Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts, in retrospect, with the night they met.

Okay, maybe not the exact night they met, as that had all gone rather piss poor for everyone involved, Anton reckons. And maybe not their next meeting, either, as they’d proceeded to (granted, unintentionally, and with plenty of warning) maim their good friend and future pack member. But the night they’d met officially, or anew, with handshakes and jokes and all the typical awkwardness of people trying to get along for the sake of their mutual connections, like spouses at a company mixer. Stu clearly held the vampires in high regard, and Stu was generally a smart man with a good judge of character, so Anton had to relent a little. There must be something to these strange little dudes to keep Stu around, and that was as good a reason as any.

Anton hadn’t touched many- any- vampires before that night. When he takes Viago’s hand, he’s startled to find it warm. Not as warm as his own (dogs running warmer than humans and all that) and still not as warm as a human’s so it still felt cool to the touch, but the heat of someone else’s blood was definitely present in the grasp. A weird but strangely alluring thought, and it made Anton wonder what other misconceptions he had about vampires, and what vampires thought of werewolves. He lingers perhaps a moment too long, looking at Viago and wondering if he thinks this is as momentous as he does, before finally withdrawing to meet the flatmates.

That feeling, that warmth, stays with him for weeks afterward. Anton grips the wheel of his jeep as he drives through the bush and feels the tingle of it, tightens his hand against the unforgiving leather to try and snap out of it. Gets weird looks from whoever he’s partnered with on any given day when these moments pass over him. He’s not unused to it, given his PMS-style mood swings around the full moons and the exhaustion that always hovers around him, so the looks don’t bother him so much as his own preoccupation.

A few weeks, maybe even a couple months after that first night, the vampires actually come forward to extend an invitation to them. It comes in the form of a text from Viago himself at a god awful time in the morning that Anton almost gets angry about before he remembers that the man has to sleep all day. It says, with an inordinate amount of texting shortcuts and contractions, that the vampires would like to have them over for a good faith game night a week after the next full moon. Anton blearily smiles at that little detail, at the fact that the vampires bothered to remember that he’d mentioned offhandedly it was when the whole pack felt most at ease in their cycle. He wonders how much of that was just Viago’s consideration.

He types out an enthusiastic enough response and even throws an emoticon in there for good measure just to make sure there’s no room for offense to be taken. They’re a bit quirky and get put off at anything but cordiality (even though two of three of them are dickheads), and even then, could be riled just by one of the pack walking past wrong, and Anton’s enjoying the tentative peace after the months of high tensions. He’s about to settle down to go back to sleep when Viago responds:

U r up l8. Or early?

Light sleeper, Anton taps out. Wolf hearing, he adds in another message. Have to be up in a jiff if one of the pack gets in trouble, he sends in a third, and then immediately second guesses triple texting someone he barely knows.

Do they barely know each other, though? They’ve been on each other’s peripheries for years.

I undrstnd, Viago‘s message pings through a second later, though, seemingly unperturbed. I must b the same way w/ Deacon and Vladislav. Perhaps we r similar in tht regard.

Maybe. Anyway, we’ll be there. C u then, he adds, a little joke for himself at the expense of Viago’s ridiculous texting linguistic habits.

Good night, Anton.

Anton smiles a little to himself again. Strange little dude.

The light feeling from the pleasant interaction and the thought of strengthening the relationship between the two groups carries Anton through the week leading up to the full moon. It’s hard not to let the effects of his wolf simmer to the surface, but he’s rather excited at the prospect of doing something to make his pack stronger, happier, and safer and he knows that despite residual tension, the pack want peace too. Having that to look forward to gives him something to focus on beyond the impending doom of the transformation.

The pack is looking forward to the game night, too, though Anton gathers that it’s mostly because they want to beat the vampires at their own games, so to speak. He tries to remind them in the time leading up to it that it’s not a competition, no one’s keeping score, and that it’s best not to poke the bear.

The moon is bad this go around, Anton can’t lie. He wakes up in a daze, still chained to his tree and bleeding slowly at the thighs from where his own claws had dug into the skin, and when he’s aware enough to look up, half of his pack is missing, their chains scattered around the clearing. He sighs, thankful that he’s off work for the day, and undoes the combination to his own lock, wincing with the impact of falling to the ground. It’s going to be a long day of searching for and gathering the boys.

When he finally falls into his bed that evening, his pack safely tucked away in their own flats or his living room, the exhaustion is bone deep. He’d barely had the energy to bathe before bed, and he runs a mournful hand over the new scars on his legs before getting under the covers. He’s about to fully pass out when his phone buzzes on the nightstand.

We heard u last nite. It sounded rough. Hope u r well :}

Anton snorts at the emoticon.

It was rough, he concedes, But we’re fine. And as an afterthought: Thank you.

And despite the state he’s in and his relatively foul mood and the fact that his eyes are practically shut before he hits send, Anton finds himself smiling once more.

A week later, Anton and his pack arrive at the vampire residence with a couple of six packs and wait awkwardly behind Stu as he takes the lead. Vladismir- Vladislav? Vlad, Anton decides in his mind, is the one to answer the door, and his face breaks out into an uncharacteristic (from what he’s seen) grin.

“Stu,” he greets enthusiastically, clapping Stu so hard on the shoulder the smaller man nearly buckles. “Good to see you.”

“Hey, Vlad.”

“Hello, Stu’s pack,” Vlad drawls, stepping aside. Anton bristles but braves a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, it’s Anton’s pack,” Stu says timidly. “He’s the alpha male.”

“Yes, I know,” Vlad says pleasantly, eyes tracking Anton as he crosses the threshold. Deacon is in the front room, too, and he gives Stu a firm hug before going around to greet the other wolves. Anton, for all that he is the alpha, feels strangely out of place, like he’s being circled by his hereditary enemies like sharks around a diving cage. Nick comes from down the hall, the real life of the party, and most of the pack already loves him so things get considerably louder when he hugs Stu as well. Lots of bro hugs and tousles.

“Are our guests here?” Viago’s lilting accent sounds from the top of the stairs, and Anton sees him with his hands on the banister of the landing. Something eases in Anton’s chest as he walks down the stairs, and he raises his hand in greeting. Viago comes to a stop right in front of him and mirrors the wave unnecessarily. Anton could laugh. Weird little dude. “Hello, Anton. Hello, Anton’s wolfpack,” he says, turning a little to face them all. He’s met with cheers of ‘hello, Viago’ and other pleasantries as they all talk over each other. Stu shakes Viago’s hand before following the other vampires into the den. Anton feels proud of his pack for the way it’s going so far.

“Would you like me to put those in the refrigerator for you?” Viago asks kindly. Anton blinks, looking down at the case of beer in his hand.

“Oh, er, yeah. If you want to just show me where it is?” He smiles at Viago, still a little uncomfortable but happy to be in the presence of what he considers the most tolerable of the bunch. “Hello, by the way.” Viago’s eyes seem to sparkle as he squints happily before turning to lead Anton to the kitchen. It’s neat, and the dishes are done, something Stu had informed him was a rare occurrence.

“We have ordered you pizzas,” Viago says as Anton puts the beer away. He’s charmed to see there’s some already there, meaning the vampires had gotten some just for the occasion. “We cannot partake, of course, but Nick suggested it would be a good idea. I am very excited about this gathering,” he adds, almost out of place. Anton let’s put a surprised chuckle.

“Yeah, me too. I think it’ll be good for the boys to get some perspective from people outside the pack. Sometimes we can get kind of insular.” Viago nods solemnly in agreement.

“We can as well. Stu has been great about catching us up, so to speak. When you can’t go outside when society is, you lose track of the way things change.” He looks a little sad as they walk back to the group, but brightens when he sees that half of them, Deacon included, have already broken into a seemingly brand-new box of Catan, a favorite of the wolves. Anton worries about Deacon and Clifton playing that game together and what rivalries it might entail, but it’s a worry for later. He smiles when he sees an ice bin nearby the game table now nearly empty, each wolf having cracked a can open. They’re already squabbling over which color each person is going to be, and Vlad has lured some of the others into a card game when Viago turns back to Anton, wringing his hands.

“Would you like a tour?” He asks, glancing at the crowded room. “I do not want to butt in on any of their games, so I was going to wait until the next round.” Anton blinks again.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little apprehensive about being alone with a vampire so soon, but he has a gut feeling Viago isn’t going to hurt him. Viago’s nose twitches.

“I won’t bite,” he says, eyes shining with mirth, his fangs glinting their contradiction as they tease over his bottom lip in that strange little smile.

“You can’t just smell my emotions, man, that’s cheating,” Anton accuses, but he’s fighting a grin. He grabs a beer from the cooler before following Viago out of the room.

“Like you are one to talk.”

Viago shows him around the downstairs area without incident; there’s not much to see, apart from the eclectic decorations in every single room and covering every inch of the walls. It’s charming in a haunted, Victorian way. It gets a little dicey in the basement, just the reality of being well and truly alone with something that’s supposed to hate his guts, and basements are generally creepy, but it’s surprisingly clean and well taken care of. On a table there’s a small shrine with several pictures of a vampire that genuinely, genuinely looks like Nosferatu surrounded by some candles. In these pictures, the other vampires of the house are in various states of dated clothing- 70s, 80s, 50s, until in the newer ones they appear to have given up trying to blend in and just chosen to wear what they want. Anton supposes that now is a more accepting time than ever for that sort of thing.

“Ah, that is Petyr. He is the one who turned Deacon. Nick, too. We were going to eat him, you know, but Petyr got to him first. A blessing in disguise,” Viago says wistfully, picking up a picture and running a hand over it fondly. “Gone now. That’s the way.” He sets the picture back down before turning to smile at Anton with sad eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Anton says, and means it.

“I thank you. But it’s in the past!” Viago declares, wringing his hands in front of him again and gaining his cheerful demeanor once more. “Would you like to see the upstairs?”

In the hallway off the upper landing there’s a large mirror, and Anton startles for a moment when they pass by and he realizes he can’t see Viago’s reflection. He pauses, staring, and Viago backtracks to stand next to him with an amused air.

“I guess it’s one of those things that should’ve been obvious,” Anton says by way of explanation, taking a sip of his beer and looking at where Viago should be in the image. He wonders if he’s making eye contact. “But I didn’t think about it until now. Why do you have mirrors anyway?” Viago shrugs next to him, their shoulders brushing and reminding Anton that he was still present despite the illusion.

“Humans- or other creatures,” he adds for Anton’s benefit, “-who own mirrors don’t look at themselves all the time. Well, most of them,” he says conspiratorially, leaning in, his fangs poking out in a smile again. Anton snorts a little. “I think, perhaps, it is one of those things that helps a house feel like a home, even if it is useless for us. Why do we have paintings and stuffed animal busts on the walls?” He reasons. “Also, it is funny to make things look as though they are floating.”

As if by example, he takes Anton’s beer can from his unsuspecting hands and waves it around next to his head and then above it, making strange ghostly noises and saying ‘oooh, I am a floating beer,’ as he goes. Anton snickers as he takes it back. He’s decided Viago is utterly charming when he’s apart from his friends.

“This is Deacon’s closet,” Viago says when they reach the corner where the hallway turns. “He likes to sleep like a bat. Personally, I could not, but to each their own.” His smile remains as he continues leading Anton down their path. “This is Vlad’s room. Sometimes it is a sex room. I don’t understand how he does it. Eight hundred years of vampire magic, one might surmise.”

“What on Earth is a sex room?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t know what else to call it,” Viago says, wringing his hands again and looking over his shoulder like the hulking man could be standing over them. “I’ve seen him on the wall with, like, six women before.”

“On the wall?” Anton asks incredulously.

“You should really watch the documentary,” Viago says, already continuing past.

He really should, to be fair. He and the pack put enough work into it themselves. Anton gazes at the door to Vlad’s room for a bit longer before shaking his head and making to follow him, mouthing ‘they show the sex room in the film?’ to himself.

“And this is my room,” Viago says cheerfully, opening the door. It’s not much, just a dark room with blackout curtains and a coffin with a bedside table and an alarm clock. “I don’t spend much time in here. Only to slumber. So, I do not decorate.” Anton frowns.

“How can you tell if it’s daylight?”

“I check through the curtain,” Viago says earnestly, drawing said fabric back to reveal a view of the dark street and the houses twinkling with light on the hill outside.

“Seems dangerous,” Anton says, ignoring the amount of worry gnawing at his gut at the thought. But he is worried. Maybe it’s the alpha, the pack leader in him wanting to protect. But Viago’s been doing this for… God, he doesn’t even know how old Viago is. How old did he say Vlad was? Eight hundred years? He looks at the beer in his hand and wills it to be stronger.

“It is,” Viago hums agreeably, looking out at the view. “Needs must.” Anton frowns, coming to stand beside him.

“How about I just text you when it’s dark instead?” He says before thinking about the offer. He feels Viago look at him, but he keeps his gaze affixed on the hill. “At least until we figure out a more permanent solution.” He braves a glance at Viago, then, to see the other man with that dopey fanged smile across his face.

“You would do that?” Anton nods. “Wow. I’ve never had anyone offer to do that before. Not even Deacon’s familiar. I didn’t think it would be a werewolf.”

“Yeah, well. New beginnings and friendship and all that, right?” Anton smiles at him.

There’s a crash downstairs, then, as if on cue, and Anton winces, closing his eyes. Shouts erupt and he’s fairly certain he can hear hissing, too, so he and Viago rush down to the scene. Deacon is flying, the Catan table overturned, and pieces scattered everywhere as he hovers over Clifton, who’s being held back by both Nathans Gs as he begins to wolf out.

“Oi!” Anton shouts, dropping his empty beer can and running to stand in front of Clifton. Viago follows, muttering a quiet shit and leaps up to take ahold of Deacon’s ankle, yanking him down with a strength he didn’t look like he possessed. Anton clicks his fingers in Clifton’s face and tries to draw the menacing yellow eyes to focus on him. “Clifton,” he growls loudly, the alpha taking over for a moment, and Clifton actually whimpers like a dog as he finally looks down and away from both Deacon and Anton. He holds an arm out to catch Clifton in case he tries anything as he turns to assess the situation. Viago glances back at the same time from where he’s talking to Deacon sternly under his breath, meeting his eyes. Anton can feel the glow in them fade away and he nods once, turning back to Clifton. “You gonna tell me what happened?” He asks, softer now that the threat of a full on battle isn’t as imminent.

“He cheated,” Clifton says petulantly.

“Like hell I did, dog,” Deacon spits, and despite the situation Anton is amused when he hears Viago smack him ‘round the ear. “If anyone cheated it is you.”

“Neither of them, cheated, actually,” Dion says matter-of-factly. “Clifton was just trying to build the longest wall and Deacon was trying to stop him.”

“So, the rules of the game,” Anton deadpans. He feels safe enough to take the hand of Clifton’s arm and backs away. “Well, I think you should just both apologize and move on,” he decides, putting his hands on his hips and looking between the two. “Viago?”

“I agree. Deacon, apologize to Clifton.” There’s an authoritative, almost parental note to the tone, and Deacon glares at Clifton but looks abashed.

“Sorry,” Deacon mutters. “Dickhead,” he says more quietly, but he must know they can all hear him.

“Clifton?” Anton says expectantly, letting it go.

“Sorry,” Clifton grinds out. “Cunt.”

“Clifton,” Anton barks. “What are we?”

“He swore first!” Clifton whines. Deacon hisses.

“Yes, but I’m not in charge of the vampires or the way they speak. You can have the moral high ground here, mate.”

“Fine,” Clifton gripes. “I’m sorry.” Anton nods, satisfied.

“Good. Now both of you clean this up.” He looks to Viago for permission to boss Deacon around.

“Yes, as he says,” Viago says brightly, patting Deacon on the shoulder encouragingly. “A good bonding moment for you.”

“Party killers. Things were just starting to get interesting,” Vlad groans from the other side of the room.

“So sad,” Viago chirps.

Anton grabs another beer and moves to stand by Viago as they observe the tidying process. Despite his complaints, Vlad wanders over to help nonchalantly, and soon all the vampires and werewolves are making an effort under their supervision. Anton smiles into his bottle and takes a sip.

“You know,” Viago murmurs, leaning into his space once more. “I think this will work out. After some time.” Anton looks at him out of the corner of his eye, still smiling.

“I think so, too.”

Chapter Text

They meet monthly from that point on. The pack seems to like the routine, and similarly to the way Anton looked forward to it that first month, they seem to appreciate the distraction they find in planning different events for the group to do on their game nights. Sometimes it’s karaoke, or Twister (which gets hairy, literally, sometimes), and Anton is endeared by their enthusiasm. It’s one of the first times he can remember them all being so excited about pack meetings.

Anton learns relatively quickly that Viago, Vlad, and Deacon are becoming pretty big deals in something called the Supreme Vampiric Council. As time passes, they’re more frequently called away to meetings and tribunals and the like, leaving little time outside their arrangement to hang out. Every evening, Anton texts Viago what time the sun starts setting and once it’s safe for the vampires to come out for the night. Sometimes, if he’s at work in the bush, he’ll take pictures of the sunset for him. It’s a nice little way to stay in touch as they don’t see each other often, making him loathe to find that more permanent situation he’d mentioned all those months ago.

He also notices that the three vampires are… chilling out a little. They’d been so high-strung before, picking fights every time they saw the pack and blowing up over the tiniest disagreements even within their group. But for all that they were close before, they’re even closer now. Anton selfishly wonders if the pack has anything to do with their shift in attitude. Or maybe it’s all the world travel. Anton chooses to be selfish.

What he admires most about their new friends is their propensity for fun. They can’t drink or smoke like the wolves can, but nevertheless their gatherings are always so much fun. The vampires will sometimes break into ridiculous songs about girls in villages with small feet, and Deacon loves dancing for them even if it is disturbing most of the time. But it’s such fun that Anton finds himself cackling like a witch (not the kind that, according to Vlad, will steal your potent seed, which makes Anton snort so hard the first time he hears it that his soda painfully comes out his nose).

But the times he longs for are the quieter moments when he and Viago can get a chance to just… talk. He really gets along with the quirky little vamp, with his awkward smiles and cheerful attitude and deadpan sense of humor. He’s an understated man who likes to spread kindness but has a firm handle on his friends when they need it. Anton sees a lot of himself in the other man, and it makes his own self esteem higher for it. It’s easy to forget that Viago kills people on the regular (not that Anton hasn’t spilled his fair share of blood, especially when he was a new wolf, but he avoids it when possible, now). He knows it’s out of necessity, but it chills Anton sometimes that even though Viago is much more than a killer, someone else might not see it that way. He feels the same protectiveness he felt at that first gathering whenever he thinks about it.

It’s Stu’s second wolf-iversary, a little under two years since their first meeting, and they’ve decided to go out and celebrate with a good old fashioned pub crawl. The vampires have got the pack singing along to some horribly out of tune and discomposed chant of Stu’s name as they walk into town. Anton can’t help but chuckle as Viago tips his head back from the front of the group to look at him, face alight and arms waving as he leads them all. Stu looks vaguely embarrassed but he’s smiling, and Anton’s overwhelmed with fondness for all of them.

They start off in a quiet bar that’s fairly empty. It’s early, only nine on a Friday night, so Vlad and Deacon quickly declare the place a bore and they leave after one drink. Nick bets he can beat Dion in a race to the next one and the two are off, their respective factions cheering them on and chasing after them. Anton calls after them to be bloody careful, but it’s halfhearted- they’re adults, after all. Viago stays behind to walk with him, his gloved hands behind his back.

“I want to personally thank you for leaving the top hat behind,” Anton says. He takes a moment to appraise Viago’s curls, perfectly gelled back but blessedly visible. Viago feigns a pout.

“Nick insisted. I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“You look better without it,” Anton blurts out, and then winces when Viago turns face to raise his eyebrows. “Sorry, mate, that was rude. Dunno what came over me.”

“You should watch what you say, dog,” Viago says, and for a moment Anton thinks he’s serious, that all this Vampiric Council stuff has gone to his head and reminded him that they’re mortal enemies. But then Viago’s fangs do that thing, and Anton releases a little breath of relief. “I suppose I just got used to it after so many years,” Viago smiles, turning back to watch the howling pack of man-children. “But if you think so, I will make an effort to go without it.”  

“Shut up,” Anton snorts, bumping shoulders with him, trying to ignore the rush in his head at the flirtation. They walk in silence for a few moments before he says, “Hey, can I ask a, uh, vampire question?”

“Anything,” Viago says airily, still watching the pack and his friends.

“How do you guys get drunk?” Anton silently curses himself as Viago looks mildly uncomfortable, but the other man answers regardless.

“We have to drink the blood of a drunk human. It’s the same with drugs.” He brings his hands from behind his back to wring them in front of his stomach, something he does when anxious. “I have insisted to the others that we not partake in all our previous meetings because I didn’t want things to get out of hand. I am still worried about it. Vlad and Deacon can get… careless.”

“What about you?” It’s a morbidly curious question.

“Ah, I must look after them. When I do, I usually only drink a little and hypnotize the human to forget.”

“Well, that’s not fair, man. You’ve gotta have fun, too,” Anton gripes. But then he thinks about all the times he’s had to tuck his pack away after too long a night. “But I think I understand.”

“I know you do,” Viago says earnestly. “You take good care of them.”

Anton stops short at that, even as Viago keeps walking. The comment was so innocuous but… no one besides his pack has ever commented on his ability to run his pack before. The things he does… the pack meetings, and the keeping extra food in his flat for when they come over unannounced, the planning around the moon, the picking the pieces up afterward… it exhausts him, and though he thinks he does a good job, it wears on him sometimes. His pack rarely recognizes it, too busy caught up in their own feelings about being a werewolf against their will to notice just how much Anton does for them. And here’s a vampire who’s known them two years, a fraction of the time the pack has been together, saying something about it.

It’s one of the rare moments he can see the history behind Viago’s eyes, sense the wisdom that all his years have given him. It nearly crumples Anton, but he bravely jogs to catch up, and the smile Viago gives him when he does is so gentle and knowing that it renders him untrusting of his own voice.

They end up in a club that’s thumping music far too loud for Anton’s sensitive ears (seriously, how the boys do this regularly is beyond him), but he’s powerless to stop the group’s otherwise unanimous decision, and it’s been a while since he let loose a little. Viago’s gone and stirred enough emotions inside him to make him need something stronger, so he makes a beeline for the bar along with one of the Nathans and Stu. The vampires disappear almost as soon as they’re invited inside, undoubtedly to go find some poor pissed buggers and drain them. With his drink in hand he weaves his way through the crowd, trying to find a table or just an empty spot of wall to lean against and avoid the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor as much as possible. His head is already beginning to pound from the noise and lights.

He manages to find a booth; it’s rather grimy but beggars can’t be choosers and he wants to be easily accessible to his pack. Declan seems to gravitate to him right away, and Stu and the Nathan Gs slowly trickle into the booth after him after getting their own drinks. He spies Nathan M. already wooing someone and knows they’re probably not going to see him for the rest of the night.

They’ve all been sat for a while and are nursing their second round (courtesy of Declan) when Vlad chooses that moment to slam into the booth with a giggle, shaking Anton out of his state with the impact of his weight. The other vampires are close behind; Vlad and Deacon sit on one side, while Viago and Nick close them all in on the other, leaving the four wolves pressed in the middle. Vampiric bookends, Anton muses, and takes another sip of his drink.

Viago’s presence pressed into Anton’s arm is delightfully cooling compared to the heat of Declan on his other side, even through his clothes. The vampires, with the exception of Viago, look properly pissed already, Vlad hanging off of Deacon rather sluttily and Nick drunkenly shouting something at Stu, who grins and nods. Even with his superior hearing, Anton can barely make it out, but he smiles along as they shout back and forth. Viago is tense next to him, his whole body rigid like he’s made of steel. Anton watches him out of the corner of his eye as he drains his drink, worry eating at him as Viago looks around at the dance floor and the ceiling.

“I’m going to go get another drink,” Anton says, leaning in so he’s heard by the other man. Viago jumps, turns his face slightly into Anton’s like they’re canoodling penguins. “D’you wanna come with me?” He pulls back to see Viago’s wide eyes.

The other man nods jerkily, and Anton reaches around him to pat Nick’s arm to let them out of the booth. Nick moves out and slides back in like he doesn’t even notice them, and Anton leads Viago to the bar. The other man is still looking around with wide eyes as Anton shouts his order to the bartender, and Anton chews the inside of his cheek.

“You okay, mate?” He asks. “You seemed upset or something.”

“I am very worried,” Viago starts, “That the man whose blood I drank was not just drunk.” And when he turns to Anton once more, his pupils are blown so wide there’s almost no iris left. Anton feels his own eyes widen. “Did you know that words taste?” Viago giggles stupidly, dopey smile spreading across his face. “That tasted like lemons. I haven’t had lemons in four hundred years! It is very loud in here.” He turns away to look at the lights and dancefloor again, swaying a little in place.

Okay, so he’s got a tripping vampire on his hands and he’s only two drinks in. Could it be any harder than Clifton accidentally bringing his special brownies to the pack meeting?

