Page 22 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
He hadn’t looked half this bad on Monday evening when he’d shown up for work—a simple job of watching a cotton-candy haired artist who drew caricatures outside the more popular downtown bars on weekend nights—but Mr. Babcock had still eyed him like he was about to collapse at a moment’s notice. Or burst into flame. Vincent had concealed his vampirism from the man as much as possible, taking as many jobs with sunlit hours as he could confidently survive and nodding along when Babcock’s assistant made an insulting vampire joke about their fellow night owls.
“There’s more than a few around here that are probably night bats,” she’d said. “Not even the nice kind, but the gross little rabid balls that end up everywhere you don’t want them. But at least most real bats have the decency to eat the mosquitos instead of being the mosquito.”
Babcock had hmm’ed in response but hadn’t contradicted her.
Vincent wanted to walk out on them both. But he’d offered up his notes and taken his cash. As he’d turned the corner, he’d caught a final jest from Babcock’s assistant.
“I get it,” she replied with a harsh laugh. “Two rabid bats, one stone. A double kill.”
Vincent had tugged up his hood and kept his head down despite the sky still being mostly black against the streaks of pink.
But now it was Wednesday morning, and if he had to go to work like this he was pretty sure Babcock would at the least send him to a hospital, and at most make him stand in the sun just to prove something. He’d have to call in sick. That would give him enough time to try biting someone again tonight. His attempt on Sunday had gone about as well as the first, but by now the numbness and tingling in his fangs had almost vanished. No more hot mouth.
Very little HotMouth too, since he’d had to keep his phone off to conserve its power the last few days. Every time he held down the button, he gritted his teeth, hoping it would decide it had just enough battery left to return to him. When the little animated bat on his lock screen appeared, he breathed out, only to cringe at the 13% on the corner dropping to 12%. His notifications popped in: three memes, a blurry photo of Wesley’s bedhead, and a small essay regarding the nature of one particularly annoying lesbian named Kendall, all from Wesley.
The most recent message Wesley had sent lodged in his chest, and he had to reread it, once, then twice. A little bit of liquid pooled in the corner of his eye. He wiped at it before realizing it was not the weird dark stuff leaking from his bloodstream, but a tear.
LordOfTheWin
Dude, you still having problems with biting?
I got you a blood bag. Don’t ask how just worship me.
(That was a joke, you don’t have to worship me. I do have a bag of blood for you though. Hope you like AB positive.)
Vinny, you okay?
I can come to you if you need me to. I’ll leave it on your doorstep. No sexy necks in sight.
I’m not saying I’m scared for you but dude if you could answer me I’d feel a lot better right now.
Vincent?
I’m basically pleading for a response at this point.
Beneath that he sent a picture of a bag of blood set on a fancy plate with condiments smeared elegantly beneath and garnish sprinkled on top like it was a dish at some expensive restaurant instead of swiped from a blood bank. Vincent sniffled, pressing a hand to his nose. This was so much. It was too much. No one should have been going to these great of lengths for him, pathetic, mildly useless vampire that he was. And yet here was Wesley, having found or bought or stolen a blood bag, for Vincent.
Vincent tried to think of another time someone, anyone, had put in that much effort when he’d been sick or depressed or desperate. His parents? Absolutely not. His sisters? If it didn’t cost them time or money, maybe. Friends? He’d never had any he considered close enough to share the extent of his troubles. But he hadn’t even told Wesley just how badly he was doing, and this man he’d met through the shoddiest of circumstances and who’d been nothing but kind to him had still gone through all this trouble. And he smelled good.
Goddamn him.
HotMouth
Sorry, phone was off.
You’re amazing though.
He erasedI think I’m in loveandyou’re my god nowbefore finally settling onI owe you onejust in time for Wesley to reply:
HotMouth
I owe you one.
LordOfTheWin
Thank fuck I was about to call the national guard.
Can you come here or should I go to you?
