Work Text:
Gabe was turned into a vampire three months ago, and ever since then, he’s avoided garlic bread like the plague. He works very hard to make sure of this. Not that he ever eats lunch anyway, but he always makes sure he’s as far as possible from the cafeteria on Spaghetti Day.
“You’re not going to eat with us on Spaghetti Day?” Alex asks, astounded, as if this is some sort of crime. “Again?”
Gabe shrugs, leaning against the set of lockers his friends are grouped around and holds up a green slip of paper. “I already got a pass from the library to spend my lunch period there. I really need to study for Physics.”
Ryland frowns. “But the garlic bread, man!”
“I can get garlic bread anywhere,” Gabe says. “I think I’ll survive.”
The bell for first period rings, resonating through the hallways, and Ryland says, “Well, good luck with Physics, then,” before he, Alex, Nate, and Vicky all say quick goodbyes and turn to scurry off to whatever their first class of the day is. Gabe hurries away, weaving seamlessly through the sea of teenagers to the staircase he climbs to the third floor, where his Spanish classroom is located.
Gabe didn’t always have to avoid garlic bread like the plague. He used to actually quite enjoy it, thank you very much. But a few nights before the first day of school, he made the very foolish decision of walking home from Nate’s house alone, not only at midnight, but also heavily intoxicated. He was easily knocked off his balance by a vampire attack, and the rest is history. Gabe had always thought Twilight was stupid, because what vampire would want to spend their time in fucking high school, but now he’s forced to live through what he always used to ridicule. Not that it’s awful, but even with all his friends, sometimes he feels alone. Nobody else has to avoid garlic bread like he does. Or silver. Or bright sunlight. Or open wounds. Everyone else gets to worry about college applications and daydream about their teenage crushes, while Gabe gets to worry about immortality and daydream about blood.
So, yeah. That’s a fancy way of saying Gabe misses when just accidentally touching a mere crumb of garlic bread didn’t burn his skin to the touch. That was extremely fun to learn during the first Spaghetti Day of his senior year.
Gabe drops his backpack next to the desk he’s assigned to sit in. It’s in the back, because the teacher already knows Gabe is fluent in Spanish and therefore doesn’t really need to pay as much attention. William, the junior he sits next to, is already there, tracing between the bones of his hands with his nails. Gabe assumes William’s in the back because he’s smart and also doesn’t need to pay as much attention, because he doesn’t really know why else a junior would be in AP Spanish. William doesn’t look up as Gabe sits down, and Gabe finds himself somewhat disappointed by that, so he says, “William, buenos dias.”
“Morning to you too,” William mutters, not looking up and still distracted by tracing the bones of his spindly hand. Now that Gabe’s so focused on his nails, he notices they’re tinted slightly blue. Maybe it’s marker. William seems like the artistic type to him.
That morning is yet another Spanish test Gabe didn’t have to study for at all, so as he digs through the depths of his backpack in search of a pen, disturbing the ancient mess of crumpled old worksheets and notes, he sees that William looks up when the Butcher approaches him. Gabe can’t help but feel a slight bubbling of envy.
“Are you ready for the test?” Butcher asks, and William jumps, tearing his hand from the bones of his other hand. Like tracing the bones of his hand is some odd mannerism he’d never dream of being caught in.
Gabe doesn’t understand this. He, personally, has far worse mannerisms, like avoiding garlic bread like the plague.
“Yeah,” William says. Instead of tracing his hand, he grips the edges of his desk. “I’m just gonna do what I always do, you know?”
Butcher sighs. “Guess I can’t stop you.”
And then William’s stomach rumbles, and his hands shoot from the edges of the desk to clench his stomach. “I’m good,” he says quickly, a hint of panic flittering in the glint of his eyes.
“Are you hungry?” Butcher asks. Gabe can’t tell whether his tone is suspicious or not. Maybe it’s half-and-half. A denial sort of half-and-half, although he doesn’t know what the hell Butcher would want to deny. “It’s Spaghetti Day. Lunch is going to be great, right?”
“Um… actually, I’m not going to lunch,” William says. The rhythm of his voice is off-beat, signalling it’s a spur-of-the-moment decision. Butcher raises a brow, and William hastily clarifies, “I have to study. And garlic bread doesn’t agree with me.”