Viago suddenly wanders into the crowd without any indication that he properly sees any of the people he’s running into.

Yeah, Anton thinks, It can be a lot bloody worse.

He curses quietly under his breath and slams as much of his drink back as he can before abandoning it to chase after Viago’s quickly disappearing form. It’s hot, so hot, all these people grinding together, and he peels off his bomber to tie it around his waist as he fights through them, trying desperately to catch up with the wandering vampire. He finally catches up with him in the near middle of the floor. Viago’s just standing there, turning slowly in a circle to look at all the people and bobbing with the beat slightly. Anton would laugh if he wasn’t so stressed about the situation.

“Hey, Vi, we should maybe go sit down, mate,” he shouts, the nickname slipping off his tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Anton takes his arm and Viago whips around to face him, a grin spreading across his face. Anton’s stomach clenches. Someone bumps into his back.

“Anton, you’re here too! I thought you were at the bar!” Viago’s hand comes up to brace his arm in return. “Are there two of you?” He asks seriously. And then: “I want to dance!”

He releases Anton to spin around before raising his arms a little and bouncing to the beat. His hands flail in what can only be described as interpretive dance, and it’s really hard for Anton to fight the smile that’s spreading on his face. It’s bloody hilarious watching this usually relatively composed eternal creature completely lose himself in one of the most undignified places in the city. He looks like he’s having so much fun that Anton is losing the heart to tear him away.

“Dance with me!” Viago says, grinning widely at him.

“Ah, mate, I don’t really dance,” Anton replies, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. Someone else slams into his side, but they’re already moving away when he looks.

“I have been around for centuries, Anton,” Viago leans in earnestly. “Everyone dances.” And then he takes Anton’s wrists with a wicked smile and starts swinging them back and forth. Well, it’s more like flopping, because Anton isn’t putting any effort into it.

But he isn’t stopping him either.

The thing is, Viago’s hands are cool on his skin, and it feels kind of nice, despite everything that’s going on right now. And Anton is three drinks in and feeling a little fuzzier than normal even if he’s perfectly aware. And Viago’s eyes are shining…

“Anton,” Viago whines in frustration, and then his face lights up in amazement and he leans in again toward Anton’s face, looking him in the eye. “Anton! Your name tastes like cinnamon!” He licks his lips and fangs like he’s chasing the taste, and Anton watches him as he leans away, still swinging them both back and forth as he mouths his name over and over. Anton furrows his brow, but he smiles. Strange little dude.

The music changes to a popular song that even Anton vaguely recognizes, and it’s enough to make the crowd around them go wild. People press in on all sides, bumping into them until they’re almost torn apart. Viago drops his wrists, eyes wide as he watches everyone around them, and Anton almost mourns the contact until he’s shoved into the other man’s side. He isn’t even intending to dance, he wants to get them both the fuck out of there, but the movement of others jumping to the song is jostling him to the beat. He tries to take a deep breath and focus on the cool feeling of Viago’s body temperature. The other man, however, looks thrilled at the development, laughing at the ceiling as he moves his arms wildly.

He should’ve seen it coming, then, when Viago’s elbow connects inhumanly forcefully with the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck,” Anton exclaims, bringing his hands up to cup around his now profusely bleeding face. Everyone around them is unperturbed, either not noticing or not caring about the hunched biohazard in their midst, but Viago whips around the second he feels the impact.

“Oh, Anton, I am so sorry,” Viago says, reaching for his wrist, and when Anton looks up at him he can see tears brimming in his eyes.

“It’s fine, Vi, honest,” he says, and it is; he can already feel the bone shifting back into place and the blood flow staunching. But he needs, needs to get off this fucking dance floor, can feel the wolf stirring in him with the aggravation of the situation.

“I didn’t-“

But Viago stops before he finishes the sentence, and Anton glances up again to find the other man staring at their hands. Someone else bodily rams into him, shoving him into the vampire, and he growls, feeling the pulse of his eyes beginning to shift. Viago has drawn his hand away, is looking at the blood there- Anton’s blood- with an intensity Anton’s never seen.

Viago looks up to meet his glowing eyes… and licks the blood from the heel of his hand to the tip of his thumb in one long swipe. Some rubs off onto his lip. He licks that away too.

Anton watches him, chest heaving, head and eyes pounding, and Viago stares back, neither of them moving as the world does around them. But then Anton twitches with the force of an impending transformation and he can no longer care about the state of Viago because if he doesn’t get away from here, he’ll wolf out and tear this entire nightclub to shreds for some peace and quiet. He bolts for the exit, looking down to shield his eyes from any humans that might see.

He bursts out of a set of double doors into an alleyway, and the air is wonderfully cool as it fills his lungs. Counting. He needs to count.

1…2…3…

He slides down the grimy wall a few feet away from the door and clutches his hair in his hands. His nails are too sharp to be entirely human.

4…5…6…

He hears the doors open again, the thumping of the music growing louder for a moment before quieting again as the door shuts.

7…8…9…

Footsteps approach and he opens his eyes to see Viago’s shoes standing a couple feet in front of him.

10.

Anton takes in a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes again. All he sees when he does is Viago’s tongue on his blood.

The feeling in his gut is not fear.

“Anton?” Viago’s voice asks softly. Anton thinks of cinnamon. After a moment passes, he trusts himself to open his eyes once more and look at Viago. His eyes are still wet and there’s still blood on the hand he’d held Anton’s wrist with. “Are you okay? I am sorry I hit your nose. And ate your blood off my hand.”

“That’s not- it wasn’t you,” Anton says shakily but with truth. “I just don’t do well in crowds. And all those people, man…” He looks down at his shirt and hands- God, if that’s what his clothes look like then his face must be in a right state.

“You were going to transform.” Anton sees Viago’s shoes turn around, and he looks up to see the vampire looking at the sky. He points at the waning crescent moon, and tilts his head back down at Anton. “Look. It isn’t full. You are safe.” He faces Anton again and crouches down. His pupils are still dilated but he looks more aware. “You are still covered in blood.”

“You gonna lick that, too?” Anton asks, going for lighthearted but coming out more ragged than anything. Viago is silent for a moment, but Anton can see the glint in his eyes in the darkness.

“I would be lying if I said I did not want to,” Viago breathes, swaying forward onto his knees like he can’t help it. Alarm bells start clanging in Anton’s head. His gut swoops with adrenaline, some heady mix of fear and exhilaration fogging his mind. All he can do is look into Viago’s eyes.

The double doors slam open again, sending both of them recoiling. Anton barely has time to react before Nathan M’s legs are filling his vision and he hears the sickening crunch of a vampire being thrown against the opposite wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, vamp?” Nathan snarls.

“Nathan!” Anton shouts, scrambling up and grasping to get ahold of him. Nathan shrugs him off and stalks forward. Viago’s struggling to get up, and when Anton catches his eyes they’re glazed over like he’s in shock. He’s in no state for this fight. Anton rushes around Nathan to stand in front of Viago with his hands up. “Nathan, he wasn’t-“

“Bullshit, Anton,” Nathan growls. “Look at yourself. You’re covered in blood. He must have hypnotized you or some shit. I knew we couldn’t trust these- these- bloodsuckers.”

“No, Nathan, he didn’t. My nose got broken on the dance floor.” He carefully avoids mentioning that it was, in fact, Viago who did that. “He was trying to help.” Anton thinks he was trying to help. Believes it, anyway.

“That’s exactly what someone who was hypnotized by a bloody vampire would say.” Nathan’s still advancing on them, and Anton’s running out of options.

He draws himself up to as tall as he can make himself, which is still significantly shorter than Nathan, and emits a low warning growl. That seems to cut through the defensive haze in Nathan’s eyes.

“You need to stand down,” Anton says authoritatively, the growl still present in his voice. “Now.” He hears Viago release a breath he didn’t need to take behind him. Nathan slumps, the fight leaving him, and he looks somewhat chastised. He still glares at Viago, but Anton doesn’t think he’ll try anything anymore.

“I don’t get why you’re defending him,” Nathan says petulantly.

Viago makes a noise behind him, and Anton turns around just in time to see him transform into a bat and fly off toward the main street.

Fuck.

“Nathan, he’s off his head on acid blood,” Anton shouts. “I was trying to keep an eye on him when everything went to shit. And now you’ve gone and scared him.” Nathan looks down, avoiding his eyes. “Just,” Anton pinches the bridge of his newly healed nose, “Just, stay here, with the others. I’ll deal with it. Go.”

He doesn’t stick around to see if Nathan goes back into the club as he takes off down the alley, scanning the skies for any sign of the tiny bat. He runs for several blocks- the benefit of being covered in blood and looking manic is that often times people will give you a very wide berth to do whatever it is you’re doing. He tries to smell the air, but the metallic tang of the blood is overwhelming, and he resolves to find a public toilet where he can wash his face.

When he exits the toilet in Central Park, he nearly jumps out of his skin, curses when he sees Viago sitting on a nearby bench, waiting for him patiently. Anton walks over, shrugging his bomber jacket back on and zipping it up after wiping it dry with a paper towel.

“I was going crazy looking for you, you nut,” he says, standing over him, but there’s no real heat behind it. When Viago meets his eyes, they’re no longer blown wide with the effects of the drugs. “What if I couldn’t find you and the sun came out?”

“I would have found my way home,” Viago says quietly, his fangs teasing out over his lower lip in a smile. Anton sighs, slumping next to him on the bench. “I am never drinking from anyone in a bar again,” he says resolutely, looking out over the twinkling lights of Wellington's few high-rises peeking over the trees.

“Ah, it wasn’t that bad.” Anton tries. Viago just side-eyes him. “Yeah, okay, it was bad.”

“I’m sorry I broke your nose.”

“It’s alright. All better now.”

“You did not deserve that. You were trying to help.”

“Well, it’s not like you did it on purpose.” Anton frowns. “I don’t think.”

“I did not,” Viago says, scandalized.

“Well, that’s that then.” A beat. Then, “You know,” Anton starts, slowly. “It was kind of… Nice. Seeing you let loose. Reminds me that you’re still like us. Not just. Untouchable.” Unattainable, he thinks.

Viago turns to look at him. Anton looks back. Viago’s curls are mussed, hanging in a swoop over his forehead, probably from the exertion of dancing in the crowd, and his shirt is a little rumpled under his untied cravat. He smells like vampire, but underneath, there’s something sweet, like honeysuckle or apple blossoms. Anton sways forward in such a small way that he almost doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

In that moment, there’s a chirping of bats and the strange poofing noise that comes with transformation, and suddenly Vlad, Deacon, and Nick are there, the sounds of their footsteps jarring in the quiet moment. Anton leans away again.

“Viago! Nathan M told us what happened,” Vlad says aggressively. “That dog. I should have skinned him.”

“I think the fuck you shouldn’t have,” Anton snaps, still seated. Viago looks embarrassed next to him.

“And you,” Vlad sneers at Anton. “You were no help. You should have gotten us immediately.”

“What, so you could make him feel like shit for it? Laugh at him?” Anton growls, standing to square up with Vlad. He doesn’t fancy his odds against Vlad and Deacon. Unless he transforms, which he won’t do. But he can’t just sit by and let Vlad walk all over him, either. He feels Viago stand next to him.

“He was just trying to help, Vladislav,” Viago says. He sounds resigned.  

“I don’t believe it,” Vlad says, not taking his eyes off Anton’s.

“He was trying to get you alone so he could rip you to shreds while you were unaware,” Deacon spits, lip curling. “On the first night we decide to all get drunk together. Typical.”

“Oh, Christ,” Anton says in exasperation, and even Viago hisses at that. “Sorry,” he says, awkwardly given that he’s still very much in a fighting stance with two of them.

“Come, Viago, let’s go home.” Vlad steps back from Anton with a glare. “I don’t need to hear these excuses anymore.”

“Vlad, he really didn’t-“ Viago tries again, but he’s cut off as Deacon steps bodily in between them and throws an arm around Viago’s shoulders to lead him away. Vlad goes with them, shooting one last glare in his direction.

“Sorry ‘bout them, man,” Nick says, backing away but facing him. “I believe you. But I’m just a young vampire. Can’t really do anything about it.” Nick turns to follow the three vampires.

Viago looks over his shoulder to meet Anton’s eyes, trying to convey something he can’t decipher, but soon the four of them are smoke in the night, disappearing from view and leaving Anton standing alone in the light of the lamppost.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

7:47PM

Good night. Sun’s gone.

[ATTACHED: 1 IMAGE]

[Anton’s living room; the pack

is visible, silhouetted by the sunset

from earlier coming in through

the window]

8:03PM

Good evening, Anton :}

Any progress?

No. Vld iz stubborn.

Figures

Most of the guys came round

ages ago

Once I could convince them you

weren’t eating me

Idk wat 2 do this tim3.

Anton bites hard into the inside of his cheek trying not to laugh at his phone. Regardless of the serious conversation, Viago still texts ridiculously.

They probably just need more time.

Time is nothing to you guys. Bet you

could hold grudges for eons.

He has.

Well

We’ll figure it out

Anton sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket. It’s been five months since the acid blood incident, and both groups have mutually decided to take a break from seeing each other until tensions are eased and Vlad can be trusted not to attack any of them. If it wasn’t such a detriment to him, Anton would admire the other man’s protective streak, but he misses seeing Viago and not just texting him, so color him annoyed.

He goes about pouring popcorn into a bowl before walking back into the living room. There’s a rugby match on, and most of the pack is over to watch it. Tonight is when they’d have met the vampires before everything happened, and they’d all gotten so used to the routine that none of them knew what to do besides continue to hang out with each other. Not that they don’t always raid Anton’s place anyway.

“D’you have any cereal?” Dion asks as he approaches with the bowl, standing briefly to take a handful. Anton looks outside.

“It’s, like, eight o’clock at night,” he says, flopping down on the couch next to Clifton. Clifton hooks his legs over Anton’s, gaze never leaving the screen.

“And?” Dion scoffs, standing up again and walking to the kitchen.

“Milk’s in the door,” he calls after him like Dion doesn’t already know, then looks down in annoyance at Clifton’s feet. “Do you do this to your missus?” He asks.

“Nah,” Clifton replies, and takes a sip of his beer. Anton decides to let it lie with a huff and turns his attention to the game. Tries to anyway.

It’s not that he doesn’t like rugby, it’s just that he can’t stop thinking about how he misses the vampires. Not just Viago, though the man’s always at the top of his list, but Nick and even Vlad and Deacon in their own ways. They’d had fun and had been in each other’s lives for years, and to suddenly lose that left Anton’s pack feeling a little empty. He’d come to care for them, too. He even vaguely remembers fixing them up with a dishwasher at some point early on, which had blown Deacon’s mind and had them on much friendlier terms afterward. He smiles fondly at the memory.

“What are you cheesin’ at?” Declan implores. “The Lions just took a foul.”

“Hm? Oh, I wasn’t really watching, mate.” Declan just stares at him for a moment. “Sorry,” Anton says meekly. “Just tired. From work.” It’s not exactly a lie, but Declan just rolls his eyes and turns back to the screen. Dion comes back into the room with a bowl and stands at the end of the couch, hunched slightly as he eats.

The game ends about an hour later (Magpies won; they don’t talk about it) and Dion flips the channel to something lighthearted for background noise as the boys start talking about some world cup game from three years ago.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out (with some difficulty, thanks to Clifton’s feet, and he makes sure he knows it by jostling them more than strictly necessary). It’s a text from Viago.

Sometimes your name still tastes

like cinnamon

Anton’s heart expands in his chest for a brief moment, and he shuts the screen of his phone off in a panic, thinking that maybe if he reopens it, the uncharacteristically serious message won’t be there. That it was some hallucination. He looks around to see if anyone saw or if anyone is actively looking before unlocking his phone again.  

It’s still there.

Talking about me then?

It’s all he can muster, because how the fuck (at this point he’s decided his swearwolf rule doesn’t apply to his internal monologue) does one respond to that in a normal way? Besides, it gives him a little thrill. Sue him.

But Viago doesn’t respond, at least not within a few minutes, so he closes his phone once more and devotes his attention to the conversation happening in front of him and tries not to think about the pang of not being able to see his weird little friend.

The wolves that are going to stay (tonight it’s Declan, Matt, and Clifton) settle down on his couch in a big pile at around eleven once the others have gone. Anton spends some time cleaning up and doing the dishes before going to his room to prepare for bed himself. His phone burns a hole in his periphery as he goes about his nightly routine, and he’s about to ignore it, to not let it get to him, to accept their situation for what it is, but something comes over him, and he grabs it against his better judgement.

Miss you too

And then he taps the Do Not Disturb setting and turns his screen off before he can think about it anymore.

The next day at work he is mildly distracted from the nerve wracking-interaction by a group of dickhead students who’d decided to, amongst other things, throw a smoldering cigarette butt off a trailhead into a dry bush right in front of him, which had been his last straw. The satisfaction of kicking them out of the park is enough to release some of his latent aggravation, but his partner gives him the side eye for the rest of the day, given that they’re on the cusp of winter and a wildfire is highly unlikely what with literal snow on the ground on the highest peaks.

He texts Viago when it’s dark and has a good old-fashioned sit-in-the-car-and-zone-out-to-music before he heads home from the reserve. The other man still hadn’t responded from the night before, which was unusual, and the worry of that is gnawing at Anton more than his anxiety around the actual content of the message he’d sent. When he returns to his flat, Clifton and Matt have been replaced with Stu and Dion, while Declan remains, cooking something in the kitchen. Anton hangs his work jacket on a hook and sighs.

“Evening, Anton,” Stu says kindly.

“Don’t you guys have homes? Or jobs?” Anton bitches, tossing his keys in the bowl on the entryway table.

“Someone’s cranky,” Declan quips, not even visible to him yet.

“Piss off.”

“Hey,” Dion exclaims defensively. Anton scrubs his hands over his face, letting them drag through his scruff, and takes another deep breath.

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. Long day is all.” He walks over to the dining table and ruffles Stu and Dion’s hair, scratching behind their ears briefly before moving to the kitchen to do the same to Declan.

“No, I’m upset with you,” Declan says, waving a spatula at him.

“How are you going to threaten me with my own cooking utensils?” Anton gripes. “And you’re dripping pasta sauce everywhere.” Declan glares at him but turns back to the stove and wipes the splatters off the counter. Anton approaches him and puts an arm around his shoulders, resting his chin on the other man’s head. He gets a light head butt to the jaw in response, and he squeezes Declan’s shoulders before releasing him and heading to his bedroom to prepare to shower.

He makes a valiant effort not to check his phone again, he really does, but he can’t help it as he leaves it on his nightstand to charge. Nothing. He purses his lips and forces himself to leave it behind. The long shower he’d hoped would clear his head just makes him feel worse; being left alone with his thoughts just makes them spin through his head more, and he thinks it might be for the better that the guys are here after all, despite his mock-annoyance. He lets out a long sigh as he exits his en-suite, scrubbing at his damp hair and rubbing at his brow, if not any happier then at least feeling more human with the day’s dust and grime washed off.

It’s perhaps thanks to the smell of his soap or the overwhelming steam taking his senses over that he misses him, because Viago is sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark, in all his high-rise trousers and waistcoated glory.

Anton lets out an embarrassingly loud ‘GAH!’ at the sight, full body flinching as he reaches toward the doorframe for emotional support. He thanks whatever deity may be listening that he’d put boxers on. He growls as he hears his soon-to-be dead packmates laughing in the living room. He looks down at the towel he’d tried to protect himself with and tosses it on the ground in exhaustion as the adrenaline leaves his body.

“You should really lock your door,” Viago says in greeting, eyes twinkling. “Anyone could come in here.”

Anton feels something in his heart ease, melt away at the sound of his voice.

“Don’t I have to invite you in here?” Anton asks. He turns to his dresser and quickly rummaging for something to make himself even halfway decent.

“Oh, Stu did,” Viago says cheerfully, like it’s nothing. He stands, locking his fingers behind his back as he observes a photo on the wall above the nightstand. “Stu is great.”

“This isn’t his flat,” Anton grumbles, but even as he dresses he wonders how well that tracks, if vampire magic thought Stu’s permission was good enough, and whether the rest of the pack has that privilege.

Viago turns back to respond, but Anton hugs him before he has the chance.

“Well, the smell will be very hard to explain, now,” Viago says, but after a moment he raises his arms to return the embrace. It’s hesitant, like he’s not sure how, but he rests his chin on Anton’s shoulder and his hands come to settle on Anton’s back. All the thoughts and memories about their last meeting that have been clouding Anton seem to fade into background noise, replaced with the simple feeling of having Viago in front of him.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see you again.” It comes out quieter than he intends.

“You non-vampires and your silly perception of time,” Viago chastises. Anton doesn’t have it in him to explain werewolf aging, especially when Viago whispers, “I have missed you.”

“What are you doing here?” Anton forces himself to pull away, if only because they can’t stand like that forever. “Isn’t Vlad gonna… I don’t know, give you the silent treatment?” 

“Oh, maybe even worse,” Viago replies with an ambivalent smile. “He might even pass the procession of shame.” Anton frowns, trying to imagine what that is. “But this was getting ridiculous. And I think I may have a plan.”

He leads Viago back down the hall to the common area where his pack is still snickering over their bowls of pasta.

“Yeah, very good guys,” Anton says. “Laugh it up.” He goes about preparing himself a bowl of food, famished now that anxiety isn’t unsettling his stomach.

“Alright, Viago?” Declan asks properly, now they’re all in one room.

“Yes,” Viago says earnestly. “How are you? I have missed you all. The house has been dull.”

“Been alright,” Dion says. “Anton’s been in a right state, though.” Anton whips around with purses lips, shooting him a warning glare.

“Has he?” Viago sounds amused.

“Don’t be a dickhead, Dion,” Anton gripes, coming to the table to sit with them. Viago perches himself on the back of the nearby couch, wringing his gloved hands but smiling.

“Swearwolf,” Declan warns.

“I’m the alpha, I can do what I want.”

“Yeah, but what about. Leading by example?” Stu asks with a frown.

“Viago, you said you had a plan?” Anton asks, ignoring his friends with a pleasant smile.

“Ah, well Stu helped. He was over to see Nick-“

“Hang on, Vi-“ Anton says, and turns back to Stu, pointing an accusatory fork at him. “You’ve been going over there? All this time?”

“Did you just call him Vi?” Declan asks incredulously, but Anton points the fork at him in warning without so much as a glance.

“Well- yeah,” Stu says, shifting and looking a bit guilty. “Nick’s my best friend. And they don’t seem to mind me even though I’m technically the. Enemy.” He finishes a bit awkwardly, and looks back down at his pasta to continue eating.

“So, all this time we could’ve been using you as an ambassador and you didn’t think to mention it?”

“Well, any time I tried to bring it up, they just said I was too young,” Stu defends. “Vlad and Deacon, I mean.”

“No, that sounds about right, actually,” Anton concedes.

“And now they’ve got it in their heads that you’re a witch werewolf?” Stu continues. “And you put some kind of spell on Viago-“

“Yeah, he did,” Declan says under his breath, and Dion gives him a high five before Anton kicks both of them under the table.

“-to make him. Not realize you were going to kill him or something.”

“This is ridiculous,” Anton says in exasperation. “This can’t possibly be the first time one of them’s accidentally gotten high.”

“Well, sure, we’ve had some crazy times,” Viago pipes up, and Anton’s heart briefly seizes with endearment for the man. “But never with our mortal enemies. This relationship is unprecedented-“

“Yeah, it is,” Dion mutters, and Declan high fives him, and Anton doesn’t even kick them because he’s not entirely sure what that one’s supposed to mean.

“-and what with the Vampiric Council breathing down our necks-“

“Hang on, the Vampiric Council’s in on this now?” Anton asks.

“Well, we practically are the Vampiric Council,” Viago says, like it should be obvious. “But our fellow council members are very old-fashioned. They don’t understand why we ever bothered in the first place, and they’ve got all these outdated ideas about witches-“

“What, like that they steal your semen?” Anton asks around a mouthful of food.

“Oh, no, they really do that. They use it to make magnets,” Viago replies intently, and Anton blinks. “But the council thinks that there’s no way that we could ever be friends, which means we must be under a spell. Hence, witches.” He finishes with a gesture and a pleasant smile.

“I just think that if we were going to kill you, we would’ve done it by now. Two and a half years is a bit of a long con, don’t you think?”

“Nothing to a vampire,” Viago dismisses, and Anton feels a pang in his heart at the thought that the past two and a half years have been nothing, though it’s a fair statement. “Most vampires have forgotten how time passes for other beings. They think humans live to be two hundred years old.”

“But I could’ve just, like, texted you it was dark out that first night and it would’ve been over with.”

“I don’t like how quickly you came up with that,” the other man says with a pout

“First night of what?” Dion asks.

“Oh, Anton texts Viago when it’s dark every night? So he doesn’t burn to death,” Stu supplies helpfully. “Has done since our first game night. Nick told me. I think it’s sweet.”

“You what?” Declan asks Anton, looking utterly delighted at this revelation.

“Christ- Sorry,” Anton says to Viago when he hisses. The vampire shoots him a lighthearted glare. “The plan? Can we get back to the plan?”

