mimi.

It was all fine and dandy at first as you showed him around campus while he told you small historical facts about the place. You even fed him cafeteria french fries while you studied. He didn't like it, but the way he was munching inside your backpack says otherwise. You liked the thrill, it was like you brought your cat to school when it's forbidden. Like Mary and her little lamb, but as the night continues and he gets bored inside your bag, it gets harder to hide the fact that you brought a bat to night school. It all sounds like the start of a joke.

Hobie wiggles inside your bag that's on your lap, squeaking inside as he reads your notes about Emily Brontë. With a telepathic line connected with you, he speaks in your head while you try to listen to the lesson in front of you.

“Your handwritin’ is shit, love. Didn't they teach you cursive?”

“Fuck off, Hobie.” You reply in your head, but your annoyed expression still shows. “I was homeschooled, and our elders didn't exactly teach anything beyond how to throw a knife or basic spells.”

“That explains a lot.” He snickers inside, the squeaking gets a few people's attention.

You fake a sneeze, looking at them apologetically until they turn their heads away from you. “Keep it down! They can still hear your rat noises! And what the fuck does that mean?!”

“‘m goin' to ignore the fact that you called me a rat, love.” You feel him move around inside your bag. “And I didn't mean anythin’ by that.” His sing-song tone would usually have you gazing at him gently, but with you paying an ungodly amount for night school, his behaviour has you more annoyed than endeared. He does however look cute in his tiny bat form, but that thought escapes you when he peeks his fluffy head out of the zipper of your bag, a q-tip in between his fangs. “Why do you have a used q-tip in ‘ere?”

Groaning audibly, the sound echoing inside the silent classroom, everyone, even the professor stops to look at you. “Sorry, I have to take a call.” Making up an excuse, you gather your things and shove it inside your bag haphazardly while ignoring Hobie's protests in your mind. “Sorry, excuse me.” Slinking out of the hall, you exit out with your head down.

“That fuckin’ hurt!” He rubs his tiny head, peeking through the opened zipper as you ignore him and find a quiet janitor's closet to hide in.

“Good!” You say audibly, flicking the light switch to show your anger towards the bat. “I told you that you can stay if you're quiet, Hobie!”

Flying above you, he matches your height. “I was! Until I saw your shit take about ‘Emma!’”

“It was my opinion! That was the assignment!”

Hobie's about to reply back with another quip, but his ear picks up the sound of footsteps outside. Immediately turning back to his usual form, black smoke fills your vision before you're gently shoved against the shelf. Jugs of cleaners and mops fall down as you feel his lips lightly press against your own. Your instincts tell you to kiss back, despite your previous anger, you kiss him like always, anger dissipating and fading to annoyance until his lips kiss back in tandem then you've forgotten what you were arguing about. You find that he always has that effect on you. Knowing that he'll never use vampire hypnotism on you or anyone, it's safe to say that it's just his lips and touch making you melt in his arms.

The door creaks open, light flooding inside. Hobie pulls away, pecking you once more before looking over his shoulder. “Care to knock, mate?” His hand cradles the back of your head while the other holds your waist. Gentle as he avoids his sharp nails from poking you.

“This isn't a motel.” A gruff voice says, you see him tapping his foot against the floor through Hobie's arm. “Get out or I'll call the dean.”

“Shit, yes, sorry.” Pushing Hobie off of you, the fear of getting suspended tamps out the need to kiss him. Tugging him by his belt loops, you couldn't look the stranger in the eyes as you lead him away. You don't let him go until you're out in the near empty courtyard. Sighing in relief, you lean against the wall and cradle your face in embarrassment.

“Love.”

“Stop.”

“I haven't even said anythin' yet.” Chuckling, Hobie taps your shoe with his.

“I know what you were about to say just from your tone.” Your muffled voice has him laughing more. “It's not funny. That was embarrassing.”

Gently, he takes your hands away from your face, meeting with your eyes as you gaze back to his wine red ones. “‘m sorry, ‘m a wanker.”

“You were.” Stomping your foot like you're throwing a tantrum, Hobie cups your cheeks, hands colder than the night air. “I know you were bored but you could've just said so and I'd take you outside so you could go home.”

“Nah, I wasn't bored.” His thumb traces your cheek. “And I don't want to go home without you.”