Butcher considers the explanation and ends up shrugging. “Well, sure. I don’t know why you’d want to miss out on the garlic bread, though--”
“Well, I am,” William snaps. “So just leave it. Class starts in a minute, anyway. Let me clear my head before the test starts.”
“Geez, fine,” Butcher says, backing away, and he gives him a sheepish smile. “Good luck, I guess.”
As soon as Butcher’s back at his seat and William is still staring ahead, arms wrapped around his stomach, Gabe glances up from his backpack and playfully teases, “I thought everyone liked the garlic bread.”
William glares at Gabe, and says defensively, “Well, I don’t. Garlic is overrated, anyway.”
“No, don’t worry. I’m on your side,” Gabe assures him. “Garlic is pretty overrated.”
“Oh.” William lets down his guard, shoulders relaxing. “So… you don’t like the garlic bread either?”
“Nope,” Gabe says. And he can sense there’s something in this conversation, a potential connection to cling onto, and finds himself adding, “I don’t like food in general.”
William’s eyes grow with interest, gauging the phrase before he smiles lightly and admits, “I don’t like food in general, either.”
Immediately, Gabe knows that there’s a hidden meaning behind William’s words, trying to tell him something. Does he know? Is he trying to tell Gabe that he’s a…
The test packet being slapped onto Gabe’s desk interrupts his train of thought, breaking his prolonged staring with William as his eyes jump to the test. “You have twenty minutes,” the teacher says gruffly, and Gabe flips open his packet.
But even as he starts filling in multiple choice bubbles, Gabe feels William’s eyes, burning into him as they usually do. And suddenly Gabe realizes the mystery of why they’re so inexplicably drawn together.
William is a vampire too, he thinks, Holy shit, es un maldito vampiro! It makes so much sense!
Unfortunately, his excitement causes him to accidentally snap his pen in half, splattering ink across his scantron paper. William sighs in annoyance, and the burning of his eyes is gone as Gabe raises his hand and prepares to tell his teacher that yes, he did indeed break a pen in half yet again.
Gabe and William not only have Spanish class together, but also third period Gym. Gabe doesn’t usually feel the burning of William’s eyes when they’re changing in the locker room, but he usually reasons that’s because William would be distracted by Mike and Sisky whipping their clothes at each other and chasing each other around.
However, today is different. Even with his back turned, Gabe can feel William’s eyes slinking up his body, studying every inch as his legs are exposed for a brief moment when he grabs his gym shorts out of his locker (although they’re really more of hot pink booty shorts rather than gym attire). And he doesn’t look away when Gabe turns to confirm. He boldly glances up from Gabe’s legs and meets his eyes, an intrigue behind his exterior.
When Gabe is heading out of the locker room, there’s a breeze of chilly breath on his ear as William whispers from behind him, “How long?”
Gabe stops and turns around, narrowing his eyes at William. “How long what?”
“You know,” William says, exuding confidence that they each know exactly what he’s talking about, his eyes urging him to talk.
“Three months,” Gabe finally says. “And you?”
William shrugs and doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, come on,” Gabe presses. “I told you, you have to tell me. Is it less than three months?”
“What? No!” William spits defensively. “It’s just… complicated.”
“It’s not really. There’s a clear starting point, you know,” Gabe says, and he points to his own neck. William looks at him weirdly.
“Not for me,” he says. “I mean… I don’t really remember when exactly it started. It all just kinda… snowballing, you know? Like it was inevitable. And now here I am.”
Gabe supposes it’s a vague answer, but they are in public. He can always ask for details later. “Yeah, I get that,” he says. “I kinda feel like that sometimes, too.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of William’s lips. “It’s nice not to be alone anymore.”
Gabe nods. “Same.”
As long as it isn’t snowing, their crazy anarchist gym teacher, Mr. Hurley, will make their gym class go outside. And that’s exactly what he does this time, forcing the poor students out onto the track in forty degree weather. But at least Gabe’s been impervious to the cold since becoming a vampire, so at least there’s that.
However, William is shivering, arms crossed and tugged tight against his chest, as he follows Gabe around the track they’re speed-walking laps around.