“Ah, yes. So, as I was saying, Stu suggested that we give you an… opportunity to prove that you don’t want us to die. And that got me thinking about The Beast-“

“Oh, they’re off again?” Anton asks sympathetically. Viago gives him a solemn nod.

“Real ugly this time,” Stu says with a grimace. “Vlad didn’t eat for two weeks. Almost took a super slumber.” Anton’s got no idea what that means, but the troubled expression on both their faces indicates it’s pretty bad.

“And I think we might be able to convince her to help us out, because,” and Viago turns his voice to a whisper like The Beast herself can hear, “I hear she might also be going through hell without him, as it were.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“A fake fight with The Beast, in front of Vlad,” Stu says with a grin. “We think a combination of the wolves defending them and the fact that they’ll inevitably get back together afterward will be enough to get us- “

“More like you,” Dion says pointedly.

“-Back in his good graces.”

Anton stares at his insane friends and realizes it might actually work, because everything he’s learned about vampires over the last couple years has proven to him that they’re absolute caricatures.

“Alright. I’m in. But not until after the next moon. It’d be too much for all of us.”

“Excellent,” Viago says warmly with a smile and a soft clap of his hands. “I will liaise with The Beast and share details with you.” He gets up and heads for the window and it’s all Anton can do to not make a full run for him.

“Wait!” He says, chair screeching on the floor as he stands to follow him. “You can’t stay for, like, five more minutes, man? We haven’t seen you in months.”

Viago turns to him and his shoulders sag. Anton lowers the hand he hadn’t even realized he’d raised.

“The longer I stay, the worse Vlad will be when I return,” Viago says softly, and his eyes are sad. It always surprises Anton, the weight they hold sometimes. “But, the quicker I can do this, the quicker things will be… back to normal.”

Anton thinks he doesn’t give a damn what Vlad has to say, but knows that his selfishness now will just make things harder for Viago. There’s a strange bitterness in his throat. He thinks the upset he’s feeling isn’t warranted, which frustrates him even more.

Sensing he has nothing to say, Viago smiles again, and he leans in toward Anton in a way that makes his heart skip a beat, makes him inhale in anticipation… but then he transforms, his bat form squeaking and flapping wildly, and Anton flinches from the shock of it.

By the time he recovers, Viago is gone.

Chapter Text

January 18^th, 2017

7:23PM

Anton’s Residence

Anton settles down in the center of his couch and looks awkwardly from the lens of the camera to the operator behind it, then to the producer. It’s only three days after the moon and his eyes pound with exhaustion, but he’s being brave about it.

“Right, uh,” he starts. “Sorry, where do you want me to look again?”

“Just into the camera is fine,” the producer says kindly, yet simultaneously sounds rather disinterested. Anton swallows.

The documentary producers from the original film had somehow caught wind of their plot to fight The Beast and gotten very interested. Something about a new show they’re filming about the police, which does not bode well for their safety, though the filming crew has assured them multiple times that they’re not going to interfere with either side’s prerogatives. He’d been ready to say no, but the look on Viago’s face when he’d told the pack, even over Skype, was too hard to say no to. Regardless, Anton’s still apprehensive.

They had killed one of the cameramen last time, after all.

“So, what’s been new with the Te Aro wolfpack?” The interviewer- a lovely new girl named Sally, who Anton enjoys conversing with- asks pleasantly.

“Well- really? That’s what you want to talk about?” He asks.

“I’m sure the viewers would enjoy an update. Or context, if they haven’t seen the film.”

Anton nods uncertainly and looks at the lens, trying not to let his gaze shift.

“Not much, to be honest. Clifton and his girlfriend got married nearly right after the documentary finished filming, which was nice-“

“I meant more with the vampires,” Sally cuts in, sounding amused.

“Oh! Right. Of course, you didn’t- right,” Anton says, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Um, well we had a bit of a truce after we turned Stu. But then one night, Viago texted me, inviting us over for a game night, and you know… I’m the alpha so I made the decision, but the guys were all on board… It went pretty well!” He shifts in his seat. “We kept it up for a long time.”

“And now?”

“Something happened last time we met up. That was… six months ago now? The vampires- Vlad and Deacon- they thought I was trying to kill Viago. I wasn’t, of course,” he rushes to add, though who he’s defending himself to he doesn’t know, because the filming crew obviously doesn’t care. “I’d never. I was just trying to help him. But they didn’t believe me, so… here we are.”

“We need details, Anton,” Sally teases. Anton sighs.

“We went to a club, and Viago accidentally did the vampire equivalent of- well if you ask me, a tab of acid, but who knows what it was. Anyway, he went out on the dancefloor, and I followed him to make sure he was okay, and- well, he broke my bloody nose, and then…” He swallows, closing his eyes against the memory. “Anyway, Nathan finds us in the alley, I’m covered in blood and Viago’s right there, so he thought Viago was trying to kill me, and long story short it was all just a misunderstanding. But Vlad’s convinced I’m some kind of witch and doesn’t want Viago to see me. Or the group,” he adds quickly. There’s a pause, and he can’t help but look away from the camera, face growing warm under the scrutiny.

“But you’re going to fight The Beast?”

“Oh- it’s all a ploy. Don’t tell Vlad,” he says, pointing at the crew.

7:47PM

Anton's Residence

“Hi, I’m Nick the Vampire,” Nick says.

“I think- I think they know who you are,” Stu says uncertainly.

They’re both seated on Anton’s couch. Anton has been sequestered away in his room with noise cancelling headphones- something he’d taken great offense to, as it was his own home.

“Right, but it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Nick asks, looking at him. “Like, years.”

“Yeah, but they have a little. Card with your name on it. On the screen.”

“Oh.”

“So how have things been going with you two?” Sally asks kindly. “Have you been impacted by the… feud, as it were?”

“Nah,” Nick says, leaning back into the cushions casually. “’S got nothing to do with us, has it? Stu’s my best friend, we’re not gonna let some drama get in the way. Same as my sister.”

“Well, the other day Anton found out I’ve still been seeing the vampires and he was a little. Peeved?” Stu says. “And he’s the alpha so that wasn’t too fun. Felt bad. But I think he was just jealous.” He shifts a little in his seat.

“Jealous?” Sally asks, intrigued.

“Well, yeah,” Stu replies, appearing uncomfortable with the attention. “I reckon he misses Viago. They’re close.”

“How close?”

Nick and Stu look at each other.

8:21PM

Anton’s Residence

“So, we’re a bit. Divided on the matter,” Stu says.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Clifton says with a snort.

“We’ve got a bet on,” Declan explains. The entire pack is here now, crowded in the living room either sitting on or standing behind the couch. Anton had poked his head out when he smelled them all arriving, but the filming crew ushered him back in his room with assurances it would just be a few more minutes. “Half of us think they’re going to get together in the next year, and half of us believe they’re already together.”

“There’s no voice for, ‘they’re just mates?’” Sally asks with a chuckle. The whole group give her looks of varying degrees of dubiety or confusion.

“I’ve known Anton since primary school,” Declan says. “I’ve never seen him like this over anyone, especially since we were turned. Nah, they’re not just mates.”

“And you’re all okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Dion asks.

“Well, I just figure you’re hereditary enemies,” Sally says. “And also, I understand some of you made some rather… offensive remarks during filming, the last go around.” The group look at each other, uncomfortable.

“Right, well, we were a bit… old fashioned. Anton gave us a real talking to after that,” Matt says.

“Yeah, wasn’t pretty,” Nathan M. agrees. “Felt real nasty afterward.”

“Love is love,” Stu says gently. “I think they’re sweet.”

“Well, thank you boys,” Sally says kindly. “This has been… Enlightening.”

9:40PM

Vampire Residence

“It really is so nice having you back,” Viago says with a smile. “So many new faces.”

“Yes, well, not many wanted to come back,” Sally chuckles. Despite her light tone, Viago looks down for a moment, appearing remorseful.

“Yes, we’re sincerely sorry about that incident. Really, it was our fault. We provoked the pack.”

“How are things going with the pack?”

“Oh, wunderbar,” Viago says, clasping his hands over his knee. “Anton has been lovely, and our friendship has really blossomed. Between the pack and the vampires, I mean.” A pause. “Really, it was going swimmingly. Well, except for Deacon and Vlad now being convinced Anton is a witch. But that will soon be taken care of.”

“With The Beast,” Sally says, the capitalization audible in her tone.

“Yes.”

“What happened to make all this necessary? Why do Vlad and Deacon think Anton is a witch?” Sally asks intently. “We got Anton’s side of the story of course, but we’d like yours too. Makes for good television.”

Viago looks at the camera with wide eyes for a moment before remembering himself.

“Well, we all went out to the club one night- it was Stu’s anniversary. And of course, we vampires can’t drink human alcohol. So, I drank the blood of a human who I thought was drunk.” He frowns. “You know, when I think about it, I should have known he was also on drugs, because I didn’t even have to hypnotize him afterwards. It was like he had the brain scramblies,” he says conspiratorially. “Anyway, it is hard for me to remember, but I ended up dancing with Anton,” he licks his lips and looks down. “And… Well. It’s all kind of fuzzy. I accidentally broke his nose, and there was blood, and the next thing I really remember is flying over the city. So, I found Anton in the park, and that’s where Vlad and Deacon found us, and they were ranting about Nathan and Anton and murder plots, and here we are.”

Viago smiles ambivalently at the camera.

10:10PM

Vampire Residence

“He is a dirty witch werewolf,” Deacon says, and promptly spits on the ground.

“Yes. Dirty witch werewolf,” Vlad confirms. They’re seated next to each other on a small antique loveseat near the stairs. When the camera zooms out, Viago is visible, too, seated in a different chair from his individual interview and glaring at them lightheartedly out of the corner of his eye.

“And what about the rest of the pack?” Sally asks.

“They’re cool,” Deacon shrugs. “Except Clifton. Clifton is a cunt. And Stu. We love Stu.”

“Be nice to Clifton. Remember when he let you win that game of Bataille?” Viago chastises.

“He did not let me win, I won fair and square,” Deacon aggresses.

“Anton is not a witch,” Viago tells the camera.

“He is a witch, we saw the spell in action firsthand,” Vlad says incredulously. “You cannot say he’s not a witch, how would you know?”

“I think it would have come up in conversation before,” Viago reasons. “You know, ‘Hey, Anton, how have you been this past month?’” And then, in a surprisingly accurate kiwi accent, given how strong his own is, “Oh, great Vi. You know, been practicing my. Semen collecting.’” The impression falters as Viago runs out of things to say to keep the bit going.

“He calls you Vi?” Deacon asks, wrinkling his nose.

“He would not tell you he was a witch if he was trying to cast a spell on you!” Vlad bursts out, waving his arms and leaning forward to look around Deacon at him.

“I do not even call you Vi and I have known you for many decades. Your name is Viago.”

“Just another part of his witchcraft,” Vlad says, looking back to the camera and pointing.

Viago sighs.

10:26PM

Anton's Residence

A camera films Anton through the doorway to his room. He sends a text; he gets one in response.

He smiles.

Chapter Text

“So, this is where I work,” Anton says, squinting against the light wind and the setting sun. He’s got his hands shoved in his ranger jacket and he’s standing upon a rock next to the Belmont Trig overlooking the canyons and hills of the park. “The park doesn’t need many rangers, so it was nice when I convinced my supervisor to station me here. Made transformation nights a lot easier. There’s usually only two of us here in this part of the park a day, besides the camp attendant, and I think for the whole park there’re only ten of us.”

He looks out over the view because looking into the camera is becoming a bit much. He’s got a small crew following him, practically just two guys with a handicam and a mic, because tonight’s the big night and they’re going to be documenting the ‘fight.’

“I like to come up here to, er, take photos of the sunset sometimes. The park technically closes then, but my partner’s stayed behind at the gate so that I could take you up here. Do a bit of advertising, as it were.” He smiles awkwardly before turning around and contemplating throwing himself down the mountainside to escape the situation.

He pulls out his phone to capture the last rays of the setting sun, the way the dusk washes the hills in a soft purple-red haze, silhouettes the cows on the peak across the canyon, the last shine of the sun on the buildings of Lower Hutt in the distance. He smiles to himself, taking a deep breath before turning back to the crew.

“Shall we?”

When they reach the jeep, he sends Viago the picture quickly, aware that the camera remains trained on him almost at all times and Sally had been asking him some very leading questions, and starts the drive down the hill. When they reach the gate, his partner for the day lets them out and waves them off, and Anton waits for her to get into her car before pulling onto the highway back toward Wellington. It gets a bit awkward in the silence, so he puts on the radio and tries to turn his mind off from the worry.

It takes about twenty minutes to reach the city, and at the first red light he pulls his phone out to see that both Viago and Declan have texted him.

Viago 🧛

8:15PM

plz cum 2 big kumara now

He frowns. That wasn’t the plan. He checks Declan’s message.

Declan

8:07PM

everythings gone to shit come to big camera

A car honks behind him and he looks up to realize the light is green. Muttering a quiet ‘shit,’ he hits the gas and waves to the person behind him in acknowledgment.

“Er,” Anton starts, checking his surroundings in the mirrors and getting the attention of the cameraman. “Something’s apparently gone wrong, so change of plan. I don’t know if your crews are already following the others, but we’re headed to the Big Kumara now. Viago and Declan have both messaged me, so…”

They find themselves stuck in traffic for a further twenty minutes, the streets of the town clogged with Friday night revelry and people headed home from work. Anton eventually gives up and decides it would be quicker for them to walk or run from where they are than continue to drive, and he pulls down a side street to park before beginning the trek toward the bar.

By the time they get there, his pack is gathered outside, huddled together and looking around anxiously. When Dion spots him, they all come rushing over to meet him, talking at once until Anton quiets them with a raised voice and a puffed chest. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his work jacket, glaring at the light one of the other cameramen has flicked on

“What, exactly, has happened?” He asks, looking to Stu and Declan, who seem to have the best general idea of what’s going on.

“Vlad found out about the plan- well, not exactly,” Declan rushes, glancing back at the bar. “He somehow found out that Viago was planning on meeting Pauline and got furious, thinks Viago was breaking… I don’t know, the bro code? Because he obviously didn’t get all the details.”

“What, he thinks Viago’s trying to see Pauline?” Anton asks. “Viago?” He makes a face before shaking his head and realizing he doesn’t have time to get caught up in pedanticism. “What’s happening now?”

“Well, last we saw, Vlad was throwing tables at him?” Stu says, and Anton’s eyes widen.

“You didn’t bloody open with that?” He mutters, pushing past them all to enter the bar.

The second he opens the door, a chair shatters to pieces on the wall next to him, and he recoils, his arms coming up to shield he and his pack. When he’s sure no other furniture is being lobbed in their direction, he pushes forward, glancing about the room.

Vladislav is standing on the bar with a stool in his hand, which he sends shooting across the room like a bullet with his superhuman strength. It crashes into the wall a little further away from the door, caving it in and showering the floor with drywall. Anton tracks the trajectory to see Viago and Pauline hiding behind an overturned table. Viago gives him a little wave. Anton raises his arms to the sides in the universal gesture of ‘what the fuck?’

“Vlad, I don’t know how you’re going to pay for all these damages,” Viago shouts, pressing his back to the table and looking over his shoulder.

“With your head, you scheming little dandy,” Vlad roars, resorting to chucking the glasses that hang over the bar now that he’s out of easily accessible furniture.

“We haven’t accepted heads as payment in decades,” who appears to be the owner of the joint says from behind another nearby table, sounding more annoyed than anything.

“Vlad!” Anton tries, and Vlad whips around to face him, nearly snarling.

“Oh, great, the dirty witch werewolf is here too,” he says. Anton ducks as a glass shatters on the wall above his head. He does his best to shield himself, but the shower of shards cuts at his face and he comes away with a stinging cheek. He growls lowly as he feels the skin knit up almost as quickly as it split open; he’s not in pain, but now he’s annoyed. “Come to laugh at me?”

“It’s just a misunderstanding, you dickhead,” he yells, ducking another glass (successfully) as he stalks toward the enraged man.

“Misunderstand this,” Vlad shouts, and throws two more glasses at his head in rapid succession. The first one misses, but the second one he actually has to bat out of the way.

It’s enough of a distraction for Vlad to sail down off the bar and get a head start in the direction of Viago and Pauline, and Anton has to book it across the room to make it between them in time. He raises his hands placatingly in front of him, trying to get Vlad to just stop.

“Please, mate, if you’d just listen-“

“He’s right, dearest, you know I wouldn’t-“ Pauline tries behind him.

“Enough!” Vlad roars, shoving Anton out of the way, and even with Anton’s own strength, he’s sent stumbling a few feet. He looks up in time to see Vlad hauling a very annoyed looking Viago over the table by the lapels of his coat, and that’s when Anton sees red.

He’s unsure about the in between, but one moment he’s still hunched from the impact of Vlad’s shove and the next, he’s maneuvering Viago behind him and punching Vladislav in the face with a snarl. Vlad goes stumbling in a similar manner, bringing a hand up to his cheek like he’s more shocked than anything. Anton shakes his hand out, breathing heavily and feeling like he just punched a steel beam. Someone in his pack whistles. He’ll be sure to find out who later.

“Shit, man,” Vlad says, sounding a little defeated, straightening out to look at him and still cradling his cheek, which Anton can see now was split open with the beating.

“Sorry,” Anton says earnestly and a bit awkwardly, vaguely becoming aware that his still got one arm behind him. His hand is fisted in Viago’s sleeve. He releases it, and he feels hands slide off his back, like Viago had been resting them there.

“It’s not like I was going to really hurt him,” Vlad says incredulously. “It’s against our laws!”

“To be fair, it didn’t look like that was going to stop you!” Anton defends. His eyes pulse in the familiar shift from wolf to normal. He’d really lost it. “Also, while we’re here, I’m not a bloody witch.”

“He’s really not,” Viago says behind him.

“Yes, point taken, assholes,” Vlad responds, annoyed.

“Is your face okay?” Anton asks.

“Piss off,” Vlad says, turning his attention to Pauline. “Tell me you weren’t going to sleep with this namby-pamby.” His voice is low and guttural.

“I am offended you would even ask,” Pauline responds, sounding breathless. Anton grimaces, glancing for a moment at the camera and crew, who have inched closer now that the action has settled.

“Rude,” Viago mumbles. Anton bites the inside of his cheek.

Vlad and Pauline saunter toward each other in some weird, peacock-ish mating dance. Vlad visibly leads with his hips. Anton’s lip curls in the expression of gross before averting his gaze and turning to check on Viago. He’s wringing his hands, looking at the display in front of them with a similar expression of moderate disgust. Anton backs up a step to stand beside him and to get away from… whatever is happening in front of him. He’s almost certain he saw a tongue.

“You alright?” He asks Viago quietly, keeping his gaze fixed resolutely on the vampire’s face. Viago turns to him, collar and coat rumpled but fangs teasing out in the smile Anton likes. Anton reaches a hand out without thinking, other still stuffed in his pocket, and fixes Viago’s clothes, fingers smoothing over the fabric.

“Yes, my knight in dusty park ranger uniform,” Viago says as Anton goes, eyes glowing with amusement.

Anton purses his lips and withdraws his hand, feeling his face heat, but when he looks away, he gets an eyeful of Vlad palming at Pauline’s waist and breast, so he turns about face. The distraction is at least enough to fight the blush and adjust his expression. When he looks back at Viago, the affection in the man’s gaze hits him like a brick wall, harder than Vlad’s cheek against his fist, and he’s frozen, just staring back, with no escape in either direction. And yet, he can’t help the smile that tugs his lips upward.

Vlad or Pauline- maybe both?- ruin the moment with a loud groan, and Anton widens his eyes at Viago before physically grabbing the man and turning him around to push him toward the pack and the door and out-

He’s giggling before he even realizes it, covering his mouth with the back of his hand even as he continues to push Viago, like he needs to hide it. But Viago’s laughing too, that quiet, reserved laugh that never fails to make Anton smile wider at whatever ridiculous situation they find themselves in. They find Deacon outside, looking like he’d been a split second from bursting through the door when the throng of werewolves, cameramen, and vampire had come out.

“Did I miss the action?” He asks in a whine, which sends Anton into further a fit, and he finds himself holding himself up on Viago’s shoulder; Viago’s tittering goes up a pitch like it only does when he thinks something is really funny.

“Nah, mate, plenty of action happening in there,” he responds, and the sight of Viago pressing a gloved hand to his mouth sets him giggling like a schoolchild again.

“Shut up, witch,” Deacon says, giving him a once over.

“One of these days, I’ll actually become a witch and this whole thing will look really silly,” Anton says after catching his breath.

“That’s not funny,” Viago says, and leans into Anton’s space with a serious expression. “Sperm is very important to us vampires.”

Anton can only keep it up for a moment before he cracks yet again. Viago’s nose scrunches up as he smiles so widely all his teeth become visible; Anton’s heart skips a beat.

“Right, you two are being annoying, so I am going to go find something better to do,” Deacon says. “I am going to get a drink, who is with me?” A few of the pack, all of the camera operators (who are looking somewhat disappointed and peeved at the anticlimactic resolution to their story as well as moderately exhausted from the adrenal rush), and the owner of the Big Kumara himself (who has given up on fixing anything on his property or kicking Vlad and Pauline out for the night) agree, beginning to follow him down the street.

“Oh, so I can see him now?” Anton calls after Deacon, who waves him off. And maybe Anton’s a little disappointed in this resolution, too, considering it had been months of waiting and then planning just to have all his problems solved with a well-timed punch and two incredibly horny vampires groping each other in public. But when he turns to look at Viago, his heart’s full enough to make up for it. “C’mon,” he says, nudging him with an elbow and leading him in the opposite direction.

“You don’t want to go with them?” Viago says lightly, keeping pace with his hands behind his back.

“Last time we did, you broke my nose and I couldn’t see you for six months.” He tries to fight the warmth in his face- it’s a valiant effort, really- and continues, “Nah, maybe next time. They can get into their shit. I reckon we’re better at picking the pieces up than breaking them ourselves.” He frowns. “Besides, I’m starved. D’you want chips?” He winces. “To come with me. For chips. I mean.”

“No, thank you.”

Anton stops short, his heart rising to his throat, his stomach sinking-

“Just kidding,” Viago says, smiling. “I got you though.”

Anton feels a little like he might break down crying, but he bravely continues walking anyway.

“Yeah, you got me good, dickhead,” he relents, grinning despite himself as he looks straight ahead.

“I think you had actual puppy dog eyes. It was impressive.”

“Piss off.”

“Swearwolf.” Anton grins at the way his accent works around the word.

“So, how do you plan to pay the Big Kumara back for all that damage?”

“Oh, we have access to the funds of the worldwide Vampiric Council,” Viago says dismissively.

“That isn’t, like… an inappropriate use of those funds?” Anton asks, but the entire concept of the council and their rules has made no sense from the beginning, so he’s somewhat prepared for an outlandish answer.

“Not really. This kind of thing is very common in our world. Many vampiric relationships are… explosive, you could say. Sexually, mostly. But also, emotionally.”

“I guess that makes sense, though,” Anton says, kicking at a fallen seed pod from a tree as he walks. “You get a finite number of eternal beings with eternal feelings all rolling around together when most of the world can’t know…” Viago gives him a small smile.

“Many think we don’t have feelings at all,” he says. “What with our dead hearts. But you are right. And you are one of the first to say it, at least to me. So I thank you.”

Anton doesn’t, can’t know what to say to that, but he manages a nod.

“Katherine and I more… imploded,” Viago continues, his hands coming around to his front as he wrings them in that nervous way.

“I didn’t want to say anything, because you hadn’t mentioned it…”

“Yes. It is alright. It happened very soon after… Well. She is a young vampire, and… she changed a lot in the years I did not know her. That’s the way,” he says quietly, and Anton is reminded of standing in a vampire’s basement as a stranger. “I was sad for a long while, but now… I can be happy with my memories. And besides,” Viago says, a sparkle appearing in his eye as he walks through the door to a chippy that Anton has opened for him, “I think, perhaps, it is why I threw myself headlong into our relationship with you and your pack.”

“Ah, so I have her to thank, do I? Not my charming personality?”

“Your personality is very charming,” Viago concedes, his hands returning to their position behind his back. “I will say it was fifty-fifty.”

“Oh, I’m honored,” Anton pretends to gripe.

They fall into a comfortable silence as Anton orders, and they choose a table in the empty shop. Anton watches Viago as he stares out the large window at passing traffic and pedestrians. The occasional passing headlights illuminate him briefly in the dim fluorescent lighting. Anton rests his hand on his chin, looks at the way Viago’s curls are fluffier than usual.

“You know,” Viago starts, not looking at him still. “I am not… used to people missing me.” Anton frowns.

“How d’you mean?”

Viago brings his hands up onto the table and folds them, looking down at them as his thumbs press together. Anton moves both his elbows to cross his arms on the table and leans forward slightly. The shop attendant chooses that moment to place a plate of chips between them.