“Then why were you being annoying? You know how much this means to me.”

With a sigh, Hobie, a fearsome thousand year old vampire, places his head on your shoulder and exhales like a lovelorn school boy. He mumbles something incoherent and you have to nudge and ask him what kind of sound he just let out.

“Iwastryingtogetyourattention.” He says quickly, barely catching what he meant.

“Hobie, didn't your governess tell you not to mumble?” Joking back, he leans away, eyes narrowed at you.

“I never had a governess.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Throwing his words back at him, he tamps down a chortle, fangs peeking through his lips. “Come on, why do you need to get my attention when you have it almost 24/7?”

“I saw the bloke that you talked ‘bout with Gwen.” He rests against your clavicle, the position is awkward with his stature, back bent like a shrimp and his hand mindlessly playing with a string from your jumper. “He kept starin’ at you, lovie.”

“Aww,” you coo, hands rubbing along his back. “My big bad vampire is jealous.”

Hobie abruptly yanks himself off you. “I can rip him to shreds.”

“I know you can.” Smiling, you cradle his cheeks, immediately calming him down. “I didn't even notice him there. I was listening to the lesson.”

“You were?” He asks, hands gravitating towards your hips. “I thought—”

“Your jealousy knows no bounds, Hobie Brown.” Poking him, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. “I swear every full moon you're like this, you're like a werewolf but instead of transforming you turn into a green monster of jealousy. Seriously, not even Pav is safe when we drove out for two hours to get his wizard robes.” Maybe something in your ancient tomes says something about vampires and their monthly bouts of jealousy.

“Only for you, lovie.” Puckering his lips, he tries to kiss you but you block him with your hand.

“Nuh uh, you're not getting off that easily. Fly home, Hobat, before I take out my stake.”

“But—”

“Go, or I'll tell our housemates what you did.”

“Not even one—”

“Guess I have to sleep in my own bed tonight.” You fake a sigh.

With a puff of smoke, Hobie turns back into a bat, wings flapping loudly as he squeaks. “Already flyin’ away!”

Smiling as you gaze at his retreating form, you wince. “Now I have to apologize to the custodian. I hope he likes cafeteria cookies.” You think.

“We're still linked, lovie! I'd like some cookies!”

You're never bringing Hobie to class ever again no matter how much he flashes his puppy dog eyes at you and kisses you softly. Maybe, probably.

As he strides towards the bar, his posture casual, hands tucked inside his pockets and with the nonchalance of someone who owns the place. Judging by how he paid for the single pint he ordered, that's not the case. But the curt nod exchanged by the handsome stranger and the bartender says that he's a regular. He just has that air around him that turns heads, admiration or something more as you see some patrons glance his way— all having the same shining eyes you probably have right now.

You purse your lips when he wraps his lithe ringed fingers around the glass, but before he sips, he blinks, head craning to look in your direction.

Caught in the act, you almost squeak, hands gripping at the glass of your forgotten drink as the handsome older stranger tilts his head, a smile curling on the corner of his lips. His eyes seem to gaze at you for hours, but with a parting chuckle from him, he turns back towards his lone drink.

“Shit.” You curse under your breath, palms clammy as you swallow thickly just from how you remembered his eyes meeting your own.

Your friends seem to notice your obvious gawking, and Betty, your best friend, taps your shoulder with a raise of her neat brow. “If you don't talk to him now, I will.”

“Don’t you dare.” Glaring, she giggles, pushing you off the booth until you're tethering off the edge of the rough leather seat. “Betty!” You whisper yell, gripping the end of the table.

“Go,” she continues to urge you, pinching your sides as you hop off the seat with a wince. “Go use your pretty girl charm and get your old man!”

“What charm?” Trying to sit back down, she quickly slides over to your seat, blocking you. “Betty!” Your friends stifle a laugh.

“How about a bet, to encourage you to put your pretty ass out there, hm?” She pokes your stomach, still sitting in your seat. You roll your eyes, pushing her away with your knee to no avail. “If you get his number, then we'll buy you that book you've been raving about.”

“Really?” You perk up, staring at your friends as they nod with a chuckle. “You better not be fucking with me, Betty, that's a really expensive book, it's limited edition.”

