Page 3 of The Awakening
“Doctor Jae?”
I stand up straighter. Was my mouth hanging open? Stepping to the side, I hold the door. “You have consent to enter.”
Junichi crosses through the doorframe. Or rather, he swaggers, holding the elegant bouquet at his side. “So formal,” he remarks, taking in my flat. He’s speaking English suddenly. “‘Come in’ is equally sufficient.”
I hesitate, but then answer in English as well. I’m proud of my Japanese and I studied hard. First languages are always more comfortable though, aren’t they? Plus, this ismyhouse. “Right. Well… it’s not like I do this every day.” Not with high-levelers, anyway. I haven’t let any vampires paw at me in the three and a half months I’ve been here. Cyrus would be proud.
Only ranked vampires—purebreds, first-, second- and third-gens—need permission to enter a private residence. It’s ironic though, because most ranked vampires wouldnotbe bothered with entering a human’s home.
After closing the door, I move past him and toward the kitchen. He smells nice, like there’s a haze of something very good hovering around his body. Not cologne. Something lighter, cleaner and elemental from the earth. Cypress and spearmint. A hint of lavender?
“Beer? Wine?” I ask, pulling the door to the fridge open.
“Are you nervous? You seem tense.”
“No,” I lie, raking my hand through my hair. It’s nearly dry. “Which do you prefer?”
He moves closer to stand in the kitchen, then leans against the counter with his hip, flowers still at his side. “What areyouhaving?” he asks.
“Beer. Probably.”
“Beer it is.”
I grab two bottles from the fridge with one hand. When I lift my arm to hand him one, he raises the bouquet and smirks, like he wants us to trade. There’s an awkward pause of silence before I groan and take it from him with my free hand. He takes the beer, grinning.
“Thanks,” I say, placing the flowers on the counter. I walk over to the round table off to the side. My kitchen space is small, but cozy enough for me and one other person. As a whole, my flat is very plain: beige walls, basic necessities and functional furniture. A tea kettle on the hob, a kitchen table, a gray sofa in the sitting area and a tall maple bookshelf pressed against the wall stuffed with all of my medical journals and research books. I don’t even have a television and I don’t care about decorating.
At the kitchen table, I pull a chair out for myself. “I picked up some food from the shop… in case youactuallywanted to eat.”
Junichi walks forward to meet me. “My understanding is that we’re having dinner. It’s what I asked for last week when I returned your book.”
I blow out a breath. “Right.” Sitting, I tell myself not to be irritated that he’s playing some kind of uppity vampire game with me—asking for dinner and bringing me expensive flowers. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t need all this if he’s just going to shag me and leave.
He sits across from me as I pop the plastic tops off our dinners. The food still feels fairly warm. I love supermarkets in Japan. They’re neat and clean, chock full of ready-made, delicious foods like breaded pork over rice, all manner of crispy croquettes, giant makizushi rolls and even okonomiyaki—not to mention a wide array of bentos with veg and grilled fish. It’s like they have some wonderful grandma in the back room, cooking up delicacies all day every day.
That sounds terrible, actually. Elderly-slave labor. I sincerely hope that’s not the case.
“You said your schedule is very busy at the hospital?” Junichi’s voice is cool and low in the silence, and his black eyes are focused on me.
I avoid his gaze by shuffling things around on the table. “Yes. Things were slow the first month, but it’s getting quite hectic.”
“You’ve been here for three months, right?”
“Almost four.” I clap my hands over the food in gratitude as per the local custom before picking up my chopsticks. “Itadakmasu.”
Junichi mimics the phrase and gesture, then picks up his chopsticks. “How do you like living here?”
I shrug. “It’s nice. Clean. People are friendly and there’s loads of work.”
“I’m assuming from your accent that you’re from England?”
“Yes. Born in London—East End. But I moved with my family to the outskirts of Bristol when I was thirteen. More rural.”
“Bristolian.” Junichi smiles. “South-west England is nice. I’ve traveled to Bath for work.” He maneuvers the chopsticks with his long fingers, grabbing a slice of salmon and bringing it to his mouth. I’m watching him and wondering what he does for work. He’s so tall. He could be a fashion model. Easily.
I also want to ask him, “What are you?” Which is odd because Ihatethat question. I’ve been asked that question my entire life. It’s always awkward. I wish people would just wait and put the clues together on their own instead of being so focused on racial identity (my current hypocrisy aside).
Literally, it’s the first question I’m asked sometimes, and I have to explain that my mother was a blonde Englishwoman and my father is South Korean: like I’m a dog at the Westminster Kennel Club offering my papers. Anyone with any subtle intuition and understanding of the world at large would realize my first name is Korean and my last name is not. It’s right there in the name. Half and half. Jae Davies.