“I mean that as a vampire, I do not become close to many outside our community,” Viago replies once the man is out of earshot. “We usually stick together in groups that are very tightly knit, and the other vampires we know… well, perhaps it is that we don’t let ourselves become close. We don’t lament when we don’t see each other even for decades because we have… quite literally all the time in the world. We don’t mourn for more than a moment when one of us dies because if we let that grief take over, the eternity of living with it becomes too much to bear.” Despite the heart-wrenching words, he watches Anton stress-eat with a smile.

“I fell in love with Katherine with the thought that we could live eternally together, and perhaps if my plan had worked we could have been happy that way. But now, in this time… I am old.” He finally looks up to meet Anton’s eyes, and Anton can see it. “And this life… It is what Katherine wanted, and she is happy this way, for now. For that I don’t regret what I did. But I don’t believe I would do it again.

“But Katherine lived a whole life without me. She was able to be happy, and really, that was all I could have wished for her. Becoming close with you and your pack is unheard of, but not just for the obvious reasons. You are mortal. I will watch you- all of you- die. And I will mourn.” The last bit comes out breathless. Anton has stilled, listening to Viago ramble. “But watching over Katherine for so many years taught me that it was a waste of time. I have no regrets,” he clarifies again. “Every moment, or year- what is the difference really?- taught me lessons. But the most important lesson I learned is… what is the point of eternal life if we do not live? Am I happy watching from afar? Not living in society because I’m too afraid of my own feelings? We spend time in town and unfailingly end up with other vampires or having to hypnotize the humans we do interact with if we don’t eat them first. I have watched the vampires who follow the solitary path become callous, lose empathy for the people around them, but once we lose that, perhaps we do become the empty, unfeeling husks people think us to be.

“Vlad and Deacon think I have become too close,” Viago barrels forward. “They are worried about our reputations, of course- the rest of the council is very old-fashioned. They have no patience for what we,” Viago gestures between he and Anton, “are trying to do. They think it’s wrong. But more than that, Vlad and Deacon are worried about my feelings. I know what they can be like, but they do care about me, and they have told me they are worried I may not recover when I lose you. But the pain… it is worth it.” He’s almost wistful when he meets Anton’s eyes once more. He’s no longer smiling. “You are worth knowing. And I knew I was right, despite what Vlad and Deacon might say, when you told me you missed me. These connections… they prove our impact on the world. The pain makes them real. There is suffering and sorrow but also joy and love. We cannot have one or the other, nor does one outweigh the other.”

“Shit, Vi,” Anton says after a moment, barely a whisper. But Viago leans back, his hands moving to his lap and that resting ambivalent smile returning to his face.

“All this to say… I am sorry. Six months… it is half a year, but it feels like days to me. Perhaps a side effect of keeping ourselves so removed. And, I think, Vlad and Deacon may have also gotten to me with their worrying. I did not act with urgency, and I wasted your time.” His gaze returns to the street outside the window. “We have so little together. It is precious.”  

They’re silent for a while, Anton unable to do anything but stare at the plate of chips in front of him. And then:

“D’you wanna go look at the stars?” He asks with a small squint.

Viago turns face to look at him, but doesn’t say anything.

“’Cause you’re right. About the feeling things and the being part of society and how we don’t have much time. Well. I don’t have much time. But humans- mortals- whatever, we go crazy when we try and give it all a meaning. It all gets to be so much. And when I get overwhelmed by it, I look up there and remember that, yeah, I could drive myself crazy trying to pack every minute with something that could make it worth it, whatever that means. Or, I could appreciate the moment for what it is. A connection or a feeling.” He looks out the window now, unable to bear meeting Viago’s gaze as he says, “This moment with you makes the last six months without you feel so far away to me.” He clears his throat and looks back down to his plate, popping a chip in his mouth to give him something else to focus on beside his too-quickly beating heart (which he knows Viago can hear. He knows it). “Not that I think we should go another six months, ‘cause it was shit. But it doesn’t matter now that we’re here.”

When he’s finally brave enough to look, Viago’s just smiling at him softly.

“Yes, I think I would like to look at the stars.”

Anton smiles back.

He drives them back to Belmont; it’s overcast in Wellington proper, but the hills of the park are high enough to avoid the marine layer. It’s silly, as he’s going to have to be back in twelve hours at this rate, but he doesn’t exactly have the keys to the gates of the other parks in the area. It’s useful that he knows the place like the back of his hand at this point, because it’s pitch black and there are no lights, and even his heightened night vision is barely helping. He glances occasionally at Viago, but the other man is looking out the window in mild interest the whole time.

It’s a short trek from where they park to the crest of the hill, and Anton snorts when Viago simply starts floating after he trips over a rock not once, but twice. When they summit, he takes a moment to look over the twinkling lights of Petone before plopping down in the grass and spreading the spare jumper he’d brought to lay their heads on. Viago stays standing, head craned at an uncomfortable looking angle as he gazes at the sky. Anton watches him for a moment from where he lies, just looking over his silhouette, before speaking.

“It’s more comfortable from the ground, y’know.” He scoots over unnecessarily as invitation, making even more room for Viago as he looks down. When he finally settles next to Anton, he’s almost as cold to the touch as the windchill even through his coat, so Anton takes his jacket off and drapes it over the both of them, folding his arms underneath so they’re still protected.

“I have never seen the stars like this,” Viago breathes, and Anton realizes what he’d perceived as boredom had been something more akin to quiet awe.

“I can’t believe I’d never thought to take you out here before.” He grins. “They’re always there, you just have to look.” He takes an arm out and points it across the sky in an arc. “That band’s the Milky Way, right? This time of night, it’s stretching from east to west, but it’ll shift as the night goes on.” He points almost directly above them and makes a little ex with his finger. “Those four bright stars, that’s the Southern Cross, like you see on the flag, and then to the left are Hadar and Alpha Centauri. And those are the Southern Pleiades.” He draws his arm back in and breathes out a quiet laugh. “I know I said I do this to appreciate the moment and not give everything a meaning, but here I am giving the stars meaning.” He frowns. “But I guess humans’ve been doing that forever. Thousands of years. All civilizations in all of history. Talk about being insignificant.”

They lay in silence for a while; the occasional meteorite streaks its way across the sky. It could be minutes. It could be hours.

“This year,” Anton starts. “I’ll take you to the Matariki festival. It's not for a few months, but it’s huge in Wellington, I’m sure you’ve seen it.” He feels Viago shift, turn to face him by laying on his side. Anton follows suit, cushioning his head on his elbow. “It’s a Māori celebration of the rising Pleiades. It marks the new year on their lunar calendar. Obviously, you can’t go to the daytime bits, but there are dance showcases and market stalls that go into the evening, and the observatory on the hill hosts a big event the night of the first new moon closest to the rising. Works out for both of us.”  

Viago doesn’t respond right away. He just stares, and Anton stares back because he’s not sure what else to do. The wind is nipping at his back, not covered by his jacket, and it’s cold even with his warmer blood. But he doesn’t want to move and break whatever this moment is. He hadn’t realized how close they were while he’d been talking, but now that he’s paying attention he realizes he could count Viago’s eyelashes if he had a mind to. He looks over Viago’s face, tracing over each feature like it’s just another star chart.

He startles when Viago’s hand comes up to his face, his eyes snapping back to Viago’s in question. Viago’s finger lightly draws a line down his cheek.

“You have a cut.” Viago’s hand withdraws. Anton misses it.

“Yeah, when Vlad was throwing glasses a shard fell and cut me. Better now though.”

Viago frowns before bringing his hand up to lick his thumb. He drags it along the tender skin of the healed cut and Anton grimaces.

“What are you-“

Viago licks his thumb clean of newly remoistened blood. Anton’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at Viago’s mouth.

“Hm. Cinnamon.”

The first time Viago had done this he was out of his right mind, and Anton hadn’t exactly been sober either. But now, Anton is fully aware of his heart pounding in his ears, thankful for the dark that hides the flush creeping up his neck. Anton is fully aware that Viago knows exactly what he’s doing and that it took a hell of a lot more effort this time around.

“Vi,” he breathes. It feels like a warning. Maybe a prayer.

Viago places his hand on Anton’s face again, and for a moment Anton thinks he’s going back for more. Instead, he just stays still, looking at where their skin meets.

“You are so warm. Like the sun.” Viago frowns contemplatively. “I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.”

Oh.

Oh.

If Anton had been standing on a precipice before, it crumbles beneath him in that moment. He feels simultaneously like he’s falling and like he’s being carried on wings to someplace much higher. His head spins with the flirtation and he purses his lips against the wave of emotion that’s threatening to sweep him away. Maybe because that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him, or the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said in history, but mostly the fact that he’s liked Viago for a very long time and didn’t even realize it until the possibility became abundantly clear that Viago may like him just as much.

Far too quickly, Anton forgets that he and Viago aren’t the only two people on the planet, in the universe that stretches above them. Of course, it makes sense, looking back. He’d been absolutely charmed by Viago the moment they’d met, and they worked so well together. And when he’d had that taken away, he’d missed it so much, wanted it so selfishly. He thinks about all the nights he’d spent plagued by visions of Viago’s intoxicated bloodlust, and the equal time he’d spent daydreaming about his smile or laugh which came so freely when they were together. His pack saw it before he did. Of course they did.

Too soon, much too soon, Viago is removing his hand once more. Anton doesn’t know how to speak, let alone ask him to come back, to touch him more-

Viago turns back to the sky. He’s still frowning. His eyes look sad.

Anton lies on his back once more, adjusting his jacket so it fits over them both again. His hand bumps Viago’s forearm underneath the cover as he settles, and he recoils for a second before cautiously, intentionally placing it back. When Viago doesn’t react, he gently runs it down until he finds his hand, intwining their fingers. Viago gives a slow squeeze.

They’ll have to get up eventually. Maybe, someday, they’ll have to talk about it. They both know that. But this clandestine moment in the dark, this connection they have, is more important than the universe knocking on their door. It’s enough for Anton.

It’s enough.

Chapter Text

Anton leans against the hood of his car, staring at the grass. He’s waiting for Maia, his partner for the week, to finish talking with some visitors who had a question about one of the trails. She’s young and bubbly in contrast with his haggard, post-moon appearance, so he’d very willingly let her take the lead, giving him the opportunity to zone out and try not to fall asleep standing up.

“Alright, old man,” Maia says loudly enough to snap him out of it. “What’s wrong?” Anton furrows his brow, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been standing here for, like, two minutes? Trying to get your attention?” Anton looks around and realizes the hikers are nowhere to be seen. “This is way beyond your normal weirdness.”

“Hey,” Anton says defensively, finally kicking into gear enough to make his way to the driver’s side door. “I can’t just be tired?” Maia just gives him a look as if to say, ‘I’ve worked with you for four years.’ Anton sighs. “Just had a long night is all. Don’t,” he adds, closing the door behind him and pointing at her when her eyes gleam.

The moon was bad this month, bad in a way it hasn’t been in ages, in the way it always is when Anton doesn’t take care of himself before-hand. He hasn’t been sleeping. Can’t stop thinking about Viago’s hand in his. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel like it’s an adequate replacement, swept away in the memory for a moment. Then, he slumps forward and closes his eyes, resting his forehead on the steering wheel’s leather. The car jostles as Maia closes her door.

“You sure you should be driving? Cause you look like you should be horizontal in the boot.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, not moving. They’re not in any rush. It’s always slow on the weekdays even in summer. He can feel Maia staring at him but he really doesn’t have the energy.

“You know what you need? Coffee. We should go into town.”

“We can’t,” Anton gripes.

“We can if we get Pete to cover for us for half an hour,” she protests. “C’mon. Half an hour. Thirty minutes. Elixir of the gods. Breathe life into your weary soul.”

Anton has half a mind to keep his foot down, but when he looks up at her, his eyes itch, barely make it halfway open, and his head pounds like he’s been up for two days straight (which he practically has), so he relents. She grins in triumph and calls to Pete over the radio and explains the situation, which he agrees to on the condition they bring something back for him. Anton tries to rub some life into his face as they wait for their coworker to make his way down to the lower entrance to the park.

“You look like shit,” Pete says cheerfully through his rolled down window as he pulls up. Anton glares at him but there’s no fight behind it.

“What do you want?” Maia asks.

“Something with an insane amount of sugar.”

“Got it,” Maia chirps. “C’mon, old man.”

It takes them ten minutes to get into town and to a coffee shop Maia likes. Anton insists on a black coffee which leads Maia into a five-minute rant about how ‘cool and gruff he thinks he is’ and gets the barista to laugh at him; he has to admit it’s kind of a cock order and he would really like something tastier, but nothing wakes him up like an acrid brew that’s been sitting on the burner too long while the workers focus on the crafted drinks customers actually go there for. Anton closes his eyes with the first sip, letting it burn his tongue and revivify his senses.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s actually going on with you?” Maia asks as they return to the jeep. Anton sighs, takes Pete’s fancy looking blended beverage from her as she settles in her own seat before handing it back. “Is it a guy? Ooh, I bet it’s a guy. Is he a dickhead? You’re too old for fuckboys, Anton.” When he purses his lips and doesn’t respond right away, she actually squeals and wiggles in her seat. “It is a guy! Oh, my god, someone’s finally softened your cold, dead heart!”

“Hang on, how do you know it’s a guy?” He protests. Not that he really cares, but he thinks he dresses and acts uncannily straight for the most part. But Maia just gives him a look, and he sighs. “No, that’s fair. Forget I asked.”

“So, who’s got you looking like death just barely warmed over?”

Another man that’s the actual personification of death warmed over, Anton thinks ruefully.

“He’s not a fuckboy, for one,” he says lightly instead, pulling back out onto the street. “He’s very kind. It’s just complicated.”

“I hate when people say that! It’s never that complicated, just communicate! Men,” she laments, shaking her head and looking out the window.

“There are so many details-“

“Tell me!”

“Alright. He’s a vampire of international renown, and I’m the alpha of a local werewolf pack, and we’re hereditary enemies, not to mention I think his flatmates hate me, and-“

“Alright, I get it,” Maia laughs, and Anton grins, too. “Keep your secrets, mate. But if you ever want to actually talk…” They’re silent for a few minutes, Maia tapping her fingers in the grasp of the coffees she’s holding, before turning to him. “So, what’s he like? When are you seeing him again? How’d you meet?”

“Maia.”

“I just don’t believe you’ve finally found someone!” She gushes, and even out of the corner of his eye he can see her smile. Anton briefly closes his eyes. She’s always been like this, and for some reason it’s always worked on him. “Maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.” Anton sighs.

“We’re part of two… clubs. And we’re not really supposed to be friends, but actually, our groups get along pretty well. We met at a mixer. Kind of.”

“Is this some kind of rugby thing?” Maia asks, wrinkling her nose. “Rival teams, is it?  Seems too ‘toxic masculinity’ to be a knitting society.” Anton opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Yeah, sure. It’s rugby.”

“It all seems so Romeo and Juliet,” she says, gesticulating dangerously with the coffees.

“If you spill in here, you’re paying for the detail.”

“Are you gonna see him soon? Can I meet him? Oh my god, bring him to the park!”

“He’s not really… free during the daytime.” Not exactly a lie. “Anyway, I’m supposed to see him this week, actually. Our… clubs meet once a month.” He sighs. “Dunno, might cancel. I’m feeling kind of under the weather.”

“Bullshit. Y’know how I know this is serious?” Maia asks, leaning across the center console slightly.

“Enlighten me.”

“You never talk about your personal life with me.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “I told you about my… friend’s… wedding.”

“That was three bloody years ago!” She cries with a laugh.

“Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“Piss off.”

Despite his exhausted state, he laughs, too.

Anton doesn’t end up skipping game night, despite every ounce of his body desiring to. He hasn’t seen Viago in the month since their… well, whatever it was. He’s sent his sunset messages every day, but even Viago hadn’t gone out his way to pursue a conversation. Maybe it’s a boundary neither of them had been willing to cross so soon, a moment of weakness in the night with the concepts of eternity and humanity looming over them. Or maybe they were both just scared of what it could mean. Anton hasn’t the energy to think about it.

His pack, strangely, seem none the wiser to his apprehensive attitude, all enthusiastic as ever when they arrive at the vampiric residence with their booze and laughs and aggressive shoulder slapping. Maybe it’s the excitement of the first official game-night since the acid blood incident, and it’s that thought that has Anton realizing every issue that’s arisen beyond the occasional squabble over a game’s loss is because of he and Viago of all people. The two he’d been the least worried about going into this whole thing. My god, he thinks, the idea rendering him feeling a bit hysterical.

He manages a smile for Deacon, Vlad, and Nick when he enters. Vlad and Deacon are curt, but he hadn’t expected anything less. It isn’t until the group head into the den to start their respective games and leave them behind that he realizes he and Viago had always ended up alone at these bloody events by their own designs. Had he really been so blind?

He and Viago stare at each other in the foyer, Anton heaving a sigh as the last of the revelry fades into the next room and becomes distant background noise. Neither of them moves at first, but Viago eventually steps to the side, an invitation to follow him down the hall to the kitchen. Their usual routine.

It shouldn’t be strange.

Anton sits at the kitchen table after putting his pack’s drinks in the refrigerator. Viago leans against the counter next to the sink, wringing a dish towel unnecessarily and watching him. A loud cheer erupts down the hall.

“Um,” Anton says eloquently. It feels like it saps twenty years of his life force.

“I have missed you this month,” Viago says after a pause with a small quirk of his lips like he knows what he’s doing. Anton feels himself go so beet red, steam practically comes out his ears. Bloody vampires.

“Yeah. I missed you, too,” he says softly anyway, getting himself under control. It helps that Viago always looks at him so patiently. “What have you been up to?” Stupid, he winces inwardly. But Viago frowns, unperturbed by his shit attempt at small talk, and comes to sit in the chair closest to him at the table.

“Much of our time has been devoted to council business,” he starts, placing the towel on his other side so that it doesn’t lay between them. He folds his hands on the table and looks at them. “Things are… shifting.”

“How do you mean?” Anton asks, not comforted by how troubled he looks. But the expression is gone almost as quickly as it appeared, and Viago smiles up at him again.

“Nothing to worry about for now. It has kept us busy, is all.” Anton continues to look at him, but the expression doesn’t waver anymore. “And, the Unholy Masquerade is coming up, which has been very exciting for us.” Something mildly terrifying to Anton flashes in Viago’s eyes; he can practically see the lightbulb appear over his head. “Would you like to come?”

“What, to a vampire ball?” Anton scoffs. “Me?”

“Not just a vampire ball. And we are all allowed plus ones.” Anton gives a short laugh, something in him easing at the return of Viago’s quirky lightheartedness after things had been so charged.

“That’s not the issue. You know I don’t really do crowds. Or people. Or dancing. That’s all quite literally what a masquerade is.” Anton frowns. “Plus, don’t I, like, smell or something?”

“You alone are tolerable.”

“Thanks for that.”

“I just mean that it’s only noticeable when you are in a group. Pheromones,” Viago says, wrinkling his nose briefly before smiling as Anton laughs again. “I think you would enjoy it. It is… low key.” Anton snorts at the slang Viago is clearly trying out for the first time.

“I dunno, mate.” But Viago leans forward slightly, his fangs still visible on his lower lip, and Anton feels his face redden once more. He blinks at Viago before sighing, his resolve leaving him. “Alright, fine.” He is fucked. “But you can’t just do that and expect to get your way every time.”

“History shows I can.”

“You’re insufferable,” Anton says with an uneven smile, propping an elbow on the table.

It bumps against Viago’s hands, but he doesn’t move it, just taking a moment to enjoy the contact. He rests his temple against his knuckles and looks over Viago’s still-mischievous face. He still feels like shit, not recovered from the combination of the long work week, the moon, and the lack of sleep, but this moment soothes something in him. Any lingering trepidation about the state of their relationship is replaced by something far gentler and more patient.

But he has to turn when he hears someone walking down the hall, smells the blood before they even make it to the door. Dion appears there, cradling the back of his hand, which is dripping.

“Er, sorry to… interrupt,” Dion says. “We did something stupid.”

“Clearly,” Anton says, standing quickly as soon as he sees the blood. He feels Viago follow, glances over to see him looking mildly concerned before disappearing once more.

“Vlad bet I couldn’t handle a silver knife. You know how he likes to torture things?”

“You let him cut you with silver?” Anton asks incredulously. “What, are you a sadist now? You’re gonna have to let this heal naturally, you dickhead.” Viago reappears with a clean towel and Anton takes it to wrap around the wound with pressure.

“I think we all just wanted to see what would happen? Also, werewolves not swearwolves,” Dion tries, but Anton just glares at him before turning to Viago.

“Vi, can you go get the knife and make sure no one else has been maimed?” He asks.

He hears his own voice soften and it’s enough to make him go red again even as Viago simply nods and leaves. Dion doesn’t seem to notice, though, grimacing at his own hand. Anton sits him down in a chair at the table before rummaging around in the few drawers for some kind of first aid kit, though why the vampires would even have one, he doesn’t know. He does, interestingly, find a Gumby doll and a paper bag full of rhubarb custards that look sixty years old, which is more curious than if he’d actually come across a first aid kit.

“I really must caution you against bleeding in front of a group of vampires,” Viago says, sounding amused. He’s returned from the group carrying the knife in a gloved hand and what appears to be a roll of bandages or medical tape and some gauze in the other.

“Sorry, Viago,” Dion says, sounding chastised.

“It’s not me you owe the apology,” Viago replies, sitting in the chair across from him and unwrapping his hand. Anton wets another towel and brings it over to clean the drying blood away, but Viago takes it from him and goes about doing it himself. Anton hikes a hip up onto the table and watches quietly. “Anton worries very much about all of you. You know this. So, he should be able to trust that you won’t do silly things like willingly let someone use a torture instrument on you on a night where we are all supposed to be getting along.” His tone is quiet and kind as he finishes cleaning Dion’s hand up. Dion glances guiltily toward Anton.

“Sorry, Anton.”

“S’alright, mate. I appreciate you acknowledging it was stupid.” Anton gives a small smile when Dion leans into the scratch he gives him behind the ear. He peeks a look at Viago intending send him an amused eyeroll, only to find him watching the exchange with enough unguarded fondness it makes his stomach do a flip and he needs to look away again.

He is so fucked.

He watches Viago wrap the wound in gauze- it’s deep, but not enough for stitches- before going over it several times with the bandage to keep it in place. Something fills his chest at the sight; he’s so used to being the one to do this, gathering the guys from the bases of their trees after the moon, some of their injuries so deep and bodies so exhausted that even their healing abilities aren’t enough to help. Seeing someone else care about them in that way is enough to flood Anton with affection.

By the time they’re done, the table looks like an episode of MASH rolled through, but Dion’s chipper enough that he goes right back to the festivities in the other room and leaves them to clean up. Typical.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Anton says quietly, switching hips to face him and gathering up scraps of gauze and snipped bandages. “I could have handled it.”

“Oh, I am sure,” Viago says earnestly. “But you don’t always have to handle it alone.”

Oh. That same gut rush he felt laying on his side in the grass. Fuck.

“I, um, well- Thanks,” Anton stammers, immediately smacking himself upside the head internally. Viago’s lips twitch in amusement and Anton feels far too exposed. “For helping. And for caring about them.” He looks down as he picks at one of the scraps, no longer able to meet Viago’s eyes. His gaze falls on the bloody rags. “So, no bloodlust?” What the fuck kind of question is that? He internally chastises himself.

But Viago doesn’t seem to mind, looking down at the towels with an expression of mild disdain.

“Werewolf blood isn’t very appealing,” he says, fiddling with the towels. “It still smells like wolf.” Anton can’t contain the huff.

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

He’s unable to stop himself, the words slipping out, and Viago fixes him with a look of some exhilarating combination of predation, age, and humor.

“You are the exception to many rules,” he says, leaning forward slightly into Anton’s space. Anton looks down at him, his heart in his throat. Neither of them moves for a second; it feels like a game of chicken. But then Viago retreats, beginning to fold the rags, an easy expression returning to his face. “And I think the effects of the drugs has permanently altered my perception of it.” Of you, Anton thinks goes unsaid. He’s unsure how that makes him feel, whether it makes him more or less comfortable with the turn in their relationship.

But instead of addressing it, all he says is:

“Can vampires experience ego death?” It’s a genuine curiosity if a copout. “I mean, technically all your organs are dead…”

“I would argue that our egos are the only things still alive,” Viago says, the amusement returning to his tone.

“That is… a very good point.” He gets up to toss the scraps into the bin. “So, when is this party?”

“He asked you out? To a ball?” Maia squawks around a bite of her scone. He’d picked her up today so she wouldn’t have to take the bus, and they’d gone for coffee before their shift. She’s sitting on the hood of his jeep in the empty Hill Road carpark while he leans next to her, sipping his coffee (a latte with cinnamon this time, because he’s feeling particularly desperate this morning). It’s a full month after the game night and the first week he’s been paired up with Maia on the rota since.

“He didn’t exactly ask me out,” Anton says feebly. Maia raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “I don’t know, he’s kind of… quirky.” More like centuries old and not entirely privy to modern social convention yet also wise to the implications of what he says and does, but how does one explain that to a twenty-something perfectly ordinary human? “It’s hard to know what he means by it. And my friend Stu- you remember him, he’s come to a couple of tramps with the guys- he’s going with someone else in the other club, and I promise you they’re not together. It’s not exclusively a romantic invitation.”