“How are you cold?” Gabe asks, turning around and walking backwards to face William.
“How could I not be cold?” William says. “I’m always cold. That’s kinda my thing.”
“Huh,” Gabe says, and he turns back around to walk forward again. “I don’t get cold.”
“Lucky you,” William says sarcastically. “I don’t know how. You’re wearing booty shorts.”
“Are you admiring my ass, Bilvy?”
“Fuck no!”
Gabe laughs. “Dude, take a joke.”
“It’s cold as balls. I don’t feel like taking jokes right now.” And then William’s stomach growls, long and hungry. He crosses his arms over his stomach rather than his chest and sighs.
Gabe slows down to walk next to him, and leans over to whisper into his ear, “Have you... eaten yet today?”
<
“Of course not.” William grits his teeth. “I haven’t since yesterday.”
“Well, yesterday’s not so bad,” Gabe says. “At minimum, I probably only feed like twice a week.”
“Twice a week?” William demands, incredulous. “You only eat twice a week? No way. How the hell do you do that? Are they like, cheat days? Or do you eat normally? How much weight have you lost, do you just fast on the other days--”
Gabe stops in his tracks and furrows a brow. “Uh, what the hell are you talking about?”
William freezes. “Wait, what are you talking about, then?”
Gabe looks around, making sure nobody is in their proximity, and hisses under his breath, “Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?”
“I mean…” William trails off, staring into the distance. Gabe’s about to ask what he means, but then William's eyes roll into the back of his head, his knees buckling as he tilts forward. Gabe’s arms shoot out, narrowly catching him in his arms as Willam slumps against him, surrendering to unconsciousness. There’s hardly anything to cling onto; all Gabe feels is the bone of William’s sides below his fingertips.
Either way, Gabe had no idea vampires could pass out.
Upon returning to consciousness a few mere seconds later (see, nothing to be worried about!), the first thing William notices is how bone-chillingly, spine-tinglingly cold Gabe’s arms are around him, like ice being pressed to his bare skin, like the water that rains down on William whenever he takes a frigid shower for the sole purpose of shivering the calories away for sometimes over an hour.
But he’s hardly in any position to protest it. The gray-blue sky dances, the bitter sun swaying in his daze caused by yet another routine this morning of no breakfast, leaving an empty stomach after he'd forced dinner to come up his throat last night. And besides, William’s used to these bouts of weakness by now. He collapsed in the shower last week, and now he braces himself against the tile wall whenever he has to shuffle to the shampoo in his slippery tub (even if there’s a bathmat, and it’s hardly the reason he’s fallen two times now).
“Sorry,” William mutters, trying to channel his little strength into his legs to stand back up, but Gabe keeps his hold firm around him, preventing him from being upright. How is he so strong? William thinks. Whatever Gabe’s doing to stay skinny and yet so unwavering, he wants to know.
“You okay?” Gabe asks, concerned. “Here, let’s sit down.”
“I don’t need to sit down,” William says, rolling his eyes, but it’s not like he can do anything about Gabe lowering him to the side of the track to sit.
Gabe gets on his knees in front of William, his voice hushed as he asks the seemingly innocuous question of, “Do you need something to drink?”
“Uh, I’m fine,” William says. In fact, he’s probably more hydrated than usual. If he were a cutter, all that would bleed out would be water, dripping clear and wet through his veins like he’s some fucking mermaid. He’s not a mermaid. He just drinks so much water because it’s zero calories, it fills his stomach and suppresses the pangs of hunger before he has to go running to pee and the emptiness returns again, it helps moisten all the food he eats so the vomit rises murky and easy until all that’s left to spit is spit.
“I didn’t know we could faint,” Gabe remarks.
“You don’t have to rub it in,” William snarks. “We get it, you’ve only been at it for three months. Give it time.”
“But do you know why you fainted?”
“Beats me,” William says snidely, stretching out his legs and the soles of his sneakers scraping against the rubbery track. “Maybe I should drink more gatorade. I’m sure the electrolytes will cure it.”
Gabe’s laugh causes William to crack a smile. “I haven’t tried that one yet. Maybe that’s all we need. Fucking electrolytes. Sure would be convenient, right?”
