#....for now

At least there were comic books.

They were cheesy, colorful, heavy-handed in their sense of morality and justice, as most comic books were at the time. But that's exactly why Ashe liked them.

They showed him a world that he wanted to live in. A world where he wasn't a disgusting creature, but a hero - a world where his strange body could be used for good, to protect and defend, a world where even the best people had to hide their real identities, where even the best people were sometimes at war with themselves.

Comic books understood Ashe in a way that nothing else seemed to.

The characters, while two-dimensional and cartoony, felt like his friends. He so badly wanted to step into the pages of his comics, to join a team of other freaks who would understand him, who would value his differences rather than fear them, a team who would love him. A team to laugh with, to share with, to fight alongside and comfort. A family.

But he couldn't. He knew that. He had to be alone - he wasn't a hero, he wasn't in a fantasy world where good always prevailed. It was nice to pretend. But it wasn't real. It could never be real.

Still, there was an aching, gnawing desire to be known - to have his ugliness known. A desire to be seen, to be fully stripped bare down to his heart and soul, to cease the agony of hiding away. Some days he wanted to be accepted, to be loved, to have someone look at him fully and say: you are not that strange, you are not unlovable, you are worth something. Other days, he wished it could all be over sooner than later, that he could be chased out with pitchforks and fire like he knew he deserved. But he hid himself away. Most days, the pain came from hiding - despite his thoughts, his fears, his only friend and his only enemy seemed to both be himself.

He preferred the sun, the heat of the bright daylight, but it felt like shining a beacon on something that wasn't supposed to be seen; He stayed in the dark, mostly in abandoned buildings or occasionally the shadow of alleyway dumpsters if he had nowhere else to go. He liked staying deep into forests whenever he could, under tall tree canopies, living with the other animals who didn't want to be seen, but forests were few and far between. More common were cities, crawling with people who would hate him if they knew what he really was.

Life was quiet. Lonely.

As it should be, for a thing like him.

Ashe had been sitting on a the rooftop of an abandoned restaurant one night in a busy city, lounging on the flat concrete with his back against an old brick chimney, when it stopped being quiet. It was a warm night, but for him he was cold, hunkered down in a makeshift nest of stacked blankets on top of him and around him. He was chain-smoking, as he typically did to pass the time, more of a way to keep his hands busy than something he actually benefited from. He flipped through the pages of his favorite comics, bored and depressed, re-reading the same pages over and over. Then something startled him.

The roof top hatch, opening with a loud squeak, a man climbing up out of it as he whistled. He was young looking, mid 20s maybe, boney and tall with tattoo sleeves covering his pale arms and messy black hair obscuring his face. He wore a band tee with the sleeves cut off, even more cuts in his black jeans, with a small black back-pack pressed between his elbow and chest.

Ashe jumped up, tangled in his blankets, his dark hoodie falling from his head in the struggle and exposing his horns. He had been taking longer to chisel them, letting them grow out, not out of a newfound acceptance of himself but out of a hatred for the pain that mutilating them caused. They were beginning to curl back, black and jagged and crusted with blood that hurt too much to scrub, a stark contrast above his soft white hair.

The man dropped his back-pack, glass and liquid contents spilling out onto the concrete.

"Bloody fucking Christ!"

Ashe heaved a sigh, grimacing. He phased his horns out, but he knew it was a bit too late. His face flushed, warm and uncomfortable. He felt a bit like being caught naked - in a way, this was much worse.

The man had fallen on his ass, lying there like a terrified crab for a moment. But quickly, he got up, dusting himself off and looking Ashe in the face. He shook his head, looking more bewildered than afraid.

"What the fuck are you!?"

Ashe scowled. "Is that how you greet everyone or just me?"

It was then Ashe noticed the glass on the ground, shattered, having fallen out of the back-pack. Tiny bottles in bits and pieces, corks, and... blood. Human blood, running into the concrete, drying up and soaking it dark crimson. He looked up to the other man, eyes wide, only then noticing the man's red lips and tinged teeth.