“My actual asshole,” Maia says. Anton glares at her crudity. “What’re you gonna wear? Do you even have a suit? Have you elevated to that level of society yet? Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. But you have to look good for this!” She hops down from the hood and starts appraising him, head to toe. “You’ve got too much Han Solo scruffy-looking nerf-herder and not enough Captain Kirk suave.”

“Are you suggesting I wear a Starfleet uniform? Also, Han Solo was pretty suave. That was, like, his whole thing.”

“I would love for you to wear a Starfleet uniform, but not when you’re trying to impress a guy, she says, ignoring his musings on Han Solo. She puts a hand on her chin, considering for a moment. “Though maybe that’s the kind of guy you need. Someone who’d be done in by a yellow tunic.”

“I don’t think he even knows what Star Trek is.”

“Then maybe he’s not right for you,” Maia laments.

“He knows what Sister Act is?”

“Are you going to dress like a nun?”

“I think he’s already done that at another ball.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Maia asks with a laugh that rocks her whole body forward. “How many balls are there in the greater Wellington area? I take it back, it sounds like he’s exactly enough of a weirdo for you.”

“Yeah,” Anton says, smiling crookedly with the thought. “I suppose he is.”

“Ohhh, my god, look at you!” Maia grins.

“Fuck off,” he says, hiding behind his coffee as he takes another sip.

“When is this ball?”

“Friday.” She nearly chokes on her own sip.

“Oh my god, I’m coming to yours after work, before you drop me home,” she decides, leaving no room for him to argue. “We’re going to look through your wardrobe. I don’t trust you to make this decision on your own and you do not have enough time to procrastinate anymore.”

“You know, I have managed on this Earth for almost forty years.”

She just looks at him skeptically before walking her trash to the bin across the lot.

To Maia’s credit, the night of the masquerade does approach quicker than Anton thought it would, and he’s thankful to have had her help earlier in the week. She’d rummaged through his closet and dresser and pulled out some articles he hadn’t even been aware he owned until she settled on a slim-fitted pants and blazer combo with a light blue dress shirt she said ‘did something for his hair.’ She’d also instructed him to burn all the things that had offended her, an invaluable piece of advice that he hadn’t listened to.

He and Stu are waiting outside the Cathedral of Despair (which is apparently just a bowling club, another thing about vampiric society that baffles Anton). Stu, from what Anton has gathered from fuzzy memories, is just wearing an almost identical copy of what he’d worn to the last one, citing not having many options. Anton is musing on how he is certainly underdressed going by the people in costume walking by when he receives a text.

Maia

Don’t forget to undo your slut buttons ;) ;) ;)

He opens his camera to send the ugliest selfie he can manage to show that he has not, in fact, forgotten the slut buttons. Stu is in the background, too, looking up at the last minute with wide eyes and a face blurred with movement, which earns him a good-natured elbow to the side.

Anton sees Vlad first because the already hulking man is wearing an all white ensemble and has his hair in the same ridiculous style it had been in the last time, making him a full head and a half taller than everyone else. Pauline is on his arm wearing a rich blue Victorian looking gown. He puts a hand up to get their attention, standing as the group approaches.

“Hello, dog,” Vlad says lowly, looking down at him.

“Oh, no more witch?” Anton asks.

“Don’t push your luck,” he grumbles, moving on to greet Stu as jovially as usual.

“Says the man still wearing fur,” Anton mutters under his breath. He kisses Pauline’s proffered hand as she passes and immediately regrets it when she winks at him. The grimace is still on his face when he looks up at Viago and his mouth goes dry.

Viago’s outfit is relatively conservative next to Vlad’s: a black suit with long coattails that looks like it’s straight from the regency era, which isn’t too different from what he normally wears, but he’s added a lace cravat and matching fingerless gloves that add a delicacy to the ensemble. When Anton’s gaze makes it to his face, he can see he’s also wearing eyeliner and a sultry dark eyeshadow (probably Pauline’s touch, from the look of it), and Anton has to clear his throat if he’s to trust his own voice.

“Are you going to kiss my hand too?” Viago asks, amusement coloring his voice.

“Ah, only if you’re offering,” Anton says, making a valiant effort to keep his tone even. He takes Viago’s outstretched hand and runs a thumb briefly over his knuckles, bringing it to his lips with a short bow. He doesn’t linger because in the brief moment he looks up, Viago’s watching him with half-lidded eyes that make his pulse quicken, and he has to let go. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries not to think about the way Viago’s smelled like jasmine; his fingers tingle with the residual sensation of the touch and he unconsciously flexes them, tightens them into a fist.

“You’re not going to kiss my hand,” Deacon declares from next to Viago, his lip curled. He waves his hand like he’s trying to hypnotize Anton.  

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Anton says, pleasantly, rolling his eyes to Viago.

“I saw that. I was standing right here. Asshole,” Deacon says as Anton turns to head into the building after Vlad, Pauline, and Stu, Viago keeping pace with him.

“Hi, Anton,” Nick says, going in for a fistbump that Anton returns.

“You look very nice,” Viago says softly as the others overtake them and they fall to the back of the group. Anton glances at him, feeling his face heat.

“Nah, I’m definitely dressed down,” he tries to brush it off. “Especially with all your pretty lace,” he says, pulling a hand out of his pocket to gesture briefly at Viago’s everything. Viago’s lips part, eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

“You think it’s pretty?” Anton rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed at how juvenile it sounds now that Viago’s repeated it, but nods anyway.

“Sorry. Feels kind of silly when I hear it back.” But Viago shakes his head, the gesture small as he looks straight ahead. A small smile forms on his face as he leans in as if telling a secret.

“No one has ever called me pretty. Usually, it’s only ‘homo.’”

Anton frowns at that, something fierce flaring in his chest.

“You know how I feel about killing humans, but those are definitely the people you should be eating,” he says, which makes Viago smile wider.

“Too bitter,” he replies, like it’s a joke, but something tells Anton it’s not.

Upon entry, Anton finds he doesn’t mind being underdressed because it seems like everyone is trying to outdo each other and that’s where the attention goes. There are all kinds of creatures he’s never seen before in addition to vampires; Viago spends the first hour or so introducing him to a group of witches, a couple of banshees who, despite the myths, are very pleasant to talk with, and several zombies who aren’t so pleasant.

“You’re awfully warm,” one of them- an older looking man with a mustache and unhealed patches of rot in his skin- says upon shaking his hand.

“Ehm, thanks,” Anton replies, retracting his hand to cup his drink with both uncomfortably.

“You didn’t bring another human, did you?” The zombie asks Viago in a monotone, but he’s smiling like it’s an inside joke. “We all know how that ended last time.” Viago glances at Anton with an uneasy smile of his own and Anton has to bite the inside of his cheek.

“No, no, Anton is a… um, werewolf.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” another zombie- female, this time, with matted, wild hair- says knowingly, leaning far too closely into Viago’s personal space. Viago leans back, Anton following suit by proximity. “Fraternizing with the enemy now? You do like to keep us on our toes.”

“Ha-ha, yes, you know me. Always… fraternizing,” Viago says, turning out of the woman’s range with wide eyes and leading a now barely composed Anton away by the elbow.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Anton asks under his breath as he looks around, pressing his lips together and trying not to laugh. It earns him a bitchy face but it’s worth it.

Viago gets pulled away into another conversation quickly afterward, and Anton had been feeling kind of out of place throughout the thing, anyway. Turns out a lot of them- not just the zombies- were more interested in how warm or alive he was than making small talk. Or maybe that was small talk. He finds himself hugging the wall, watching the people around him and idly scrolling through his phone.

At some point, Nick, Stu, and Deacon wander over and introduce him to a mousy haired woman named Jackie, Deacon’s former familiar turned vampire who had, apparently, also been in the documentary. She’s nice enough, if a bit self-assured, and she shows him pictures of her kids from the previous halloween, dressed as vampires, which he has to admit is kind of cute in a morbid sort of way.

“So, do they know, then?” Anton asks curiously.

“Oh, yeah, they kind of have to, don’t they?” She takes a sip of her drink. “I told my husband and kids right away. Mum usually does everything- taking them to school, running errands, picking them up, rugby practice- but when mum can’t go in the sun anymore…” She mimes burning alive with a laugh, making Anton grin. It’s nice to see someone so well adjusted to a hybrid lifestyle, though she’s still got some of the naivety of a vampire. Even Nick seems to have been swept away by vampiric society, but Jackie gives him hope for the life Viago seems to want. “Obviously I can’t really tell them about the eating people bit. But they know about all the cool bits. I give them piggyback rides while flying and pin them to the ceiling, and they love it. We’ve had to start homeschooling them, though. I think their teachers thought they were off their nut, talking about flying and whatever.”

She lingers, chit-chatting for a few more minutes before seeing some of her friends and bidding him goodbye. Nick, Deacon, and Stu wandered off as well at some point, leaving him alone once more. His phone pings.

Maia

How’s it going old man? Get dicked down

yet?

Please never ask me that again

It’s fine

Just fine?????????

Good

Kind of just a holiday party. Like stu said.

Met some cool people

Wtf where’s ur date

He’s very popular

“Excuse me, aren’t you that werewolf?”

Anton looks up to see Katherine approaching him, and he straightens uncomfortably, trying to look more presentable.

“What was your name again, love?” She asks, and her smile seems genuine enough that he relaxes a bit.

“Uh, Anton,” he says, putting a hand out. She takes it, and he expects her to shake it, but instead she covers it with both of hers. Her hands are almost startlingly cold.

“It’s lovely to see you,” she says warmly. “You and your pack were so nice. I’ve just seen Viago; it was so nice to see him excited about your relationship.”

“That’s good to hear,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“He speaks very highly of you,” she continues, and he wants to look away, but he can’t seem to break eye contact. He feels himself go red. “I’m so happy to see he’s found someone else.”

“Oh, no, we’re not exactly… No,” he tries, but she waves him off.

“Oh, don’t worry dear. I don’t mind it, werewolves and vampires. Love is love as they say,” she leans in like it’s a joke, and all he can manage is a short, uneasy laugh in return. “I was so worried when we broke things off, but now I can rest easy. Not to mention you’re quite handsome.” Anton purses his lips in mortification, glancing around for someone, anyone he knows to escape with.

“Uh, thank you, but really, we’re not…” But she’s looking at him so kindly that he gives up. “Well. Thanks. Anyway, I should go… find him, or something.”

He retracts his hand as quickly as is polite, acknowledging her wave goodbye, and throws himself into the crowd, looking for Viago or an exit, whichever comes first. After a while finds himself through a set of fire doors and down a hall in what looks like a storage room, with furniture and cabinets covered in sheets or cluttered with props. He’d thought it was an exit, but the side door is locked, so he sighs and half-sits on a desk, taking a moment to just chill without all the secret society weirdness.

“Anton?” Viago’s voice calls down the hall, and he appears in the doorway, silhouetted by the fluorescent hall lights. “Katherine said you were looking for me.”

“Oh, I was just trying to… well, never mind. You’re here now.” Viago enters the room fully, approaching him. “I was just having a moment of quiet. It’s kind of weird out there for me.”

“Warm-blooded creatures are a rarity,” Viago says in agreement, sitting next to him on the desk.

“I’m enjoying myself though,” he says reassuringly. “Are you?” He watches as Viago’s face turns unexpectedly thoughtful.

“I find myself… disconnected from it all. It’s nice to see everyone, but… well. Just a feeling, I suppose. A friend told me to appreciate those more.” He smiles at Anton. Anton smiles back.

They’re silent for a moment, and then:

“Katherine thinks we’re an item,” Anton says, instantly regretting it.

“Yes,” Viago says, amused. “I believe she misunderstood what I was trying to say. But I don’t mind.”

“Things aren’t… weird with you two?”

“If vampires allowed for awkward feelings to come between them, I don’t believe any of us would talk to each other. When you’re immortal, it becomes increasingly hard to avoid other immortals.” A beat. “Do you mind?”

“What?”

“That she thinks we are ‘an item,’” Viago says.

“No. Don’t know what Vlad or Deacon might think if she goes around telling them though.”

“You have a point.”

Another pause.

“Do you want to go back out there?” Anton asks.

“Not particularly.” Anton snorts.

“What, are we just gonna stay in here forever?”

“We could leave. I have spoken to everyone I needed to. Vlad and Deacon are here. They can represent the council.”

Anton nods, thinking. And then:

“Do you want to come back to mine?”

Viago stares at him for a moment, eyes widening almost imperceptibly.

“No, not- I meant, we could watch a movie or something,” Anton says quickly. “There’s a few I’ve been thinking you would like. If you want. I just have to tell Stu that we’re going, ‘cause I gave him a ride.”

“Yes,” Viago says with a smile. “I would like that.”

When they make it back to Anton’s flat, it’s blessedly and unusually empty, everyone probably out on the town or with their partners for the night. Anton throws his keys in the bowl and toes off his (rather uncomfortable) dress shoes. Viago stands awkwardly at the open doorway, and Anton frowns as he goes through the motion, slowing uncertainly. Viago’s eyes shine as he raises a hand and seems to press almost mime-like onto an invisible barrier.

“Oh! Sorry,” Anton says. “You can come in. Sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t even think about it.”

 “I don’t blame you,” Viago says lightly, turning to observe the photos on the entryway table. They’re mostly of the pack, but there’s one of Anton, his parents, and his sister that he picks up. “Is this your family?”

“Yeah,” Anton says, hanging his blazer on a coat hook and coming to look over his shoulder, rolling up his sleeves as he does. “They all live in Christchurch, though, so I don’t see them much. I should.”

“Do they know?”

“Nah,” Anton says, and it sends a pang through him. “It happened right after I came here for uni. I think it would kill my mum, especially now. I’ve thought about telling Gracie, but…” Anton doesn’t continue, just shrugs. “Anyway, after I found my pack, it just became easier to stay. Back then, we didn’t really know how to control it and I was worried we might hurt them, or others we knew. Declan’s family live there too.” He frowns. “When I say it out loud, it sounds like it was an easy decision. It wasn’t. But I guess you understand.”

“I do,” Viago says softly. “And I’m sorry. About your family.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Anton shrugs again, leaving him behind to walk to the living room and sit on the couch. He stretches an arm across the back in a lounge and picks up the remote to start looking for one of the movies. “I make it down there once or twice a year. It can be hard to plan around holidays and the moon, but I don’t have much choice.” He hums quietly. “Preaching to the choir.” Viago comes and sits beside him. His shoulder grazes Anton’s hand. Anton glances at him. “What about you? Did you ever tell your family?” Viago shakes his head.

“They passed before I was bitten. My father was a wealthy magnate from Germany and he and my mother were in London managing some business there. Unfortunately, the plague was also there. They had left me to take care of the estate.”

“Shit,” Anton breathes. Viago shakes his head again, watching the television screen even though Anton’s stopped scrolling.

“They were burned, obviously. To control the spread. But I bought them headstones in our town. I was turned while visiting their graves one evening.” A rueful smile turns his lips upward. “The townspeople used to call me the ‘ghost of the graveyard’ because I would only visit at night afterward.” His hands wring in his lap. Anton watches the lace of his gloves bundle up and wrinkle. “It’s not something I have thought about in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” Anton says softly. “For bringing it up.” When Viago turns to him, his eyes are wet, but he doesn’t cry.

“I told you that vampires don’t allow themselves to mourn because living with the pain for eternity is too much. For a long time, I thought that was the best path. It’s why I have not thought of them often. But I believe, now, that they deserve better than that. So, I don’t mind telling you about them.” He smiles again, eyes still shining. “I should thank you, but instead, I only insist that you spend as much time as possible with your parents while you can.”

“Yeah, okay,” Anton says with a sniff, because Viago is right, but also because he thinks he’d do anything for Viago in this moment. “You can come too. We’ll share. They’d love you.” And he means it.

“I look forward to it,” Viago says, leaning in microscopically before settling back against the cushion of the couch, closer to Anton’s hand now. “Put on your movie.” And Anton does, because he would do anything for Viago in this moment.

The first movie they watch, Anton had always considered a comfort, but it does nothing to help lighten the mood even despite the funny bits. Viago seems to like it, though; partway through he removes his boots and brings his knees up to hug them, and Anton’s certain his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He doesn’t even watch most of it, too busy watching Viago’s face react to all his favorite moments.

After it ends, he gets up to stretch his legs and try and clear his head, which doesn’t work because he is so, so fucked, and he returns to find Viago sitting in his old spot, leaving the corner of the L-shaped sectional free next to him. Anton’s face heats as he sits there, stretching his arm back out over the cushion once more, and he throws on Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to try and distract himself from the fact that if he just moved his arm forward a couple inches, he could be holding Viago.

And then, fifteen minutes in, he realizes Viago probably wouldn’t mind, probably planned this. And that does all sorts of things to his head and heart for a while before he gets over himself and does it.

Viago tenses at first, and Anton panics, thinking he may have gotten it wrong. But Viago relaxes in increments, like he’s loosening individual parts of his body at a time, until finally, gloriously, slowly, he tilts to lay his head on Anton’s shoulder. That same scent of jasmine that Anton had caught earlier permeates his senses and he closes his eyes against the beating of his heart in his throat. He can’t bear to open them as he rubs his thumb across Viago’s shoulder, tips his head forward the short distance to lightly bury his nose in Viago’s soft hair, taking his fill of sensations to savor, to remind himself that it’s real. The movie is forgotten; he doesn’t even know if Viago is still watching. He doesn’t open his eyes, just breathes until he feels normal.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, doesn’t even realize he is, until his alarm for work blares through the haze of warmth and contentedness and he opens his eyes to light of early dawn filtering in through his living room window. He sits up in a panic, thinking somehow, he’d miss Viago going up in flames, only to find that he’s covered in the duvet from his room, his hand fisted in his bed pillow. He looks down, confusion and some level of embarrassment at having done something so silly swirling in his gut. He reaches to the coffee table to turn his phone’s alarm off. His hand hits a piece of paper as it slides off.

Thank you for listening.

Yours,

V

Anton can still smell jasmine.

Chapter Text

Anton is taking out the garbage in April when he turns away from the bins to see Viago taking shape from a cloud of mist a meter ahead of him.

He lets out a noise that sounds something like ‘DJUH,’ jumping and nearly sending his small recycling can across the car park before sighing and placing a hand on his chest with an actual giggle.

“You scared me half to death, you nut,” Anton gripes lightheartedly, approaching him to bump his shoulder as he passes. Viago falls into step beside him.

“Yes, I saw,” Viago says, amusement shining in his eyes. Anton glares at him, but it probably doesn’t look very threatening.

“If you’re coming up, the guys are here.”

“Are they?”

Anton convinces himself there’s a note of disappointment there.

“They always are,” he says, trying not to think about how thrilled he is Viago’s here anyway now that the jumpscare is wearing off. “Got lucky that once,” he continues, regretting the words immediately. He slows his stride and says something even worse, because he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut around Viago, and maybe also because he has a good buzz going. “I fell asleep on you.”

“It’s alright,” Viago says, slowing with him, eyes still luminous, and Anton speeds back up because he needs to look away.

“Come in,” he throws over his shoulder when they reach his flat upstairs. “Found something outside,” he says to the pack.

“Viago!” Nathan M cheers from the couch, throwing his fists into the air, and Anton wholeheartedly agrees.

“Hello, everyone,” Viago says brightly, coming to stand in the space between the couch and the kitchen as Anton puts his recycling bin away. There’s a chorus of greetings from where they’re all scattered around the living room.

“Alright, Viago?” Stu asks.

“D’you want a drink?” Clifton says, followed by a yelp as Declan elbows him.

“He can’t, remember?”

“You didn’t have to hit me, dickhead,” Clifton complains. “Sorry, Viago.”

“Honestly, it’s not like we’ve been friends with him for three years,” Declan says, sending the two of them into a bickering match that the others begin to join in on. Anton smiles to himself as he washes his hands, feeling a rush of affection for his pack.

“Why’re you here, anyway?” He asks Viago under the sounds of their argument, drying his hands with a towel. He winces. “Sorry, that came out ruder than I meant it. I’m a bit...”

“I can go,” Viago offers mirthfully.

“Don’t,” Anton says before he can stop himself, even though he knows Viago is joking, his brain to mouth filter apparently inhibited. He watches the enduring benevolence on Viago’s face melt for a moment as he looks down at his hands. Viago sits on a stool at the counter.

“Vlad and Pauline were being… themselves around the house, and Deacon has been out trying to find a familiar recently, so I thought, why am I always the one staying home and getting things done?”

“Wow,” Anton drawls with a grin. “Getting selfish, are we?”

“I’ve spent decades trying to rally them. They can do without me for one night.”

“Well,” Anton says, coming around the counter to stand next to him. “We’re not doing much, but you’re welcome to join us-“

“We’re pregaming, you dickhead,” Clifton says, apparently done with his argument, coming up to him and throwing an arm around his shoulders. Declan is tailing him with a spark in his eye.“Don’t listen to him Viago. It’s his birthd-”

Anton clumsily elbows him harder than is strictly necessary.

“Stop it. And stop swearing.”

“Ow,” Clifton says, recoiling. “Will you guys stop bloody hitting me?”

But it’s too late, and Viago is turning to Anton with raised eyebrows, looking absolutely thrilled.

“It’s your birthday?”

Anton purses his lips.

“Yeah.”

“The big four-zero,” Declan says proudly, and Anton runs his hands down his face in embarrassment.

“Hardly big next to four hundred, mate. And yeah, okay, we were just going to go out for a bit. I just don’t like celebrating.” It puts him in a foul mood just thinking about it.

“You should come with us,” Declan says to Viago enthusiastically.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Viago says, looking very much like he wants to intrude. Clifton waves him off.

“No worries, mate. I’m sure Anton doesn’t mind.”

Anton is thankful most of them are still having their own conversations after the temporary distraction, but Matt peeks over the back of the couch and sends him a subtle thumbs up from behind Viago.

“Yeah, ‘f course. But really, it’s nothing crazy, just one or two more drinks.” Declan boos him, coming around behind him to start to push him toward the front door. “Honestly, I think you forget I’m the alpha sometimes,” he says as the pack starts getting ready on their cue, chatting with Viago and asking after the other vampires.

“I think you forget how to just be a normal guy with friends,” Declan says in his ear, patting his shoulder. “But if you’re going to be like that, at least pretend you’re having fun. For the pack. And your boy toy.” He smiles and cuffs him around the ear before releasing Anton, who glares at him but relents because he kind of has a point.

Declan has had his eye on a new gastropub in town, so he leads them all there. The guys are rowdy, currently howling (literally) about something or other, but Anton lets him deal with it since it’s mostly his fault. The brisk autumn air is doing Anton good, waking him up a little from the too-warm haziness he’d been in before. He takes the chance to walk with Viago and open the opportunity for a real conversation with him without the pack listening over their shoulders.

“Should I be offended I wasn’t invited?” Viago asks. Anton knows he’s teasing, but he still feels bad and shakes his head.

“Honestly? I was probably just going to drink a bottle of wine and facetime my family. I should’ve known Clif and Declan would plan something. Declan tries to change my mind every year.”

“Both options are nice.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though,” Anton says, because he is, and it’s not a very weird thing to say. “Now they won’t bully me for not going too wild.” He watches fondly as Dion vaults over an unsuspecting Stu’s (who’s relacing his boot) back and eats shit.

“Consider it my birthday present, then.”

“Do you guys celebrate birthdays?”

“I try to,” Viago says, looking thoughtful. “But after so many years, it gets hard to remember. Vladislav doesn’t even remember what day he was turned, now. Deacon’s birthday is in September, but he has said he didn’t even like it when he was alive.” He smiles briefly. “Mine is in February.”

Anton doesn’t know why, but it suits him.

The pub is kind of artsy, all exposed brick walls and vintage-looking string lights and hipsters, but it’s more quiet than the kind of places the boys usually like to go to which Anton is eternally grateful to Declan for. It’s kind of full, but they manage to grab a couple tables near the exit. A couple of the guys flock to the one pool table in the joint and quickly set up shop. Once he’s sure they’re all settled and have their own drinks, Anton looks at Viago and jerks his head toward the bar. Viago, of course, follows.

“Do you think it’d be weird if I ordered wine?” Anton says uncertainly, looking at the unusually extensive menu at the counter.

“I wouldn’t know,” Viago says, peering at the mirrors behind the bottles behind the bar. “But it’s your birthday.” He looks briefly at Anton with a smile.

Anton’s just about to decide between two craft beers when he catches two familiar scents. He lifts his nose in the air, trying to distinguish them, but he has approximately twenty seconds before someone- Maia, he realizes now, the smell of her hair products flooding his senses- tackles him from behind.

“Ah, shit,” he says, nearly buckling under the unexpected weight.

“There he is!” She exclaims, digging her knuckle into his head like he isn’t forty bloody years old. “My little birthday boy!”

“What are you doing here?” He asks, peeling her off of him. Behind her stands Pete, carrying a white box with a bow and raising a hand in greeting.

