says, “i need to talk to you. about something.”

they keep their voice soft. their hands are shaking as they bring the mug back to their lips.

ace squeezes his cup with both hands.

okay, he mouths.

his stomach is churning.

and surely it’s not. and surely it’s not. but they are nervous, and they are blushing, and they are dragging their hands down their face in a very familiar way.

but surely it’s not.

ace can feel how hot his face is. it’s like the skin is melting from the bone. his fingers are starting to go numb.

“it’s nothing bad.” yuu winces. “don’t worry. it’s just… i don’t know. i can’t stop thinking about it.”

“okay,” ace forces out. his voice shocks him in the still air. he sucks another breath in. “okay.”

“don’t look so nervous!” yuu sets their face in their hands. “it’s - ah. it’s nothing. don’t get nervous about it.”

“if you’re dragging it out like this,” ace grumbles, “it’s going to make me nervous.”

“sorry. sorry.” they roll their neck back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. “it’s, okay. i, like, it’s not that big a deal. but i think i might have a crush on someone.”

ace’s mouth falls open.

“just a crush!” yuu insists. their eyes are wide. “i’ve barely even - even talked to them. it’s just a stupid, stupid crush. but it’s taking over my life. and i needed to tell someone about it.”

“who is it?” ace wheezes. his vision is blurring a little bit.

“ugh, no one.” yuu takes a big gulp of tea, and then coughs. it’s too hot still. “uh, um. it’s really embarrassing.”

“no, of course not. go right ahead.”

surely ace is not the one talking right now. surely someone else is handling this smooth, effective conversation. because he is about to pass out, honestly.

“not like i have a chance or anything.” they sigh. “it’s, uh.” they shut their eyes tight and speak down, towards their mug. not towards ace. “malleus. malleus draconia,” they clarify, like he needs his last name too. no, no, don’t worry. he knows who malleus is.

“malleus,” ace repeats.

“malleus.”

and if ace was so speechless at the way yuu said his name, how would malleus feel about the way they said his? so breathless. awed. almost like a prayer, a hymn, a miracle.

they said ace’s name only like a promise.

he clenches his fist around his mug.

“it’s stupid, right?” yuu laughs softly, and covers their mouth with one hand. “i’ve only spoken to him a few times, but he’s… he’s so gentle towards me. and he’s… he’s handsome.”

yes, of course he is.

malleus draconia. malleus draconia! of course, of course, of course. ace glances down and sees his reflection staring back in his tea. plain, boring old ace trappola. of course they’d never think twice about something like you.

“sorry for making such a big deal out of it.” yuu shakes their head and leans back in their chair. “i don’t know why having a crush is so awful. it feels like i’m being ripped in two. shouldn’t it feel good? i would think it should feel good.”

ace stares at his reflection in the tea.

“ace?” yuu asks. “you there?”

“yeah,” he says, looking up from his cup. “sorry.”

you are not going to cry in front of yuu just because they like someone else. you are NOT going to cry in front of yuu just because they like someone else. you are NOT.

ace clenches his jaw.

“you know,” he says, stiffly, “that he’s a fae, right?”

“huh? well, yeah.”

“a fae,” he repeats. “he’s going to live for centuries. and you - you don’t even know if you’re going to stay here! not to mention that he’s a prince!”

“i know!” yuu narrows their eyes at him. “of course i know all that. it’s just a crush, man. i’m not asking him out or anything.”

ace’s cheeks have been burning since the moment yuu stepped into his room this afternoon, but right now, they turn to pure molten lava. his entire face is hot. his entire neck is hot. his shoulders, even.

the two sips of tea sit heavy in his stomach.

“i mean, surely you’ve felt this too, right?” they swallow hard. it echoes through the room. “some crush you can never, like, actually be with?”

ace’s chest aches.

he nods.

“it sucks,” yuu says. “like, really really sucks, doesn’t it.”

they roll their head to the side and stare across the table at ace.

their eyes cut right through him.

their lips their hands their eyes their voice everything that they are, plus malleus. plus malleus. plus malleus.

“deuce is waiting for us,” ace says.