Betty almost falters. “Well, if we split it then it won't be, right?” She gets a few reluctant nods. “Besides, do you think you'll get his number?”

“For the book? Yes, bonus I get myself a boyfriend that would go to the store to buy me pads— and yes, I'm looking at you Anna and your Chad, who thinks wings are actually chicken wings.” A round of guffaws echoes out as Anna nods and sends you off with a pat on your behind.

As you start crossing the distance towards the mysterious hot stranger, you start to feel the nerves ebbing through you. Your hands are like waterfalls, and your legs feel like jelly once you get near enough to smell his cologne. Not overpowering that would give you the ick, it's citrus with a hint of fresh linen and mint.

You slide on the stool beside him, not knowing what to do with your hands as you put it on the counter then immediately change your mind and put it over your lap.

He raises a pierced brow, side eyeing you over the rim of his glass. “You’re punchin’ above your age range, love.”

Fuck, even his voice sends shivers down your arms. A good kind of shiver, not the type that you get when there's a scary movie playing.

“Really? I thought you were my age.” That's a shit reply, you thought to yourself, cringing. You close your eyes then swallow down your nerves before exhaling and craning your neck to finally look at him. “So, what's your poison?”

A smile slowly spreads on his pierced lips, eyes roaming around the curve of your jaw before meeting your own. “A girl after my own heart.”

“I'm not a girl, I'm a woman.” That sounded better in your head. You bite your lip to suppress a pained groan as you try to flag down the bartender.

He looks you up and down before flicking his eyes to yours once again. “Clearly.”

Your cheeks are on fire. Not getting a word out, the bartender ignores you.

He swallows the last of his drink, placing the glass down before flicking his wrist, index and middle raised as he calls the bartender effortlessly. You're in awe as the bartender walks over to him.

“A whiskey, neat for me and a cherry daiquiri for the…” he smirks, eyes glancing at you for a moment. “...Woman.”

You huff in your seat, cheeks still aflame. “How'd you know that's my drink?”

“Saw you cradlin’ it while you were oglin’ me.” The drinks slide on the counter, and he catches them before handing you your own. “A cherry daiquiri for the woman.” He teases with a glint in his eyes.

“Fine, I get it, I'm not your type.” Your shoulders slump, inhaling deeply and accepting defeat. “At least let me pay for the drinks.”

“Now, I didn't say anythin' ‘bout that.” His eyes grow softer, head tilting as he smiles, a genuine one, not a playful one. “Who said you're not my type?”

“Y–You, wait– no, I did. Yeah I did.” You stutter, almost fumbling off your seat as he grins at you.

“That right?” He rolls his shoulders, finger tapping the glass of his amber drink. “I figured I owe you a conversation with you payin’ and the book on the line.”

Chuckling nervously, you play with the hem of your dress. He keeps gazing at you like you're the only person in the whole pub, like all of his attention is on you. “W–What book?” You're caught red handed.

“The book that you'll get if you manage to get my number. What kind of book is it then?” He takes a sip, and you find yourself ogling at his bobbing Adam's apple.

You shake your thoughts away, taking your own drink and sipping at it, all the while trying not to choke from the pretty sight in front of you. “It's a new edition of my favourite book. It has a new cover, and they only made like a hundred of them.”

“Shit, is it the one from S. Collins?”

Your eyes widen, expression lighting up from the mention. “Yes! It's by her! Have you read it?”

“Read it? Love, I read all of ‘em.”

Grinning, the two of you fall into a smooth and casual conversation. From talking about books to everything under the sun. He's easy to talk to, smart and not just easy on the eyes. It's as if you've known him your whole life, and based on his easy smile, he feels the same. You don't realize it's been an hour until Betty tosses a straw at you and taps her watch.

“Shit,” you turn back towards him and his shoulders slouch with slight disappointment. “I have to go, thank you by the way. It's—” your heart already aches. “It was nice.” As you toss some bills on the counter, he stops you with his hand bracelet around your wrist gently.

“You forgot somethin', love.”

“What's that?”

“My name, it's Hobie, Hobie Brown.”

Your shyness peeks out as you tell him your name. Hobie smiles back, nodding and hiding his face by taking a napkin on the counter and writing something on it. Wait, was he flustered?

“And my number, call me when you get your book.”