“I’d take electrolytes over eating any day.”
“Me too, Bilvy. Me too.” Gabe gets off his knees and jumps to his feet. “I’m guessing you probably don’t want to go to the nurse’s office. Should I ask Mr. Hurley if we can blow this popsicle stand and go change early?”
William has no doubt Mr. Hurley will agree. This year, Gabe became one of his favorite students, probably because he emerged from summer vacation suddenly able to do more than five pull-ups, actually putting effort into gym and yet making it seem so effortless, hardly breathing after runs as if he doesn’t need to breathe at all. Which still begs the question of exactly how Gabe can do all this when William knows he’s just like him, but instead of asking, he says, “I’m all for going inside early.”
“Great!” Gabe says, already turning around to sprint across the track. “Be back in a second!”
Gabe and William have the locker room all to themselves when they come traipsing in, Gabe’s arm around his waist to help him stay balanced and only letting go when he can drop William onto the bench in front of his locker. The cafeteria isn’t very far from the gym, and considering lunch starts being served during fourth period, the aroma of spaghetti, meatballs, and most notably, garlic, wafts in and mixes with the smell of sweat and fermenting socks.
Gabe gags, and he has to pinch his nose. “Fuck, that’s awful. I can feel it burning my nose already.”
“Sometimes I can’t handle the smell of food either,” William says, twisting around on the bench to face his locker and turn the lock. “It’s like it has the opposite effect on me, making my stomach churn.” The lock clicks, and he yanks it off, dropping it to the floor before bending to pull off his sneakers. And out of nowhere, William giggles. “We’re so fucked up, aren’t we?”
Gabe laughs along, too, as he fumbles with his own locker. “I guess we are.” He hasn’t started turning his lock yet, instead more focused on pinching his nose with his dominant hand and also watching as William lifts his shirt up and throws it off, displaying all the prominent ridges of his spine, poking out like the back of a beige triceratops. A bright blue bruise adorns the bottom, poking out from under the waistband of his gym shorts. “What happened?”
William turns to him, confused, and sees Gabe’s eyes on his back. “Too many sit-ups,” he explains casually, and he turns back to his locker, shoving his gym shirt in and taking out his sweater.
“I thought we couldn’t get bruises,” Gabe says, eyes still squinted at his spine.
William snorts. “Yeah, me too. I’m such a lucky bastard.” As he pulls his sweater on, he turns back around to glance at Gabe, and sees his gaze is still on him. “Stop staring, dude. It’s nothing.”
“You stare at me all the time during Spanish.” Gabe’s brows raise, and somewhat salaciously, licking the corner of his lip, he says, “I think I’m allowed.”
William tenses. “You… do know that it’s because I look at your tests, right?”
“What?” Gabe’s formerly-confident demeanor falls along with his shoulders. “I mean. Uh, yeah. I knew that. I was just joking.”
“I wouldn’t, but you know… it’s hard to concentrate when I’m hungry,” William admits.
“No, no, it’s fine.” The smell of garlic bristles against Gabe’s nose again, and he has to pinch his nose again, causing his voice to sound slightly differently pitched. “I didn’t mean for that to sound weird or accusing or anything. I get it. Anyways, what period do you have lunch? If you want, you can join me in the library so you don’t gotta deal with all that vile garlic bread.”
William scoffs. “You just want to watch me so I don’t faint again.”
“Garlic’s not going to make you faint.”
“Why the hell would it?”
“I don’t fucking know!” Gabe lets go of his nose, and once more continues to fumble with his lock, finally tugging it loose and off his locker. “I’m sorry. You’re just… I don’t know. I haven’t really met a lot of people like us. You’re just… different than I would have expected.”
“You’re different than I thought you’d be, too,” William says. Gabe turns around, and flusteredly whips back around as soon as he sees William’s taking off his gym shorts. “So, fair enough. I’ve got lunch next period.”
“Me too.”
“Cool,” William says. “Perhaps I will drop by to visit you in the library.”
“Cool,” Gabe repeats back, albeit a little awkwardly.