"Oh-- You're--" Ashe blinked. Now he was the one bewildered. "Are you... drinking that?"

The man's words caught in his throat. Speechlessly, he gestured around, "I was fuckin' plannin' to!"

Ashe couldn't believe it. Vampires were real. Then again, he himself was much stranger, yet still: there were other monsters in the world, real, true monsters, like in all the books and movies. Someone else was drinking blood. Someone else was hiding on roof tops. He frowned; it was probably selfish to be so excited about such a thing, and yet he was. Someone else was like him, if only a little bit. He didn't have time to process it all.

"Well? What do you want?" The vampire asked him.

"Huh?"

"Fuckin' speak, then. Go ahead. What did they send you for?"

Ashe stared stupidly, his thoughts buffering in circles. "...Who?"

The vampire pinched his nose, face scrunching. His frustration looked painful. "Dominic? Jasmine? Whoever? What do you want?"

"I... have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," Ashe concluded. "I didn't know anyone else would be up here. I can leave, if you want."

The vampire's face fell. "You... don't know who I am?"

Ashe shook his head. "Should I?"

"You're not here to kill me or somethin'? You're not from Dominic, or... or Him?" His face turned pale, almost sickly, as he choked out the next words like a lump sat in his throat. "The... The 'Great' One?"

Ashe tilted his head like a confused dog. "No... Who the fuck calls themselves The Great One?"

The man's jaw seemed to drop. He turned, pacing, hands running over his face. He laughed, seeming - almost - speechless.

"Holy shit-- Who are you?"

Ashe scratched the back of his neck, wincing sheepishly. "Your guess is as good as mine. Look, I don't know who you are or who any of those people are, but... I'm sorry you dropped your food."

He eyed the crimson concrete. Someone's blood, gone, taken from them and not even used. A shame. A waste.

"I know what it's like to be hungry," Ashe said.

"What? Oh..." The man stopped pacing, turning to focus on Ashe, then to the spill. "Right... You, uh, you drink blood too - whatever you are?"

Ashe frowned, looking away. He took a moment to answer. "Well, I'd prefer something else, but... yeah. Sometimes I do. When I have to."

He sat back down by the chimney, sighing. He reached in his hoodie pocket, pulling out the pack of cigarettes. Holding the pack, he extended his arm out and wiggled them. "Want one? They're free."

The man laughed, a surprised chuckling turning into full-on wheezing laughter. He slapped his knees, tossing his hands up after. "Well, fuck me," he shook his head, "I'm having a smoke with a goddamn demon, and he isn't here to kill me. Just when I thought life was outta surprises."

Ashe smiled, small. He couldn't help it. Something about the other man made him feel lighter.

He moved towards Ashe, boldly and unafraid, a strong stride in his long legs that Ashe found his eyes drawn to.

Someone was walking towards him. The real him. And they weren't afraid. Ashe didn't know that was possible.

"You okay there?" The man asked, hands on his knees as he leaned towards Ashe.

"Oh-- uh, um-- yes. Here," Ashe retrieved a zip-lighter from his jean pocket, fumbling it as he took it out but quickly striking it.

The man held his cigarette out between two fingers, waiting for it to be lit.

Ashe was still finding it hard to believe that this man was inches from him, leaning down, about to share a smoke with him. He looked a bit confused still, yet not afraid - if anything, he looked amazed, not fearful, his smokey make-up ringed eyes trailing over Ashe slowly and curiously.

Ashe dropped the lighter.

"Fuck. Sorry."

The man snorted. "Any day now, demon," he teased.

Ashe lit the cigarette.

The man pulled away, standing up tall again, turning to the side. He took a long drag, not saying anything for a moment as he looked up at the star-less night sky. He shook his head. "I can't fuckin' believe this," he said with another chuckle. "What a night."

"Neither can I," Ashe said softly.