“Your hot friend texted me a couple days ago!” She says enthusiastically. “Got his number last time they all came to the park. Major red flags all around, but he reached out, and, hello, birthday? I didn’t even know you had one of those!”

“I think all my friends are hot so you’re going to have to be more specific,” he deadpans. “But if you’re talking about Nathan M, don’t go there.”

“How’d you know?” She asks, laughing delightedly. She bumps into Viago with the motion. “Oh, sorry, mate. Didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright,” Viago says, looking at Anton quizzically.

“Right, sorry,” Anton says, massaging his own forehead for a second. “Vi, this is Maia and Pete, my coworkers. Guys, this is my… friend.“ It sounds defeated, even to his own ears. “Viago.” In his mind’s eye, he promptly leaves the conversation and throws himself down the nearest well, but in reality, he has to stay and watch Maia’s eyes widen, her grin growing almost scarily large.

“Viago,” she repeats, turning to him and sticking out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Viago says, smiling kindly at her. There’s an awkward moment where he looks afraid to take her hand, but he eventually does.

“Wow, your hand is cold,” she says in fascination, releasing it so that he can shake Pete’s too.

“Anemia,” Anton blurts out in a panic. Viago gives him an amused glance over Maia’s head and he shrugs helplessly.

“Fair enough,” she says. “Sorry, Viago, I would love to get to know you more in a minute,” she starts, and her tone makes Anton very nervous for whatever that means, “But…” She turns her attention back to Anton. “Present time! Now!”

“Maia…” Anton trails off.

“First!” She says like she doesn’t hear him, and she begins digging through her jacket pockets before pulling out a small paper bag and handing it to him. Anton frowns and glances at her as he opens it. Inside lays a single joint, shocking a laugh out of him as he quickly stuffs the bag shut again and puts it in his own pocket.

“You and me, fifteen minutes,” Maia says with an exaggerated wink and nudge. “Secondly… Pete?”

“Okay, now this one I don’t fully understand,” Pete says, handing over the bigger white box. “Like sure, you two are geeks, whatever. But surely not…”

Anton gives him a weird look as he undoes the string holding it together and pops the lid off to reveal a yellow Starfleet uniform shirt. He cracks up again.

“For your next date!” Maia says, laughing herself.

“Date?” Pete asks, scandalized. “Is this some weird sex thing?”

“No,” Anton says emphatically, closing the box again, still laughing. He doesn’t explain any further.

“And thirdly… Shots! On me,” she says, clapping her hands together.

“Maia,” he warns again, looking at Viago over her head as she leans on the counter trying to get the bartender’s attention. Viago’s eyes are shining despite being somewhat left out; he looks happy. It makes Anton’s heart rise in his chest.

“Just one!” She promises. “Maybe two. I’m not sure you’d survive more than that. Viago, are you joining?” Viago looks down at her in surprise.

“Ah, I… can’t drink hu… alcohol.”

“Don’t,” Anton supplies.

“Don’t drink alcohol,” Viago agrees, and Anton hopes it can be passed off as a language barrier issue.

“Good for you,” she says earnestly, grasping his shoulder briefly and looking him in the eyes before turning her attention back to the bottles behind the counter. Anton realizes the mirrors in a panic.

“Vi, do you mind waiting at our table? So we don’t lose it.” Or something, anything to get him away from those mirrors and having to explain a whole lot of stuff to Maia and Pete that he’s not sure he has the energy for. Viago seems understand, having the audacity to look grateful as he silently offers to take the box Anton is holding before moving back across the room. Anton turns to find Maia and now Pete both staring at him.

“Don’t start,” he says.

“That’s him?” Maia hisses. “You didn’t say he was beautiful. And European?”

“Good on you, mate,” Pete says. “I love my wife but I can appreciate a pretty guy.”

“Just- just, please don’t be weird,” Anton pleads as Maia orders their first round. “Things are already weird.” Pete raises his hands defensively.

“I just want to get to know anybody who dresses like that in public. Regardless of you being absolutely head over heels for him,” Maia says.

Anton reddens and looks away. His eyes automatically find Viago, because, of course, and he watches him idly looking around the bar, watching other patrons. When he catches sight of Anton, he smiles and gives a small wave, and Anton manages to smile back before turning and leaning on the bar, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maia is absolutely right. He is so entirely fucked.

“Chin up,” Maia says brightly, knowingly, and hands him a shot glass. He sniffs it. Watermelon. “Something easy, since I’m sure you’re out of practice.” He sighs.

“To fruits,” he says, raising it to her.

“To no absolutes.”

“To Absolut,” Pete says.

“God, we are geeks,” Maia says with a grimace and tosses her shot back. “That includes you, Peter.”

“Don’t call me that,” Pete says after following her lead.

Anton orders himself a beer after his own shot and lets them get whatever they want before they all head back toward the table and Viago.

“Please,” Anton mutters to Maia, but she just smiles sweetly at him.

“Viago,” she drawls, sitting heavily on one of the highchairs and stirring her drink. Her voice is like honey and she fixes him with a look that is, to Anton, something mildly predatory. “Tell me about yourself! Where are you from? I’m literally so excited to finally meet you.”

“I, um,” Viago says, glancing at Anton.

‘Sorry,’ Anton mouths.

“I am from Germany,” Viago starts again. “But I’ve been living here for some time.”

“Cool,” Maia says. “Explains the accent.” She smiles at him, and he smiles back uncertainly. “Your teeth are so sharp. Like a vampire or something.”

Anton runs a hand through his hair, shrugging at the somewhat panicked look Viago sends him.

“Maia,” he says, because it’s better than letting Viago’s panic sit in silence.

“I think it’s cool!” Maia defends lightly.

“What do you do for a living?” Pete asks. “Obviously we all work at the park together.”

Viago looks thoughtful for a moment and Anton realizes they should really work up a cover story if they’re going to keep going in public.

“It’s a council, of sorts. We work with people around the world. To help them… integrate.” Viago frowns, like he’s dissatisfied with his own answer.

“Oh, like ex-cons?” Pete asks, interested. Viago glances at Anton who nods encouragingly, and he nods at Pete in turn. “That’s cool, mate. Admirable.”

“Do you,” Maia starts, leaning in, “Like Star Trek?”

“Maia,” Anton says.

“Do people still watch Star Trek? I thought that ended in the seventies,” Viago says with another frown, and Maia throws her head back in a laugh. Even Anton can’t help but smile at the answer, even though Maia’s treading a fine line.

“I’m saying,” Pete says, gesturing at Viago as if to say, ‘finally, someone who gets it.’

“Nah, mate. If there’s one thing about Star Trek, it’s that it endures.” She leans back in her seat. “What do you watch, then?”

“My flatmates and I have recently discovered Ru Paul’s Drag Race? It’s very interesting. I like the fashion.”

Anton’s mouth falls open, absolutely delighted with this new tidbit of information. He imagines Vlad, Deacon, and Viago crowded around their small television or putting on their own fashion shows and has to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh. Maia seems delighted, too.

“Oh, my god, I love you.” She looks at Anton. “I love him.” She looks back to Viago. “What season are you on?”

The rest of the outing turns into somewhat of a blur in Anton’s mind. There was another round of shots after the lengthy Ru Paul discussion, Maia and Pete absolutely destroyed he and Declan in a game of pool, and then a nightmare alleyway blunt rotation between he, Maia and Clifton (which is actually pretty fun, but they’re a menace when they get together and Anton vows internally to never let it happen again).

Maia and Pete wave goodbye to them as they go their separate ways down the road from the pub; he’s fairly certain Maia exchanged telephone numbers with Viago before leaving, which would be terrifying if he wasn’t completely blitzed and still slightly tipsy. When they make it back to Anton’s building, Declan tucks the remaining pack members into his car before coming in to hug Anton.

“Happy birthday, mate,” he says, and for once Anton doesn’t mind the words. He nuzzles into Declan’s hair affectionately.

“Thanks, man,” he says quietly. “Happy anniversary.”

“Yeah,” Declan says hoarsely before clapping him on the back and pulling away. He cuffs Anton around the ear with a grin. “Have a good rest of your night, you two,” he calls as he backs away.

Anton turns to Viago and jerks his head up the stairs.

Viago follows, of course.

“Just us then,” Anton says as they enter. “That’s good, too.”

“Yes. This keeps happening.”

Neither of them moves for a moment.

“I’m not sober enough for this,” Anton says with a frown.

“Or, I am not drunk enough,” Viago says with a smile.

“Do you want to be?” Anton asks before he can think about it. When his brain catches up to his mouth, it sends a flutter to his stomach. Viago’s eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. He looks pretty. Anton stuffs his hands in his pants pockets, resisting the urge to cross the distance and touch, afraid he’ll spook him away.

“Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Anton says, quietly emphatic, suddenly wanting nothing more than to just exist in this slightly addled state with him and maybe see him laugh like he had on a dancefloor, saying his name over and over. “I’m, er, kind of high, too, though.”

“It’s no problem. I have been high before.”

“I’d say,” Anton says with a snort, finally urging himself forward, padding past Viago and into the kitchen. He needs something for the nerves that are threatening to make him rescind. Viago follows, placing a hand on the counter as he watches.

He pours himself a shot of something Clifton had brought over a long time ago- white rum, he thinks, though he didn’t look carefully- and raises it to Viago before downing it. He coughs like he’s freshly eighteen again, like he’s never done a shot before (and really, the stuff Maia had been supplying him with tonight was so like candy that he might as well have), but he smiles through it with good humor because Viago’s eyes are still shining, that small smile still playing on his lips.

“How do we do this?” He rasps, rinsing out the glass before pulling a bottle of orange juice out of the refrigerator and taking a sip to try and tame the feeling of the liquor. “Do you break my nose again?”

All at once, simultaneously too slowly and too fast, Viago’s crossing the few feet between them, crowding him against the refrigerator. Anton nearly drops the bottle but manages to set it on the counter as Viago takes his other wrist, brings it up to his turned head. His cold grip is gentle as he pushes up Anton’s long sleeve just enough to expose the veins there. Anton watches, not daring to move or even breathe. Viago runs a thumb over the thin skin. The cool touch makes Anton’s higher temperature feel too hot now.

“Just don’t really eat me,” he says breathlessly.

Viago sends him a playful glare, and then he bites.

“Ow,” Anton says, loudly, too loud for his own ears, because son of a bitch, and then, “Shit.”

It’s painful in the first moment, like the first stroke of a tattoo gun, and then it burns, the sensation travelling up his arm, his blood turning from feverish to flamelike. The wolf in him stirs at the potential of danger, but he breathes through it with the knowledge that Viago wouldn’t hurt him. And then, it goes numb, the pain dulling, and Anton relaxes, leaning against the refrigerator’s door handle which digs into his back. Viago’s holding his forearm with two hands; one strokes a thumb in the divot where Anton’s thumb meets his wrist, providing a gentle sensation in contrast with the throb. His arm thrums where Viago’s fangs are embedded, and he can feel his own pulse.

Some amount of time- it could be seconds or minutes to his hazy mind- Viago retracts, eyes half lidded as he licks his lips. Anton watches the motion in a daze, might even copy it. Viago lowers and releases his arm, and it falls uselessly to his side, the numbness still present. Anton looks down at it.

“It’s a… side effect. A venom, almost. It will pass in a moment.”

“Okay,” Anton breathes, trying to close his fist. His fingers twitch but ultimately disobey. He watches his body already begin to heal the puncture wounds.

“Are you okay?” Viago asks. Anton blinks.

“Yeah. Yup.”

He pushes away from the refrigerator and his knees buckle underneath him. Viago catches him, an arm going around his middle to support him by the small of his back, another hand bracing on his chest. Anton’s head rushes with the motion and he closes his eyes against it, leaning his head forward and giggling. Viago giggles quietly, too, and when Anton opens his eyes, all he can focus on amidst the spinning are Viago’s, his dilated pupils, his still-hooded lashes.

“Can I let you go?” Viago asks.

“Maybe,” Anton says.

Viago releases him slowly, taking a step back. Anton puts his hands out in front of him and tries taking another step. His knees fail him again, and Viago lunges forward, lifting him back up by the waist. Anton can feel the warmth of his own blood in the hands through his shirt. It sends a thrill to his stomach, and he laughs with it and with the adrenaline of falling.

“I may have gone… too far,” Viago says, visibly trying not to smile but failing miserably.

“I told you not to!” Anton accuses, poking him clumsily in the chest.

“You’re a big werewolf, you can handle it,” Viago replies, and Anton wants to argue, or make a dig, but his worldview goes horizontal as Viago hooks an arm under his legs and carries him with that superhuman strength he rarely shows. He dizzies with the motion, and he tightly closes his eyes against it again, the air rushing out of his lungs in a breathless laugh. Viago starts walking.

“Just put me on the floor,” he says after a moment, the closer sound of the television indicating they’re in the living room now.

“The floor?” Viago asks. “Your sofa is right here.”

“Yeah, but you can lay with me on the floor. Can’t up there.”

Viago doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move for a moment, and if Anton had slightly more blood in his body, he’d probably panic, but everything feels kind of fuzzy and far away. He can barely feel that he’s being held. But Viago eventually puts Anton down as gently as he can, and a moment later Anton feels something cover him and then the movement of Viago lying next to him. When he feels stable enough, he opens his eyes and turns his head. It’s Viago’s coat blanketing him. Viago stares up at the ceiling like it’s a sky full of stars. The television drones in the background.

“Mm,” Anton hums. “Should’ve turned out the lights.”

Viago turns face to look back at him before waving a hand. There’s a whoosh and the lights flick off. Anton blinks, his lips parting.

“You can do that?” He asks in awe, like Viago didn’t just do that. “That’s amazing. Thought I knew everything about vampires.” Viago gives him a small, dopey smile like he enjoys the attention, face illuminated in flashing colors by the television as it plays through advertisements. Anton thinks distantly that he’d give him all the attention in the world if it got him to smile like that again. “Are you good?”

“Yes,” Viago says quietly, with another smile, just like the last one. Anton’s heart seizes in his chest. Once he’s convinced the rush in his head is primarily from the various intoxicants in his body and not just the blood loss, he turns onto his side.

“What’d my blood taste like this time?” He asks, tongue loose. He’s expecting Viago to say cinnamon, but Viago licks his lips, like he’s trying to taste the residual.

“Mostly beer. Watermelon. Rum. Alcohol tends to overpower flavors, if there are any.” Anton thinks it sounds like kissing someone who’s been drinking, but he doesn’t say so. “Marijuana.”

“Mhm. Yeah, that’ll be the marijuana.” He grins when Viago sniggers at that. “Hey, do you remember when-“ he breaks off into a laugh. “Do you remember when I howled at you?” He’s elated when that sets Viago off, his nose scrunching up.

“It was the start of a wonderful friendship,” Viago considers. “Almost.”

“Just had to tear Stu to shreds and then I had you,” he agrees. He rolls onto his back once more, the coat slipping to his midriff. He puts a hand on his chest, above his lower ribcage. “Poor Stu. Though he was very cool about it.”

“Stu is strangely cool about many things.”

Anton laughs at the term ‘cool’ coming from Viago’s mouth, adoring the way his accent sounds around anything he says. He could listen to Viago talk for hours.

“I could listen to you talk for hours.”

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but Viago just laughs, nose scrunching up again, hand coming up to cover his mouth, like it’s a joke.

“I have been known to, liebling.”

“What does that mean?”

“Vlad tells me I can talk too much. That I nag.”

“No-“ Anton breaks off into a laugh again, turning back onto his side to face him. “Hang on, fuck Vlad. But no, what does that word mean? Lee- Liebling.” It sounds ugly when he says it. He wants to hear Viago say it again.

“Liebling,” Viago says. Yes, like that, Anton thinks.

“Liebling,” he tries, but it’s not the same.

“Gut,” Viago says, and Anton ignores the rush in his stomach at the praise. “I think… the closest English translation is favorite, though in German it’s just a term of endearment.”

Anton can’t stop the goofy smile that spreads across his face at the thought.

“I’m your favorite?”

“Is it that much of a secret?”

He’s got enough awareness about him that he knows he’s probably turned red. He averts his gaze, looking at Viago’s hands instead because he can’t bear to look at his eyes. There’s an itch, an impulse telling him to reach out and touch but he doesn’t. The cold faux-wood linoleum of the floor is uncomfortable and hard, and his thoughts are swimming with all the things he wants to say in response, so he pushes himself up to a sitting position.

His head still spins, but less so than before. He rubs at his eyes, sighing, kind of achey with his body protesting his partial exsanguination, and he uses the sofa’s armrest to hoist himself up.

“I don’t have to call you that. If it’s too much.”

He turns back to Viago too quickly and sways with it. Viago’s sitting up now, legs folded to the side, and Anton thinks he looks so pretty, even as he looks worried. He wants to soothe the upset that tightens his eyes.

“What?” He asks, and then his brain catches up with him. “Ah, no, that’s not-“ he points vaguely in the direction of the hall to his bedroom. “I’m getting some blankets for us to lay on. I don’t-“ his heart thumps in his chest, making him feel giddy. “I don’t mind the name. Nickname. Whatever.”

Please call me that forever, is what he’s really saying, because he knows Viago could deliver, but he doesn’t say it out loud this time. Which is, apparently, a feat in and of itself.

When he returns to the living room Viago is in the kitchen looking through the cabinets, which is curious as he can’t eat, but Anton only has enough energy and brain power to focus on pushing the coffee table out of the way to make room for the blanket and pillow nest he’s building on the floor in the crook of his sectional. Spying Viago’s still-discarded coat, he adds it to the mix. He’s about to settle back against his pillow when Viago reappears holding the previously forgotten bottle of orange juice and a slice of bread.

Anton blinks at him, then at the bread, before busting up, because fuck, it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s the way Viago looks, all casual without his coat and kind of faded, curls still out of place from laying down, holding the bread between two fingers like it personally offended him. Maybe it’s the fact that he clearly doesn’t know what (almost) humans should eat especially from a modern pantry and probably grabbed one of the only things he recognized amongst all the snacks and other packages. Maybe it’s that Anton’s so, so grateful he doesn’t keep cans of spaghetti around the flat because according to the tales that probably would’ve been the first choice, and he knows he probably would’ve eaten it anyway. Maybe it’s the growing bewilderment mixed with self-consciousness on Viago’s face.

“I think you should eat,” Viago says as Anton’s laughter simmers down, like he’s explaining himself. “I have heard it helps.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Anton asks, because he’s genuinely curious. He tries to stifle his laughter, he really does.

“A blood bank.”

That briefly sets Anton off again on irony alone.

“I’ll eat in a minute,” he says, still giggling. “Just…”

He takes the bread and orange juice (it sends another laugh through him) and places them on the couch cushion behind him. He’s not even sure he’s tipsy at this point, can’t tell where blood alcohol content ends and blood loss begins anymore- or maybe he’s stone-cold sober now and this is just the effect Viago has on him- but the result is the same, because he feels bold (and needy) enough to reach up and lightly tug on Viago’s hand once, an indication to lie down with him. Viago follows; the pillow hides half of his face from Anton’s view.

After a moment, the television suddenly casts a yellow light across Viago’s skin briefly, like sunlight, and for a second Anton can almost pretend that it’s real. Like they could spend a lazy morning in that warmth, staring at each other like this, with no danger about it. He wants Viago to feel that. His heart seizes with it, hurts with it, aches for it. It makes his vision blur for a moment, his throat closing, but he swallows it. He reaches out; his fingertips graze Viago’s cheek. The warmth of his blood has faded and Viago is cold again. Anton finds the hair at his temple, his thumb stroking across Viago’s cheekbone before he retracts his hand, unable to bring himself to continue.

Viago’s eyes are a little too wide and Anton thinks he’s gone too far until he reaches out too. Anton thinks he’s going to mirror the gesture, but Viago brings the back of his fingers to Anton’s cheek, swiping up lightly before pulling away to show him. It’s wet. Oh. Anton reaches up to his own face, using his sleeve to dry the tears. He sniffs.

“You were laughing just a minute ago,” Viago says.

“I was just…” Anton says, unsure how to give his thoughts words. “I was just thinking about the sun. I wish you could feel it.” Not the whole truth, but certainly not a lie.

“Oh,” Viago says, frowning in a way that makes his lower lip jut out, his brow furrowing. “You don’t need to cry for me. Not about that. It’s been far too long, liebling.” Even despite his suddenly dour mood, the easy way Viago calls him that, like he always has, makes Anton smile.

“I didn’t mean to, dick,” he retorts lightly. Viago’s eyes take on that amused glow.

“I think,” Viago starts, and then looks down, picking at a thread in the pillowcase. “I think I can still feel it. Sometimes. In the summer, when the house is warmed- it’s so cold here, usually, but sometimes. Or when we are with our friends and things are going well. Or in this.”

He gestures between the two of them loosely like it isn’t a dangerous subject. Maybe it isn’t, or maybe that’s just a side effect of age, the wisdom of centuries whittling down a resolve against being straightforward with matters of the heart. Maybe it’s that wisdom working in tandem with the type of man Viago just is, that he always has been. Anton wonders if he could ever be that brave for him, for the both of them. He thinks of Viago comparing him to the sun, and it makes him think he could be.

“That’s enough for me, I think,” Viago says quietly. “Not just because it has to be.”

Anton can’t say anything to that, doesn’t trust himself to, but he grabs Viago’s hand in both of his and guides it to his cheek with a shaky, barely controlled breath. He holds it there. He gives him permission. He wants to give him the warmth of the sun, wants him to bask in a blue day in January when the country is sleepy with the summer, but the best he can do is his feverish blood and the light of a screen casting across their skins, soulless and impersonal. All he can hope is to be enough. To keep being enough, and to keep being here.

“It’s okay if it’s not, sometimes,” Anton says, barely above a whisper, his hands trailing down to wrap around Viago’s forearm and wrist, like he’s hugging Viago’s arm to him. “But I’ll always try.”

“Thank you,” Viago says simply, just as quiet, his eyes following his own hand as his thumb traces along Anton’s cheekbone and his fingers find his hair, just as Anton had done earlier.

It’s the last thing Anton remembers before he drifts, still holding Viago’s arm tight, the exhaustion of it all catching up with him.

Chapter Text

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the anniversary, or the feeling of the blood rushing, regenerating in his body after Viago had drained it awakening some memory in him, but Anton dreams that night.

He dreams in flashes about Declan, almost twenty years younger, ribbing him about something or other as they walk through the streets of Wellington back to their flat. He’s grinning and so, so young, walking backwards and talking, but Anton can’t make out what he’s saying. His words are low and garbled and distant. He’s excited, probably about Anton’s birthday and the crazy night they’ve had.

Anton dreams about the shape moving in the tree line of the park behind him, about the drunken adrenaline-fueled foolishness he’d had following it. It’s hazy when he thinks about it when he’s awake, those rare times he allows himself to, but now, in his subconsciousness, it’s crystal clear. The breathlessness as he trips over a root, the laugh at something stupid Declan said, the cracking of branches as something emerges from the woods, towering and growling and after them.

He dreams about pushing Declan to run, to go and get away, and the agony of claws in his back. He dreams about Declan’s receding figure, comforted by the thought that at least he’d made it even as whatever this is tears him to shreds, not knowing there are more of them, and they have the scent. He dreams about lying there, abandoned for the chase, staring at the space between the trees as it gets darker and darker. He dreams about wondering how Declan would tell his parents, would tell Gracie. He dreams about wishing he could see the stars one last time.

He dreams about dying.

When he wakes, it’s to a face full of Viago’s shirt, the smell of jasmine in his nose, before he pushes himself up with a gasp, his chest heaving. He scrabbles at his back, his nails sharpened to points, half expecting the stickiness of blood, but all he feels on the skin under his shirt are his scars, the ones that never healed, raised and gnarled. Viago sits up, too, hands raised like he’s ready to grab Anton’s wrists.

“Christ,” is the first thing Anton says, trying to calm his breathing, and Viago makes a pained noise. “Sorry,” he mumbles, swallowing, trying to inhale through his nose. He blinks repeatedly, his eyes still adjusting to being (barely) awake, and he realizes the pounding headache he has now that the adrenaline of his nightmare has worn off. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes with a soft groan, the tips of his fingers throbbing as they return to normal.

“Are you alright?” Viago asks softly. Anton feels a hand settle on his knee. He looks up from his palms, scrubbing his face one last time.

“Yeah,” he says. Viago’s eyes are too patient. He looks away. “Just a nightmare.”

“What was it about?”

“Nothing,” Anton says, swallowing and shaking his head. “History now, anyway.”

“Being turned,” Viago says simply, knowingly, and Anton looks down, away. “I have them, too, sometimes.” The hand retracts from his knee. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” he whispers. It’s too fresh. “But yesterday was the anniversary. I think that’s why.”

“Oh,” Viago breathes, the pieces clicking into place almost audibly. Yeah, Anton thinks ruefully. “Liebling.”

“It’s- it’s fine,” he says, because really, he’s been fine with it for years, and now he just wants to rest, figuratively and literally.

But it’s nice when Viago’s arms wrap around him.