Maybe things are a little different than Gabe thought, if William was just staring at him in Spanish to cheat off him. But even so, they still have that one shared quality in common with each other, and Gabe is absolutely sure that can’t diminish their connection… right?
Considering he just fainted, William decides maybe it wouldn’t be bad to treat himself to getting something at the vending machines outside the auditorium. And he doesn’t know why, but as he stands in front of the vending machine and inserts a few dollar bills, he almost feels vengeful.
And also a little disgusting. Because he feels fat, so fucking fat. But mostly vengeful, because he’s not only buying one bag of potato chips, but two. One bag for him, one bag for Gabe. He still has money left over, so he gets two orange gatorades as well at the neighboring vending machine. Because electrolytes or whatever, even if each bottle contains a horrifying amount of sugar.
If William is eating, he’s going to make Gabe eat, too. And this thought gives him a weird sense of victory already, just by grabbing the icey gatorades from the bottom of the vending machine. A smug smile forms on his lips as he struts down the hallway in the direction of the library.
William has known few others with eating disorders, but even in his little experience, he still has learned it’s useless to try to prevent the inevitable sense of competition buzzing between him and Gabe. He’s going to make Gabe eat. He will. The entire bag of potato chips and gatorade, together, is two-hundred-and-forty unavoidable calories that he won’t let Gabe escape.
But of course, the first thing Gabe says when his head jolts up to see William slamming the two gatorades and potato chips onto the library table he’s got all his notebooks and highlighters spread out on is, “I’m pretty sure food isn’t allowed in the library.”
William shrugs, sliding into the seat across the table. “Not if you’re skinny.” He takes one of the orange gatorades, the crack of the cap opening echoing through the library, and nothing happens but the librarian glancing up from her computer and then looking back down at it. William takes a sip and leans across the table, his lips shimmering with an orange tint before he licks it off and says, “See? The librarian’s just a fatphobic piece of shit.” He takes one of the potato chip bags, and as if to further prove his point, slams his fist down onto it, the air causing the top of the bag to open with a loud, startling POP!
Gabe jumps. Still, the librarian says nothing, and William lifts a shard of a salty potato chip and places it on his tongue like it’s a fucking tab, yet manages to make it look sultry when he pops it into his mouth and chews.
Damn, Gabe thinks. He wonders if William looks this hot when he’s taking drugs, too.
“Come on.” William nudges the other bag of potato chips in Gabe’s direction. “I bought them for you. It'd be awfully rude to refuse.”
“Oh.” Gabe stares down at the food, then looks back at William, who’s reaching into his crinkly potato chip bag and awaiting an answer. “That’s really nice of you, Bilvy, but I--”
“I’ve heard every excuse in the book.” William pops another potato chip in his mouth. It crunches as he simultaneously chews and says, “At least it’s better than if we would have had that fucking garlic bread. Eat it.”
“But… how do you do it?” Gabe whispers, staring in amazement as William swallows. “I can’t eat food without throwing up.”
William raises an eyebrow. “Well, okay, show-off.” He leans down, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a spare restaurant napkin that he pushes across the table to Gabe. “Just chew and spit it if you have to.”
Gabe picks up the napkin and furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve never done it before?” William asks innocently, and Gabe shakes his head. “Well, it’s a damn lot better than making yourself throw up, that’s for sure, and it’s good for keeping up appearances as long as you’re sneaky. It’s easy.” William picks up a potato chip and shoves it into his mouth. “Just chew,” he instructs, crunching the chip, and then he takes the napkin from Gabe, unfolding it and refolding it differently to form it around the grasp of his hand, and raises it to his mouth. “And spit.” He looks around, pressing the napkin close to his mouth, and Gabe almost doesn’t notice the way he spits so meekly. William lowers it from his lips. The chewed-up yellow glob of the former potato chip wets the bottom of the napkin, causing it to sink against the palm of his hand.
William hands the napkin to Gabe, who recoils in disgust at the moisture on the bottom of the napkin.
“One napkin won’t be enough for the entire bag,” William says, and then he’s digging through his backpack again, putting a couple more napkins on the table. “The more napkins you have, the better. Because if it overflows, then all it takes is moving your hand just the slightest bit and then you’re gonna have spit and chewed-up food dripping all over yourself, and it’ll be gross as fuck. But if you do it right, nobody will be suspicious. It’s even better than not eating at all, and you still get to taste it.”