There were many nights he and Declan had done this: clung to each other, one or both of them crying at what they’d lost, at what they’d done when the wolves took over. Anton had spent many nights doing this for others, the younger members of the pack like Nathan M who’d felt the cruelty especially strongly at first, before they could find it in them to embrace what they could. But it’s nice when Viago hugs him. Someone outside it all but who still understands.

Viago’s hand comes up to the back of his head and he buries his nose in the crook of Viago’s neck, blinking against the heat welling behind his eyes. He brings his hands around to the small of Viago’s back, his fingers splaying there before they fist into his shirt. He shudders at the feeling of being held.

“It’s okay,” he says after a moment, his chin coming to rest on Viago’s shoulder.

“I know,” Viago replies, not letting go. Anton presses the sides of their heads together, closing his eyes, forcing himself not to nuzzle in like he’s another wolf in the pack.

“I kind of just want to go back to sleep.” It’s not a lie, or even an avoidance. His head is pounding still. He should probably drink water first.

But Viago releases him, and he doesn’t have the energy to get up, so he flops back down, the numerous pillows he’d piled up in a haze last night catching him, and he pulls the duvet out from his nest to cover him. He peeks an eye open when he feels Viago stand, watches as he brings the barstools into the living room and pins the curtains shut with them before turning the television off with a wave of his hand. It makes the room almost pitch black, and even with Anton’s heightened vision, he can only make out Viago’s dark outline until he returns, laying delicately beside him, like he’s afraid he’ll spook him.

Anton turns onto his side, studying his face in grayscale. Viago turns, too, looking moderately distraught.

“You look tired,” Anton says, trying to change the subject, but it’s not for nothing. There are pronounced bags under Viago’s eyes and he’s been looking a little gaunt.

“I have been staying up into the day with council business, lately. Many of the other members live in the New World,” Viago replies. Anton takes that to mean America.

“What time is it now?”

“Around five o’clock, I believe.”

“Mm. You should sleep too.” His eyes are already falling shut again.

“I can’t.”

He forces them open.

“Do you need something? I’m kind of- I’m using all these pillows. You can have some more. Or I can get you more blankets. Or you can use my bed- What?” He asks blearily, because he’s so tired but Viago is smiling softly.

“I need soil. From my homeland. Unless you happen to have German dirt laying around your flat, there is not much you can do, liebling.”

“I’ll get some,” Anton says, because he’d do anything for Viago if he keeps calling him that. Or even if he didn’t. Viago just smiles wider, though, his fangs appearing on his bottom lip, and through the splitting headache and the haze of half-wakefulness Anton thinks he might be in love, and that he might’ve been in love with that smile since the first time he saw it.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Viago says quietly, amused. He shifts onto his back, closer to Anton, and turns face to look at him, his arm at his side like he’s making room. It’s an invitation. Anton blinks at him, his stomach fluttering.

He scooches in, pulling his pillow with him, and he tosses some of the duvet over Viago even though he’s pretty sure it’s unnecessary. His arm grazes across his stomach, and he hesitates before letting it rest there. He lays his head on Viago’s chest; Viago’s arm settles around his shoulders. He’d been so tired a moment ago, but now he feels wide awake, his heart pounding in his chest as he tightens his hold on Viago’s waist.

“You don’t have a heartbeat,” he says, the eerie silence deafening against his ear.

“No,” Viago agrees.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers. It’s not. Anton’s heart may beat out of his chest. It makes Viago laugh briefly at any rate.  

“Go to sleep, schatz.”

“What’s that one mean?” Anton asks. His hand lazily traces the embroidery of Viago’s waistcoat as he lures the drowsiness back in.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Viago says again, barely audible.

Anton can’t argue, the warmth under the duvet dragging him back down as his heart rate finally slows. He doesn’t know what any of this means; their relationship has morphed into something unrecognizable on any front, but he savors this, whatever it is. He reveres it. He snuggles in to Viago’s chest, lets the scent permeate him. He doesn’t need to talk about it if it means he can have this.

When he wakes again, Viago is furiously clicking away at the keys on his slide phone. Anton frowns, burying his face back into Viago’s shirt, not wanting it to be over, but he knows within seconds it’s in vain and he rolls over onto his back, rubbing his face with his hands, thinking about how this is the most rested he’s felt in maybe, like, seventeen years.

“Good morning,” Viago says, not looking away from his phone, glaring at it.

“Good morning,” Anton says, trying not to smile at his pouting face. “All good?”

“Council business. You know,” Viago starts, still clicking away, “Vlad calls me a nag, but really…”

Anton adores him.

“I’m going to shower,” he says instead, because he feels gross after drinking and sleeping in jeans and being partially eaten and isn’t awake enough to be making declarations like that. He sits up, looking at the light outlining his curtains. “Forget about Vlad. Just watch a movie or something. It’s not like either of you can go anywhere now.” For a second, Anton zones out, daydreams about making them both coffee or tea, a world where Viago could even drink the stuff. They could sit at the dining table, their legs tangled together. Anton could scroll through the news on his phone, or maybe stare at Viago for an hour instead while he pretends to.

Viago looks up at his words, his lips parting like he hadn’t fully considered the reality of daytime. Anton wants to trace them. To bite them. To-

Well.

More appropriately, Anton wants to bury himself back into Viago’s shirt and disappear them both from the world for the next twelve hours. Or maybe eternity. He and Viago can’t just stare at each other like this, though, so he eventually stands, stretching, grimacing at his too-warm clothes.

“Not that you’re new to this, but please be careful in here. I haven’t vampire-proofed my flat yet.” But he will, already thinking about some oversized curtains in a color that would go with his couch. Viago just watches him for a moment. Anton looks away from him, the view of him in the pillows and blankets too much.

“Yet?” Viago asks, smiling, sliding his phone shut.

“Shut up,” Anton says, and escapes down the hall.

When he emerges from his room feeling only slightly better about himself, Viago is standing in the still-mostly dark space between the living room and the kitchen, though the stove light is turned on now. He’s flipping through a Middle Eastern cookbook that Anton honestly hasn’t opened in years. His hand traces over a picture of one of the dishes.

“My mother used to make something like this,” he says thoughtfully. Anton comes up behind him to look over his shoulder, drying his hair with a towel. It looks like a sort of bean stew with thin onion slices in it, but Anton isn’t familiar, and it’s on a page with no name. “We had cooks, but she when she could convince my father to pay the expense of having the ingredients transported, she would make it herself in a big jug.” He smiles, small and soft. “She would always make it too spicy for him. We would make fun of him for it, and he would laugh too, even when he thought I was too old to be acting in such a way.”

“What were they like?” Anton asks, abandoning the page to look at his face. Viago looks up at him too, closing the book and putting it back on the shelf. His hands come up to his stomach, clasped, twisting.

“My mother was very kind. She always treated everyone she met well, even the staff, which unnerved a lot of people I think,” Viago says earnestly. “She had been part of a circus in Egypt before she met my father. I don’t know all the details of how they met; I think, perhaps, a traveling act. But they were very much in love.” Anton sits on the back of the sofa, hands coming up to grab the towel around his neck as he smiles briefly. “I think they’re maybe why I am such a hopeless romantic. My father was always stern and took things too seriously, always worried about us and the business, but he was so gentle where my mother was concerned. Me, as well, to an extent, but always with her. And, in return, my mother loved him with her entire soul.” He squints wistfully with it before he looks back to the cookbook, dragging a finger down the spine. “I always thought… hoped that if I were to love… if I were to find love, it would be like them.” He looks back at Anton. “I think, anyway, that I got the good parts of them, at least. When I take care of my friends, I can feel them with me.”

“You did,” Anton says quietly.

“Thank you,” Viago says with a smile before turning pensive once more. “I never managed to travel to Egypt, even with all this time I’ve passed. Somehow, I ended up here first.”

“I got lucky, then.” He’s only half joking.

“I did too, I think,” Viago replies gently. “I think I would still like to go, though. Some day. It’s so easy now, to travel the world. Even for a vampire. I would like to walk where she did.” He drags a finger down the spine of the book one last time before moving to sit down at the dining table, folding his hands on his crossed knee. “What is your family like?” Anton laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“They’re a bit weird. My mum’s pretty normal but she really dotes on Gracie and me. It’s kind of embarrassing, actually. But I love her. And my dad… he’s a lot of fun, but he believes in all this paranormal nonsense- Y’know, before I was turned, I thought he was off his nut, but then… anyway, he doesn’t even believe in werewolves and vampires. It’s all aliens and yetis and Atlantis. I used to think he was so weird, but ever since we went to that ball, I’m beginning to think he was right all along. He still goes out with a telescope even in the dead of winter. He’s getting too old for it. My mum’s always complaining when she calls.” He smiles, thinking fondly about his dad bundled up in his old Doctor Who scarf on cold nights when they’d go out to spot planets and satellites with his cheap telescope. “They love each other, too. In that old-fashioned, bickering while holding hands way.” Viago smiles at that. “And Gracie is a med student. Training to be a doctor. My parents had her when I was fifteen, so she’s still young. She lives with them.” He looks down. “She was only a kid when I was turned, so I wasn’t around as much as I would’ve liked while she grew up. But she really looks up to me, which is silly. Maybe just because I’ve got this life here, away from our parents and Christchurch.” He smiles. “I can’t wait for you to meet them one day. My mum’s gonna smother you.”

“I would like that, I think.”

“You say that now, but pretty soon you’ll have so many jumpers they won’t fit in your wardrobe anymore and you’ll have to start giving them to Vlad and Deacon. Half the pack is dressed in my mother’s knitting at any given moment.”

“In that case, maybe I wouldn’t. Deacon is bad enough. And I don’t know how to tell him that none of his sweaters go with my clothes.”

Anton throws his head back and laughs.

At eleven o’clock, Anton stands looking over Viago’s body as he eats a bowl of cereal.

“I thought you said you couldn’t sleep,” he says with his mouth full.

Viago’s lying in their nest of blankets with an arm thrown over his eyes like a fainting maiden in an Austen novel. Anton thinks it’s funny, but he doesn’t say so.

“I’m not sleeping. I’m trying to conserve energy. Vampires don’t do well when we don’t get our normal rest.”

“Clearly.”

It earns him a bitchy look, but it’s worth it.

“I’m sorry you got stuck here,” Anton says, watching Viago from the corner of the couch. He’d brought a book and his bedside lamp from his room to try and pass the time, but the book’s been lying open on his lap, long forgotten as he stares. Viago’s lying facing the ceiling, gazing unblinkingly at it. It would be unnerving if Anton wasn’t used to his quirkiness by now. He looks at Anton.

“I don’t feel stuck,” he says softly. Anton gives him a small smile for that.

They keep most of the lights off, just to track the amount of light outside as the day goes on. It’s kind of cozy, like the hazy childhood memories Anton has of his grandparents’ house outside the city when they’d keep a fire going in the evening.

“Right, that’s it,” Anton says, snapping his book shut and folding his glasses on top of it. “I’m going to get your German dirt.”

“You don’t need to. I can last-“ Viago says, but Anton’s already walking toward the door.

“No, you’re just unnecessarily stubborn,” Anton says affectionately. “And you live ten minutes away. There’s no reason I shouldn’t.” He grabs his keys. “Twenty minutes. Don’t go anywhere.” A joke at Viago’s expense that earns a muffled protest as he shuts the door.

He has to crawl in through the basement window that they never fixed after the unfortunate incident with Petyr, but aside from his knees protesting the landing, Anton gets in without trouble. It’s spooky in the vampire residence during the day; it’s quiet, obviously, with Vlad and Deacon asleep (he hopes), but it also just looks strange. Dim light filters in through windows that aren’t covered in curtains, pasted with layers of paper. Dust dances in the air. A stuffed animal head on the wall that he should’ve known was there startles him.

He backtracks to the kitchen after reaching Viago’s room when he realizes he needs a container of some sort, but he has to pause at the dining table when he finds dozens of polaroid photos, courtesy of Clifton’s camera at the last game night, scattered all over it. There’s a rather unflattering one of him (and half of Clifton’s forehead, indicating a failed selfie) that’s been drawn on with a sharpie; whoever it was (his money’s on Vlad) has scribbled wild fur all over his body as well as a witch’s hat and written ‘DOG,’ underlined twice. He’s not even offended, because it’s objectively pretty funny. There are also several of members of the pack with their arms around each other’s shoulders, or action shots of the game of charades they’d played, and there’s one of Deacon floating in the corner cackling while Nick yells at him and Stu grins in the background.

But there’s one of he and Viago amidst them all, innocuous if he’d been more careless in his search, that makes his stomach flip. He’s laughing, he doesn’t remember at what, arms crossed and biting his thumbnail as he gazes at Viago, head angled like they’re sharing a look. Viago’s eyes are gentle as he gazes back, crow’s feet just visible with his smile, his fangs on his lower lip as he leans in toward him, and it hits Anton rather forcefully that this is them. Whatever they are, whatever they have, whatever’s been left unsaid doesn’t matter. This is what they are, what they look like to other people, so caught up in each other that they don’t realize it, and Clifton’s captured it, intentionally or otherwise, on this little rectangle of paper that’s smaller than his palm but feels bigger in this moment than the night sky.

He pockets it, because he’s technically breaking and entering, and he thinks he’s been standing here for entirely too long. In a daze, he pulls the long-forgotten bag of rhubarb custards out of the drawer he’d found them in originally and dumps the contents in the bin before going back to Viago’s room. He’d not realized it, the last time he’d been here (years ago, now), too caught up in vampire smell to notice Viago’s unique scent underneath, and it’s intoxicating.  His head is filled with it, and with the image of that polaroid, and it’s making him miss Viago even though it’s only been twenty minutes at most. He’s so used to being the one in charge, the one in control of himself and his pack, but he’s allowed himself to get swept away in this and he’s not even mad, not even worried about it.

The dirt’s in a compartment at the bottom of Viago’s coffin, located easily enough by smell, and Anton pockets a portion of it in the bag carefully before slipping through the house and out the front door, locking the handle again behind him.

And he makes his way back home where Viago waits.

Viago’s at least sitting on the couch when he returns. He’d half expected him to still be lying, unmoved from his spot on the floor.

“Hey,” Anton says, pausing with his back against the door to just look at him for a moment. He’s half illuminated by the reading lamp, curls mussed and swept to one side, eyes half-hooded with his lack of sleep.

“Hello,” Viago says, looking groggily pleased to see him. Anton’s heart seizes in his chest.

“I got your dirt.” Anton kicks his shoes off and walks around the couch to sit back in his corner. He pulls the bag from his jacket pocket. His fingers graze the photo. He wants to say something, say that he missed him, that he misses him all the time, even sometimes when they’re in the same room, but that twenty minutes is a new low, even for him, and that’s gotta mean something. But he doesn’t.

“Thank you.” Viago reaches for the bag, holds it carefully.

“Had to throw some… old… candies away- are you okay?” He asks, because Viago is quite literally nodding off right in front of him. He thinks about what Viago had said about staying up with council business and thinks this issue might go beyond just today.

“Just tired,” he replies normally.

And with no further warning he slumps over onto Anton’s shoulder as if he’s passed out.

Anton looks down at him for a moment, unsure what to do. Viago’s mouth falls open slightly, just enough that the tips of his fangs are visible from Anton’s line of sight. Anton half expects him to start snoring until he remembers that he doesn’t really breathe.

“Vi,” he murmurs, taking him by the elbow and shaking him a little. “You should get more comfortable, mate.” But he’s well and truly dead to the world, and Anton can’t help but smile a little, leaning forward and hiding it in Viago’s hair like someone, anyone could be watching.

He allows himself a couple seconds of it, the feel of soft hair on his nose, the smell of jasmine surrounding him like it had in Viago’s room, before hoisting the deadweight up and settling it on his lap. He thinks he understands now why Viago didn’t simply leave the times he’d fallen asleep; Viago’s still holding the dirt to his chest with one arm like it’s a teddy bear, but the other hand has come up to rest on his thigh, and Anton would rather die than miss any of it. His hand finds Viago’s hair, lightly combing through it at the temple. It’s strange to see him so vulnerable when he’s usually so intentional and poised.

He puts his glasses on and grabs his book with one hand, the other moving from Viago’s hair to his shoulder, and he settles in.

He doesn’t know how long Viago usually sleeps, but Anton won’t be the one to wake him.  

Chapter Text

“D’you still want to come to the Matariki festival?” Anton asks Viago one day in May. They’re in the sitting room of the vampire residence and their friends are knee deep in a rather rambunctious game of Twister that they’ve both decided to refrain from in the likely occurrence of a fight. A game of chess sits between them. Anton is losing terribly. “It’s coming up.”

“Yes,” Viago says, too quickly to have given it proper thought. Anton presses his lips together, trying not to smile.

“Do you even remember what it is?”

Viago fakes a glare at him, moving his knight to take one of Anton’s two remaining pawns.

“I remember everything you tell me. Although,” he says, looking down as he delicately places the stolen piece with the rest of his trove. “I admit, I would probably have said yes even if I didn’t.” His eyes are shining with amusement when he looks back up.

“You’re insufferable,” Anton says, moving his last bishop, hardly looking at it. It gets stolen too.

“You’re horrible at chess,” Viago replies easily, looking down once more. “Checkmate.”

“I am,” Anton agrees, flicking his own king over in surrender and leaning back in his seat. “But I think anyone would be next to someone who’s had four hundred years to practice.”

“Matariki festival?” One of the Nathan Gs, who’d also tapped out at Twister, asks in interest. Anton jumps, having forgotten he’d been seated nearby. He rubs the back of his neck at the thought that Nathan might have heard their exchange, but the other man seems unbothered. “Are we going?”

“Er,” Anton says, glancing at Viago. “Yeah. I was gonna show Viago some of the stuff they put on. Maybe the lights and the fireworks. We were going to try and go to the observatory, too. He’s never been to the celebrations before.”

“Cool,” Nathan says, putting his crossword on the side table next to him and looking utterly clueless. Despair fills Anton’s belly. “My sister’s in the kapa haka at the observatory this year, actually. I was going to ask you guys if you wanted to come.”

As much as Anton had wanted this to be a date, a real proper date, and not just another whatever they’ve been having, he can’t help the swell of pride at that, and he certainly can’t deny Nathan when he’s making puppy eyes at him. Anton glances at Viago again, but he just looks interested and excited by the news, so Anton officially gives up.

“Yeah, of course, mate. Anything for Tui. Drag the others, if I have to.”

Nathan grins at that, and as he begins to excitedly explain what the kapa haka is to Viago, Anton settles back in his seat again and tries to brainstorm ways he can salvage his plan.

He lingers that night, helping to clean up after the game of Twister had, as expected, turned into a tornado of disaster and resulted in a broken table, though the vampires don’t seem to mind too terribly.

“It was antique, though,” Viago pouts, crouching with a dustpan to collect Anton’s collection of wooden splinters. Anton adores him.

“Everything in here is,” he argues lightly. “But I’m still sorry. We should invest in some not antique furniture, maybe.”

“But then it won’t match,” Viago replies like it should be obvious, making a face up at him. Anton looks around as he sweeps.

“Nothing in here matches.”

“It would if some people put down towels or newspapers.”

“You’re the one who always hits the carotid artery,” Vlad says from where he sits on a chaise lounge, Pauline draped over him.

“Yes, Vladislav, we all know I’m not a good vampire,” Viago says, looking down at his dustpan, a bit too upset to be joking. A bit too sad. Anton watches him carefully, heart in his throat, unsure how to help. “I am just saying, I’m not the only one who makes a mess in this house.” He looks back up, demeanor suddenly playful again, giving Anton whiplash. “You could be helping right now, you know.”

“I’m with Pauline right now,” Vlad says, turning his attention to Pauline, who’s tracing patterns on his exposed chest.

“And I’m with Anton, but somehow, we’re still getting work done.” Anton’s face heats at the comparison, but he doesn’t say anything. “Remember we have to collect dues from the Lower Hutt sector tonight. And a coven has been kidnapping the male vampires in Tawa. They even got Allen yesterday.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Vlad waves him off.

Viago shoots Anton a long-suffering look as he stands, carrying the dustpan to the nearby garbage bag. Anton follows him, wanting to escape whatever weird noises Pauline and Vlad have started making, and together they take the bag outside to the side of the house.

“Sorry our plans got co-opted by my pack,” he says quietly as they meander slowly back to the porch.

“It’s alright. I’m very excited to see Nathan’s sister perform, and to know more about the country I have been living in.”

“Actually, speaking of plans, that reminds me. Maia roped Pete and I into going out to some pub quiz this week and she wanted to know if you’d come.”

Viago looks at him in surprise, pausing his stride, hands coming up to his stomach and clasping together.

“She wants me to?”

Something simultaneously cracks and melts in Anton’s heart at Viago’s concern and hope.

“Yeah. She wasn’t lying, she really loved you.”

“She has been texting me, but because I’m not awake during the day, there’s a very finite amount of time we can interact. I always feel terribly when I don’t respond to her in a timely manner. I was worried she might not understand.” They continue to walk.

“She doesn’t really care about that sort of thing. She knows you’re ‘busy,’” Anton says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hey, what you said in there… I don’t know what makes a ‘good vampire,’ really, but I think you’re a good person. One of the best I’ve ever met. And I reckon we’re people first, you know?”

And maybe it’s not the right moment, but Anton does take a little satisfaction in Viago’s speechlessness, the way he looks like he’d blush if he had a pulse as they come to stop at the door. It’s a small bit of revenge for all the times he’s made Anton feel that way.

“Thank you,” Viago says softly, almost in a whisper. His face is cast in shadow, mostly, backlit by the porch light, but his eyes shine through the darkness.

“Yeah,” Anton says, just as quiet. They stand there looking at each other for a moment before Anton inhales, raising his eyebrows briefly. “Anyway, I should get going. I’ve gotta pick Maia up before our shift tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Viago agrees. “Goodnight, liebling.”

He looks at him in surprise. The nickname feels a lot bigger outside the privacy, the intimacy of his flat, not to mention the proximity to Viago’s friends and how they might feel about it, so hearing it here gives him a little thrill. A small smile spreads across his face unbidden.

“‘Night. And be careful with that… coven.”

“We will.”

“Good.”

“Good-night, liebling,” Viago repeats, amused.

“‘Night.”

And he can’t help but look back once, twice as he makes his way down the drive, waving shortly, trying and failing to suppress his smile from growing.

“Viagoooo!” Maia cheers as they approach the pub that Thursday, throwing her arms in the air. Anton grins at her enthusiasm.

“I’m beginning to think you like him more than me,” he says.

“Oh, I absolutely do,” Maia says without missing a beat, skipping up to meet them. Pete trails behind, raising a fist to bump with Anton’s. Maia puts her hands on Viago’s shoulders. “Can I hug you?”

“Um,” Viago says, glancing at Anton and looking back at her. “Yes, if you’d like.”

She quickly throws her arms around him and squeezes him so tight she almost lifts him off the ground, which is particularly impressive as he’s a full head taller than her at least. His arms are mostly pinned to his sides, but he does what he can to return the gesture, patting her back. When she pulls away, she claps her hands together, eyes gleaming.

“You are going to get so much better at that. Now let’s go win this bitch.”

“Told you she doesn’t mind,” Anton murmurs to Viago as they follow her in, smiling a little and bumping shoulders with him. Viago’s following her movements with stars in his eyes, and Anton valiantly doesn’t clutch his chest over it.

“So, what knowledge do you bring to the table?” Pete asks, straight to business as they get in the queue to register their group.

“That’s a bit rude,” Anton says offhandedly, looking around at the other groups, a bit intimidated.

“I’m just saying, I play to win,” Pete says.

“I’m not… very up to date on popular culture. But I am knowledgeable in history.”

Anton bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’d say,” he mutters so only Viago can hear, taking pleasure in the twitch of his lips.

“Well, I’m up to date on popular culture, and Anton’s got all the science stuff, so that pretty much leaves you with geography and sports,” Maia says cheerfully.

“I’m horrible at geography,” Pete complains, sagging.

“Alright, Mr. I Play To Win. What should our team’s name be?” Maia asks, moving on without him.

“Pete and the Honeys,’ Pete replies.

“No,” Anton and Maia say in unison.

They settle on The Park Rangers, even though Viago isn’t one, because they’re all horribly uncreative, and they all sit around one of the nearby tables save for Pete, who goes to get their drinks.

“So, why do you dress like that?” Maia asks, leaning in toward Viago.

“Do you and Pete have absolutely no filter?” Anton asks. “Just be nice.”

“I don’t mind,” Viago says, sounding more amused than anything.

“And when have you ever known me to have a filter?” Maia says incredulously, rounding on Anton like he’s the problem. “Friendship with Anton ended. Viago’s my best friend now.”

“I was your best friend?” Anton asks, frowning. “That’s kind of sad, mate.”

“I’m talking to Viago now.” Maia turns to Viago once more, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “Really, what’s with the Mr. Darcy look? Just making a statement?”

“These are just the kinds of clothes I’ve managed to keep. I’ve had no desire to change them much.” He looks down at his ascot and collar, messing with them a little. “It makes me a little unusual, I think, but I don’t mind. I have other clothes; I just don’t wear them often.”