Gabe’s eyes are wide, looking down at the glob of potato chip in his palm. “Huh.”
“Try it,” William urges, and he takes the used napkin back. “And you can use a new one, of course.”
Gabe tentatively rips open his bag of potato chips, and the smell of greasy, fried potatoes and salt fills his nose. He lifts the bag to his nose and inhales. Fuck, he missed that.
William suppresses a giggle at watching Gabe sniff the bag. He’s just as messed up as him, and it feels so good.
After a few seconds of savoring the scent, Gabe lowers the bag from his nose and takes out a potato chip. It’s so thin between his fingers, so fragile, the grains of salt coating his skin. And he opens his mouth, placing it on his tongue just as tauntingly as William did and making sure he’s watching.
William does find himself watching, just as hypnotized as Gabe had been.
It’s been so long since Gabe has chewed, since he’s used his teeth for something other than biting through necks, and his fangs spear through the potato chip, breaking it into pieces. It doesn’t taste as good as blood, and something feels instinctually odd about the fact real food is inside his mouth, on his vampire tongue, but even so, it’s still so fucking good that something about it feels even more sinful than consuming blood. Gabe almost wants to moan, but then he remembers he can’t swallow. He grabs one of the clean napkins on the table, raising it close to his mouth and spitting it into it, the chewed potato chip forming a valley in the napkin that wets the center of his hand.
Gabe wipes the residue off his lips with the edge of the napkin and smiles. “I don’t think that’ll ever be as good as actual eating, but holy shit.”
“I know, right?” William pops another potato chip into his mouth, chews, and spits into his own napkin.
“How long did it take you to figure that trick out?” Gabe asks.
William shrugs. “Not long.” He picks up his gatorade and takes a sip. “It’s not that impressive. I can teach you a lot more than that.”
Gabe reaches back into his potato chip bag, raising a brow. “Oh, really?”
“Chewing and spitting is just the tip of the iceberg.” William smirks. “You’d be surprised at how much you don’t know.”
And although he doesn’t truly get the satisfaction of forcing Gabe to eat, William gets something even better; the satisfaction that Gabe is reliant on him.
At the end of the lunch period, when William returns from discreetly putting their used napkins into the library trashcan, Gabe suggests, “We should hang out. Outside of school, I mean.”
“That’d be cool.” William picks up his backpack, pulling the straps over his shoulders. “I’m free after school if you wanna today.”
“Sure. Where do you wanna go? I know some good places we could find a drink at.”
“Like where?”
“There’s always some dicks hanging around that skatepark,” Gabe says, and William furrows his eyebrows.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Gabe sighs. “Damn, don’t tell me you’re picky. What type of people do you like?”
“I thought we were talking about drinks,” William says, and before Gabe can reply, he brushes it off. “Whatever. I’m fine, I don’t need any drinks. We can just go over to my house.”
“If you insist.” Gabe shrugs. “But you did faint today.”
“This again?” William holds up his half-full bottle of gatorade. “Dude, I’ve got the electrolytes.”
Gabe snickers. “Right. The electrolytes.” He leans closer, and William can feel his stupidly-slow anorexic heart picking up when Gabe’s cool breath whispers in his ear, “But seriously, you should drink more. You’re losing a lot of weight, dude, you can’t deprive yourself of blood this much.”
William is almost about to swell with glee, that Gabe’s noticed the weight loss, but he freezes at the next words. Blood? What the hell does Gabe mean by that?
However, as Gabe retracts and William opens his mouth to ask what he’s talking about, the bell for the end of the period resonates loud and clear, the hallways outside the library immediately filling with chatter and laughter.
“Fuck, I can smell the garlic on everyone’s breath already.” Gabe winces, and then he claps William on the shoulder. “Good luck to both of us on surviving the rest of the day. See you after school!”
William clutches his half-full orange gatorade to his chest as he watches Gabe submerge into the crowd in the hallway, immediately finding his friends and rushing to catch up to him.
William is glad he’s not stupid, because if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Gabe is a vampire.
But even with the mention of the blood and his aversion to garlic and the sudden strength he acquired over the summer, it’s pretty obvious he can’t. William knows he has to be an anorexic, just like him. Otherwise, none of this would make sense.
Although the more that William thinks about this, as he drifts into the hallway and sips on his stupid sugary orange electrolyte drink (throw it away, William, it’s just extra calories, you don’t need it!) that he ends up chucking into a nearby trash can, he realizes none of this makes a lick of sense. Actually, everything they’ve said to each other has been super vague.
Have I been leading him on? William thinks, as he steps into his English class. Leading Gabe on into thinking he’s a vampire, of course, not the usual definition of the phrase. Fuck. He sinks down into his seat at the back of the classroom, right next to Mike. If Gabe doesn’t have an eating disorder and is really a vampire, and he actually thinks William is a vampire too, he’s in some deep shit. But it’s not like he can just ask. How would that even go? Hey, Gabe, are you actually a fucked-up anorexic bitch like me or are you an actual vampire?
Gabe. An actual vampire. Who drinks blood.
William knows it’s a stupid thought. A very stupid thought. Gabe is clearly just like him, maybe just a little more odd. Maybe he didn’t say blood. Maybe he said something else and William just misheard.
But, if Gabe did happen to be a vampire (which William knows very well he isn’t), William does know that donating blood burns around six-hundred calories, and he also knows he would certainly, if given the opportunity, love to burn an extra six-hundred calories.
“William,” Mike says, snapping his fingers in his face, and William jolts. “Dude, are you okay? You’re kinda spacing out.”
William smiles. “Oh yeah, I’m fine.”
“Did you do the math homework last night? Because I gotta borrow it.”
“Sure.” William unzips his backpack and takes out his folder, leafing through the sheets until he finds a precalculus worksheet. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, dude.”
As Mike takes the precalc worksheet and starts copying down the answers, William asks, “Hey, do you think you’ve ever noticed Gabe Saporta acting… I don’t know, weird?”
“Weird how?” Mike stops writing. “Because I could give you a whole list of examples, to be honest. Well, not a whole list. But he does act weird. Like, once he opened a pickle jar for me that nobody else could open.”
“Why did you have a pickle jar in school?”
“Don’t judge me,” Mike mutters, and he keeps copying William’s answers.
“My humble abode,” William says, slamming the side door of Gabe’s car shut. William’s house is nice, but nothing to marvel at. An ordinary two-story home with white siding, the kind you can find anywhere in the Midwest suburbs.
They end up in William’s bedroom, dumping their backpacks on the floor. William’s bedroom is also very ordinary. A guitar in one corner, a mirror in another, a digital scale tucked between said mirror and the wall. Posters line the walls, from the Smashing Pumpkins to Stone Temple Pilots to a variety of other bands Gabe has never even heard of. William is, obviously, very cool, at least in a music sense.
But just as Gabe’s about to comment on the posters, William drapes himself over the bed, tucking a chunk of hair behind his ear and deliberately revealing his slender neck. “Like what you see?” he taunts, running his fingers along one of the bones poking out.
Gabe, very much, does like what he sees. And if William wasn’t a vampire, he would totally want to bite him. Instead, he shrugs, avoiding contact and turning to study all the posters as he says, “I thought you said you were only staring at me in Spanish to cheat off me.”
“Hm,” William hums thoughtfully, the tips of his fingers still tracing the bone in his neck. “Hm.”
Gabe has to glance away from the posters and at William, and damn it, how does he make touching his neck look so fucking sexy?
In a moment of boldness, William stares right at him and asks, “Do you think vampires can bite each other?”
Gabe raises his eyebrows. “Uh… I haven’t really had the chance to try that out.”
William smirks. Because he wasn't indeed stupid, and Gabe is totally a vampire, and William is totally about to burn six-hundred glorious calories. “Maybe we should try.” His hand moves from his neck to the collar of his shirt, pulling it off his shoulder and exposing his unmarred, pale skin. “Don’t be shy, Gabey. You must want to.”
“I do not.”
“You doooo,” William teases, sitting up and smiling, his bare and boney shoulder slightly raised. “Aren’t you curious?”
Gabe hesitates, but then he sits down next to William on the bed. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m not leading you on, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Just trying to burn six-hundred calories. And get a hot vampire bite in the process too, I guess.
“Fine,” Gabe says, and assuming William is a vampire who can handle pain, he dives for his neck, sinking his fangs through the skin of his neck. A sharp stab causes William to nearly shriek, but he pushes it down. Six-hundred calories!
Gabe takes his first gulp of blood. And as soon as it hits his tongue, he realizes, it’s so human it’s unbearable. It tastes of delicious mortality, incomparable vulnerability, warmth and life and everything that Gabe can never experience again save for the taste of blood.
William realizes by Gabe’s stillness that he’s realized. “I don’t taste bad, do I?”
“Quite the opposite, in fact,” Gabe mutters into his neck. “You’re not a vampire.”
“Go on,” William urges. “I don’t mind.” Six-hundred calories!!! SIX HUNDRED!
“Bilvy,” Gabe murmurs, starting to pull back. “You lied. I really thought you were--”
“In my defense, I thought you were referring to something completely different.”
“Like what?” Gabe scoffs.
William flops onto his back, ignoring the way his shoulder stings with the impact against the bed. “An eating disorder.”
“I-- oh fuck.” Gabe rushes up, wiping the smeared blood off his lips in a hurry. “That’s why you fainted. That’s why you chew and spit. Fuck. I’m so stupid!”
William chuckles. “Yeah, you are. Now get back over here and help me burn six-hundred calories.”
Gabe gapes. “No fucking way.” And before William knows it, he’s disappeared, like he’s just vanished into thin air. William scrambles to sit up.
“Gabe?” he yells, running to his bedroom door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of the situation--oh!”
He’s taken aback by Gabe suddenly in the doorway again, shoving a pack of Oreos and a juice box at him. “Calm down, I was in the kitchen.”
“Oh. Um. Thank you.” William glances down at the cookies and juice. “But the whole point of this is that I want to burn calories, not consume them--”
“I’ll bite you again if you promise to eat them afterward,” Gabe says. “So, deal?”
“But--”
“Dude,” Gabe says. “The more I think about all the stuff you’ve told me thinking you were a vampire, the more I realize just how fucked you are.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Now, do you want this or not?”
William supposes a couple of Oreos and a bit of juice is still less than six-hundred calories, so he shrugs. “Fine. I’ll eat them afterward.” He leans over, setting down the pack of cookies and the juice box onto a nearby dresser, and pulls down the collar of his shirt further just for good measure. “Let’s do this.”
William closes his eyes and braces for the immediate impact of fangs, but instead, Gabe gently takes his shoulders, pushing him down to sit back on the bed, and presses a light, fleeting kiss to the inside of William’s neck. William has the thought that maybe he should have looked at him for more than just Spanish answers.
Gabe’s lips continue to press kisses to the bite, like silent, soft apologies. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. William can’t help but lean into it, a small moan of delight leaving the back of his throat, and he can feel the corners of Gabe’s lips curving up against his skin before he bites down again.
Blood gushes onto Gabe’s tongue, and when he swallows, William tips his head forward, resting against him and whispering, “Gabe, that’s good, keep going.”
Encouraged, Gabe continues to sip at the continuous flow of blood, cautious and savoring. William grasps onto his shoulder, and instead of thinking about six-hundred calories, he thinks about how surprisingly pleasant this is. The pain is a far-off feeling, growing more and more distant. In fact, the whole sensation is relaxing, a weight off his shoulders.
Finally, before Gabe can siphon too much, he pulls away from William’s neck and rests his forehead against his.
“How do I taste?” William asks, opening his eyes and glancing down at the blood that coats Gabe’s lips, red and glossy.
“Good,” Gabe says. “But malnourished. Like, seriously malnourished.”
“I’m not surprised.” William’s eyes flicker up to Gabe’s before being drawn back down to his lips. “Could I…”
“You need to eat,” Gabe whispers.
“In a minute,” William promises.
And Gabe tilts his head just enough, letting his bloody lips touch William’s.
The roof of Gabe’s mouth tastes like iron. The roof of William’s mouth burns like stomach acid.