“I will burn those cargo pants if it’s the last thing I do,” Anton mutters. Viago sends him a mock-glare.

“Yeah, cargo pants are never the move. I don’t even care if we’re out in the bush,” Maia says, wrinkling her nose. “Fashion over functionality, any day.” She gives Viago an appraising look. “Well, you definitely pull it off, eh, Anton?” She sends him a devilish smile, tongue between her teeth, still twirling her hair.

“Oh, yeah,” Anton says, his face heating. “You look great. All the time.” He subtly steps on Maia’s toes under the table and her eyes turn slightly murderous even though he’s fairly certain she’s wearing steel toed boots.

“Thank you,” Viago says, not noticing the increasingly violent game of footsie happening, looking down at his outfit once more like he’s self conscious. “That’s very kind of both of you.” When he looks back up, Anton sends one last warning kick to Maia while giving Viago an encouraging smile.

Viago smiles back, gently, and Anton’s heart floods with it.

They don’t end up winning, but they do come in third, which earns them a free round their next game, and it’s enough to convince Pete and Anton (and Viago, by proxy) to come back, which excites Maia. Pete taps out immediately after the game, but Anton is alright with staying another round to give Viago the opportunity to talk with Maia more. They have a lot in common with each other that Anton really knows nothing about (mostly to do with fashion and television that he doesn’t watch), but he’s content to watch Viago come alive at the connection, to see someone else bring out that dorky charming side of him. Someone that’s not a supernatural entity.

She hugs them both goodbye in front of the pub after their second round, nagging Viago jokingly to text her more. He promises, a little too earnestly, but Maia just seems to find it funny rather than weird and gives them both a salute before heading off in the direction of her flat.

“Text me when you get home,” Anton calls after her. “I mean it.” But she just waves him off and they’re left to stand there watching her as she disappears into the dark.

“She will be alright,” Viago says.

“I’m sure,” Anton says, still watching where the curve of the street took her. “It’s been so long but sometimes I can’t let it go. The idea that it could happen to someone else, and I can’t really do anything to stop it. I mean, Declan and I thought we were safe.” He exhales: a short, humorless laugh. “It’s why I’m so high strung all the time, I think.” He glances at Viago. “I know it’s not really my responsibility, but I can’t help it sometimes.”

When he turns again, Viago is watching him carefully, eyes unreadable, which is unusual. Anton can almost always read him like a book.

“You care so much for others.”

“I’m not completely selfless,” Anton says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No one is completely selfless. And you’re a bit fussy, and a worrywart, and you take it out on others.”

“Ah, thanks,” he replies, mildly annoyed at being picked apart even though it’s essentially an echo of his own words a moment before. It’s one thing when he does it to himself but hearing it from Viago makes him a little anxious, like he’s doing something wrong. Like he might scare Viago away with it.

“I am, too,” Viago says gently, though, a small smile tugging his lips upward. “But you… it comes from a place of care, even though your circumstances are… unjust. Many people would lose that empathy. Many people have.” Viago frowns, wringing his hands. “I’ve said this all to you before. But my point is that your kindness is... a reminder. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, even if I’ve tried to treat people… my victims well. I’ve toyed with humans before. Even Nick when he was just a meal. But… Knowing you has made me better. Has made me want to be better.” He smiles ruefully. “This makes me a bad vampire, I think, but if you say I’m a good person, it’s worth it.”

“I’m not-“ Anton cuts himself off, his heart in his throat, breaking at Viago’s words. “I’m not innocent, Vi. You shouldn’t feel that way because of me. I’m not the higher authority here, and I certainly shouldn’t be put on a pedestal.”

“No,” Viago agrees. “I know you’re not without flaws. History. I understand that more than most. But still, I-”

They’re standing in the light of a streetlamp on a corner of Riddiford Street in Newtown, and for a moment Anton thinks this, of all places, is where their relationship changes, where Viago says something definitive and sends them tumbling over the edge of this cliff they’ve been standing on for months. But a group of students chooses that moment to exit the pub, loudly chattering about something Anton can’t be bothered to listen to, and the moment is gone, at least for now. He looks down at the ground, kicking at it with the toe of his shoe, trying to steady his exhale.

“Well,” Viago says, almost a whisper as the noise of the group fades away. “At the very least, I’m beginning to think this life is not right for me any longer.” He looks to the sky, face troubled, and Anton just stares, something in his stomach sinking.

“You’re not… you can’t,” Anton says, voice breaking as his throat constricts. He doesn’t entirely know what Viago means, though he has an idea, and that terrifies him even more. Viago looks back down at him, his lips parted, fangs visible, and even now, in the face of this revelation, Anton loves him.

“Oh, liebling,” Viago says, a breath. “Nothing so drastic.” Anton presses his lips together, trying to stop his eyes from burning, exhaling sharply.

“Don’t bloody say things like that, then, y’dickhead,” he says. Viago steps toward him, hand raising to Anton’s cheek, touching it lightly, and Anton can’t help but lean into it, closing his eyes, forgetting for a moment they’re in public.

“I didn’t mean to worry y-“

“Go home, fags!” A young man passing slowly by on a skateboard shouts.

Anton’s eyes snap open, something fierce flaring within him, and he barks, the vicious sound erupting from his chest, his eyes pulsing as they glow, his canines aching as they grow in his mouth. There’s a level of satisfaction that comes from the kid’s scream as he jumps off his board, grabs it, and books it up the street with his friends, though there are people staring at them now, whispering to each other and pointing even as he returns to normal.

“We should maybe go,” he says to Viago, and when he turns to look at him, there’s an expression of mild surprise and delight in his smile.

Anton catches Viago’s hand as it falls from his face and grins, raising his eyebrows briefly before taking off to tug him down the street toward Alexandra Park. As they run, his heart feels lighter, like they’re leaving the weight of their uncertainty and pain behind. Viago sniggers as he’s pulled along, making Anton laugh too, and when they reach the park a few minutes later, he howls his elation at the waning moon.

They’ll have to talk more, he knows, but for now, he can feel young and wild with Viago’s hand in his as they keep running into the night, and for a moment, everything feels alright.

Anton knocks on the door of the vampire residence with no small amount of trepidation. It’s the night of the Matariki festival and though it’s not exactly the night he’d originally planned, it still feels like… something. It sends nerves to his stomach that make him bounce on his toes.

He’s a little surprised when Vlad answers, though he doesn’t really have cause to be because it’s his house, and he manages a smile.

“Alright, Vlad,” he says, trying not to be too obvious about looking over Vlad’s shoulder.

“Hello, dog,” Vlad says, though he sounds in better spirits than he usually does when he says it. “It’s good to see you.” Anton frowns at that.

“Er… It’s good to see you, too, I think,” he replies, not knowing how to react to outright kindness from the man.

“Tonight will be fun, yes?” Vlad says, stepping aside to let him in. “One last hurrah for us all.” He grins, the expression a bit strange on his face.

“Vladislav,” Viago says sharply, appearing in the doorway of the room off to the side of the foyer.

“Sorry, what do you mean?” Anton asks, confusion flooding him as he looks between the two.

“I will tell you later,” Viago says, wringing his hands together tightly, looking at the floor. Anton’s about to protest, to inquire further, when Nick and Deacon enter from the top of the stairs.

“Alright, Anton?” Nick asks, thumping down the last couple steps, Deacon’s hand at the small of his back. Anton does a double take, but his mind is too occupied by Viago and whatever’s going on there, and he shakes his head.

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, glancing at Viago beside him. “I think,” he mutters. “You guys ready?”

The car ride is awkwardly quiet. Vlad, Deacon, and Nick are making small talk in the back, but it’s too soft for Anton to bother paying attention, and he’s too busy trying not to stare at Viago in the passenger seat anyway. Viago hasn’t looked at him since he picked them all up and it’s starting to piss him off a little, so he doesn’t say anything either. Viago’s gaze is fixed to the floor of the car. Anton grips the steering wheel tighter.

Their plan was to go on the light walk with some of the guys from the pack before meeting the rest at the observatory for the kapa haka and stargazing event. When they pull up, the opening ceremony has already happened, but Declan, Stu, and Dion are still waiting for them at the entrance. It’s not too crowded, most everyone having followed the installation guides as the event went on, but there are still a decent number of stragglers. The pack and the other vampires greet each other enthusiastically and take off without them, used to Anton and Viago trailing behind and not worrying about it. Anton grabs Viago’s arm lightly as they follow, trying to get a reaction or just an acknowledgment.

“What’s going on, Vi? What did Vlad mean?”

“Can we just enjoy this?” Viago asks softly, finally looking at him. He looks tired and sad in a way Anton’s only seen a handful of times. That age-old weariness that only plagues him when he’s faced with his condition. “I will tell you. I promise. But I had hoped for one last night where we could be… happy.”

“What do you mean last?” Anton all but cries out in frustration, trying his best to keep his voice down and not make them look like a couple having a domestic in public even though they practically are.

“Please?”

Anton drops his hand, stopping his stride. His shoulders sag. The light of the installations around the entrance reflects in Viago’s eyes, casts him in a warm glow as he turns to look at him where he stands a few feet ahead, and even as distraught as he seems, he looks beautiful to Anton.

“Yeah,” Anton says quietly. “Yeah, okay.” He takes a deep breath, tries to brave a small smile for him, jogs to catch up as an indication for Viago to keep walking. “If we go fast, we could probably make it to the end in time for the fireworks.”

Since they missed the start of the event, there’s not much in the way of interpretation for the different installations, but they have a good time, nonetheless. A woman at a stall along the path hands Viago a little lantern simply because he’s wearing an ‘unusual outfit,’ and Anton only feels kind of bad for laughing because he genuinely thinks it’s brilliant. He sends a picture to Maia of a smiling Viago doing an awkward thumbs up, spookily lit from the bottom by his free merch, and he sets it as Viago’s contact image for good measure as they catch up with their friends.

The anxiety of their conversation and the unknown is still eating at him, but Anton lets it go as best he can, at least enjoying watching Viago and his friends have fun. They’re almost at the end of the walk when the fireworks suddenly start, exploding into the night sky, and Dion whoops and breaks into a run, trying to get to the open beach with the rest of the crowd. Declan tears after him, trying not to let him get lost, and the vampires seem content to run too, just for the fun of it, so Anton grabs Viago’s hand and joins them, because they might as well stick together.

“Be careful,” he gripes to Nick as they slow their gait. The vampire, who’s crouching under Stu’s legs, stands up, carrying Stu on his shoulders, not even swaying under the weight, and a few of the kids around them shout in surprise at the sight, suddenly more interested in them than the fireworks above. Anton fights a smile as Nick looks down at the kids like they’re rats while Stu grins and waves at them from his elevated position.

He looks up when Viago squeezes his hand, but from the way Viago is staring at the sky in wonder, he reckons it was subconscious.

“Have you ever seen fireworks?” Anton asks him curiously, stepping closer so their shoulders are pressed together.

“Not in many years,” Viago says, not taking his eyes from the display.

Anton doesn’t know what ‘one last night’ means, but he takes the opportunity to commit this to memory just in case: the way Viago’s lips part just slightly as he watches the sky, the way the colors splash across his face as the cold, winter sea breeze blows at his hair, the feeling of his hand, almost ice cold in Anton’s, gripping at his fingers tightly like he’s afraid to let go.

He doesn’t notice the tension in his own expression, the way his forehead is creased with his frown, until Viago suddenly looks down at him. Their faces are close, too close, and the quiet awe on Viago’s face fades into something crestfallen, a sadness that mirrors Anton’s creeping into his eyes.

“We are leaving tomorrow,” Viago says quietly, squeezing his fingers again, looking down at Anton’s chest like he can’t meet Anton’s eyes.

“What?” Anton asks, not processing the words properly.

“The council… I told you many of them live in the New World. America. It’s gotten… too difficult to try and coordinate our efforts, and the three of us are… the odd ones out, you could say.” A series of larger firework goes off above them and Anton just stares, willing this to be one of Viago’s really bad jokes. He wouldn’t even be that mad. “In addition, things have gotten out of hand in New York. Too many vampires running amok and not respecting authority. The council knows how successful we are here, and so they want us to move there, to try and bring some order and stability.”

“How long?” Anton asks, breathes, his heart thudding in his chest.

“I don’t kn-“

“No,” Anton says, lowly. “How long have you known?” He presses his lips together, looking away from Viago’s face, anywhere but Viago’s face. “Because I thought-“

“Days,” Viago says, squeezing his fingers again. He turns to fully face Anton, grabbing his other hand. Anton still looks away, feeling foolish; a few of the surrounding onlookers are now watching them inquisitively. “Perhaps a week, liebling, but not long.” More fireworks go off, too loud for Anton’s sensitive hearing.

“They can just do that?” Anton asks incredulously. His tone sounds harsh, even to his own ears, and Viago looks down, frowning. Anton takes a breath. “At the drop of a hat? And you just, what, have to go? You have a life here, man,” he says in quiet desperation. “What about your house? What about the pack? What about me? I mean, just a few weeks ago you were saying- were saying that this wasn’t-”

“The council doesn’t-“

“The council can-“ Anton cuts himself off, looking down at the sand. “Alright,” he says quietly, gently retracting his hands subtly. Viago lets him. He stuffs them in his jacket pockets. “Okay, I just-“ He points vaguely in the direction of the path back through the lights to the car park. “I’m going to-“

The last thing he sees before he turns, rubbing the back of his neck, is Viago, standing behind their friends, wringing his hands, watching him go, and looking utterly alone.

Anton stands leaning against the hood of his jeep for a long while, waiting for the fireworks to finish and the mob of people to come back through. He hasn’t smoked since he was basically a kid, but as he waits, tapping through his phone and texting Maia mindlessly, he finds himself wishing he had a cigarette, if only to release some dopamine and distract himself with something to do besides click on and exit the same picture of Viago over and over.

“What happened to you, mate?” Declan calls. Anton looks up, putting his phone in his pocket. The wolves and vampires are approaching, Stu still on Nick’s shoulders, fingers laced under Nick’s chin like the straps of a helmet. Deacon tries to trip Nick, and Vlad grabs the back of his collar. “You disappeared.”

“Ah, you know,” Anton says, looking at the ground before he can make eye contact with Viago. “The noise always got to me more than you.”

“Right. Well, we’re heading up the hill. See you up there?”

“Yeah, see you up there,” Anton nods him off.

Dion waves, and Nick goes with them, Stu bobbing along above him and waving as well. Vlad and Deacon have descended into a slap fight, so he and Viago are forced to wait it out next to the jeep, watching in an awkward silence as they bicker.

“I thought you might leave,” Viago says quietly. Anton finally looks at him, any fight he might’ve had replaced with resignation.

“Nah,” he says, just as soft. “Just needed a minute.”

“Are you angry?”

“A bit,” Anton says honestly.  

“I’m sorry.”

“I just-“ Anton says, gesturing with his still pocketed hands before stilling again. “I just thought we-“

“Yes,” Viago breathes.

“Alright,” Anton says, his stomach swooping with it despite himself. “So why do you have to go? Now?”

“I’m not in a position to say no.”

Anton is about to protest, to ask why, but Vlad and Deacon approach them, seemingly done being children.

“Deacon is done being a child,” Vlad says.

“Great,” Anton says, turning sharply and getting into his jeep.

“What’s up with him?” He hears a muffled Deacon ask as they all make to follow.

It’s another tense car ride to the observatory, Anton spending a majority of it massaging at his own temple and trying not to be too upset with Viago, because he’s clearly just as upset. Vlad and Deacon seem to sense the energy and don’t say anything, which Anton thanks whatever deity exists in their crazy paranormal world that’s listening for.

Because of their delay in waiting for Vlad and Deacon, the seats the pack had been saving for them have been lost, so they’re forced to find spots to stand in the back of the outdoor space as the floodlights go down. The performance, for all intents and purposes, is stunning. Tui has a solo in one of the earlier numbers that the pack go crazy for, almost howling, and Anton can’t help but grin when he sees her smiling as she rejoins the line.

“This is incredible,” Deacon says in between numbers at some point. “Why have we never seen this before?”

“Not for nothing, mate, but you didn’t know what a dishwasher was two years ago. You were kind of living under a rock,” Anton replies under his breath.

“You’re on thin ice, dog,” Deacon says, not looking away from the performers.

“I’m just saying, you guys don’t need to live like that,” Anton says, suddenly bloody exhausted by vampires. “You’ve been living here for how many decades? And you don’t know anything about the people- Māori or Pākēha- but we’ve been here all along. This has been here all along. You’re just too caught up in your self-importance and self-pity to even try.”

“What did you say?” Deacon says, rounding on him like it’s threatening. Anton just looks at him for a moment. A male soloist starts singing along to a strumming guitar.

“I said what I said, man. You’re going away tomorrow, off to another country for God knows how long, and you’ve barely scratched the surface of this one at the last possible second. You ever ask yourself what the point is? Why you were even here? Viago’s at least been making an effort, but you,” he looks at Deacon and Vlad. “You just sit above it all and try not to let it touch you because you don’t want it to hurt. And you’re taking him down with you.” He glances at Viago for just a moment before casting his eyes to the ground, unable to bear the weight of the three of them looking at him in shock. “Enjoy the rest of your Matariki. Try to think about what it stands for.”

He really hadn’t planned on storming off again, and as he stands alone on one of the terraces of the observatory, he feels kind of silly for it, leaning over the wall and looking at the lights of the city. The stray firework goes off along the skyline, distant enough that the noise sounds worlds away. The sound of the kapa haka echoes hauntingly off the building.

“Anton?” Viago’s voice asks quietly.

Anton looks over his shoulder to see him standing at the top of the stairs to the terrace, wringing his hands. He looks back to the horizon, jerking his head as he goes in invitation. He sighs. It’s not Viago he’s upset with now.

“Sorry I lost my temper back there.”

“It’s alright,” Viago says as he comes to stand at the wall too. He keeps a few feet of distance between them. It stings more than Anton wants to admit.

“I’m not upset with you,” Anton says, because he never has a filter around Viago.

“Good,” Viago says, whisper-soft. “I don’t know if I could bear it if you were.”

They stand there, looking over Wellington, the only sounds the wind and the final chants of the haka. The crowd distantly cheers. A guitar picks up as they quiet, accompanied by three male voices.

“E Ipo,”Anton says after a few moments of listening. Viago looks at him in question. “It’s a love song.”

Viago turns to face him, eyes too wide, still not saying anything. Anton sags, sighing.

“Just… Just… Come here,” he says. He doesn’t smile. Can’t. He’s tired.

And Viago seems to understand, because he does, his hands stilling mid-wring as he steps slowly forward. Anton takes them and separates them, shifting his own feet hesitantly as he stares at their joined hands for a moment. Viago’s skin so soft on his rough callouses; he rubs his thumbs along Viago’s knuckles as he moves his hands, placing one on his own shoulder before grabbing Viago’s waist. He begins to lead them, swaying slowly and closing his eyes again, savoring the feeling of holding Viago so close.

He’s tired, so tired, but he can’t help the small, closed-lipped smile that creeps across his face when he feels Viago shift, snake his hand under his arm to come up around his back as the other man hugs him closer and rests his head delicately against Anton’s. Anton’s heart beats wildly in his chest- he knows Viago can hear it- and he takes a shuddering breath, releasing it into the sky in a cloud of condensation as he looks up at the stars, still swaying them as he presses his cheek to the side of Viago’s head, the soft brush of curls tickling him.

“You,” Viago starts quietly. “You feel like the sun.” Anton turns his head, his forehead coming to rest against Viago’s temple. He closes his eyes with the emotion, barely stops the whimper that threatens to wrench its way from his chest at the statement. Anton feels Viago’s head move, and he opens his eyes to find the other man gazing at him, his eyes still gleaming. His face is gentle, so open and patient that it nearly razes Anton. Viago, just as he’s always been, able to rend Anton just by being himself.

He sways in, his forehead bumping Viago’s, and he keeps it there, closing his eyes once more. They’re barely moving now. Just standing. Anton readjusts his grip on Viago’s hand, then his waist, the sensation reminding him that this is real.

“When am I even gonna see you again?” He breathes, his voice nearly breaking even with the quiet tone.

“You non-vampires and your silly perception of time,” Viago whispers back, and Anton laughs softly before he’s even finished speaking.

And then he kisses him.

He releases Viago’s hand to cup his face, to tug into his hair, their bodies naturally turning to get a better angle, and he pulls the other man closer, pressing them together in a solid line. His hand moves to the small of Viago’s back and he leans forward, trying to remove any remaining space between them, and Viago sighs into it. When Anton eventually needs to breathe, he breaks it slowly, but Viago tries to keep him there, his fangs snagging on his lower lip. Anton almost splits it open smiling at the gesture.

“You know,” Viago says, and Anton opens his eyes to see Viago’s are still closed. “I have been waiting for a very long time for you to do that.”

“Long time even for a vampire?”

“Anticipation makes the heart grow weary.” Viago opens his eyes, and they’re luminous. “But I would have waited still.”

“How long?” Anton breathes, closing his eyes again, the proximity intoxicating.

“How long is eternity?”

“Guess I’ll wait that long, too,” Anton says with another shaky breath.

And he kisses Viago again.

Chapter Text

Dearest Anton,

I hope this letter finds you well. As I am writing, it has been six weeks since we left Wellington, and we have just been settled in a property near to the Vampiric Council’s headquarters in New York. I know we have cellular phones, but I find there is often too much to say and not enough space to say it in a text message. I hope you will forgive me for my old-fashioned habits.

How are you? I admit, as much as I might miss Wellington, it’s somewhat exciting to be somewhere new. New York is so large and full of life, and the city stays just as active at night as during the day, from what I am told. We have only been here a week, and already we have met many incredible people from all over the world. The vampires are just as diverse, and it is refreshing to hear other perspectives. The benefit to living here is that humans seem to hardly bat an eye when encountering us socially, perhaps used to people with different conventions. We have also been assigned a Guide (I capitalize the title because, from what I can glean, she does not have any other name) who has been kind enough to show us the city and help us to get our bearings, so to speak.

It is summer here, and much warmer than in Wellington. I am told this is mild compared to certain parts of America, though the country is so big, it seems odd to compare the regions. We made landfall in California before traveling via a cargo train to New York, and it was almost unbearably hot in our coffins, with no escape. The journey across the country took much longer, I think, than any of us anticipated. What they call states are almost like smaller countries themselves. I did not realize how true the tales about the New World were until coming here myself.

Vlad and Deacon are both enamored by the city, though Vlad especially seems enthusiastic. He and Deacon have made fast friends with a vampire named Simon the Devious, and while I support them and their interests, I find I do not like Simon myself. Perhaps because he is so Devious. He, apparently, is the leader of the vampires of Manhattan, though he concentrates most of his efforts on his vampiric nightclub. It is unlike any club I have seen in Wellington and is filled with posters and screen images of his face. I do not think you would like it very much; it is very loud and often overcrowded, and Simon is always doing crazy things like shooting flaming arrows inside. I can hear your worrying even from fifteen thousand kilometers away. I miss it.

I think that Vlad and Deacon took your words at the festival to heart. When I arrived home that night, they seemed melancholic, and since we have moved here, they have thrown themselves to the wind, eager to learn more about the city and the people. They are still naïve, as I am, but they are making progress. Perhaps the nature of the city itself is partially to thank, but I am content to give you the credit. You have changed our lives in so many ways, liebling. It is a promise when I say I will be eternally grateful for meeting you.

I will end this letter on that note. If you wish to respond, you may attach your letter to this raven. Otherwise, you may tell her to leave and she will return to us. I understand this letter may reach you during the worst of the moon, so I have included our return address in case you wish to write in the future and must use the postal service.

I miss you, mein liebling. I hope the moon treats you gently this month.

Yours,

Viago

P.S. The ravens are magical. You need not feed them or worry about their rest, though I know you will regardless.

Dear Viago,

Thank you for your letter. I’m going to be honest; I don’t think I’ve ever written one myself, but I’ll try my best. I’m happy to hear you, Vlad, and Deacon are settling in well in New York. The biggest city I’ve ever been was Auckland, and that was overwhelming even to me, so I’m glad it seems to be a good fit for you.

I’m not sure when exactly you sent your letter, but I got it the day after the full moon. This is going out about a week post. It was a bad one for me; if I don’t get enough sleep or eat enough to prepare myself it really takes a lot out of me and gets harder to control the urge to hunt. Since I chain myself up, I end up taking it out on myself, and it gets pretty ugly. I’m alright, though, and better for hearing from you.

This Simon guy sounds like a real ass, but also like exactly the type of person Vlad and Deacon would like, so I’m not surprised. I’m only mildly worried about the flaming arrows indoors because I know it takes a lot more to kill you, but please be careful anyway.

I’m happy to have made an impact on Vlad and Deacon, even if it upset them. Sometimes we need to be uncomfortable. I’m also happy you’ve had the opportunity to meet more people, to see some of the stuff that’s out there. I hope one day you’re able to see more. What’s the vampiric council like there? Is it like an office job now that you’re all together? You’ve always told me about it, but I don’t really understand it even after all these years.

I’ve been thinking about what you said, and it occurred to me that the first time we met was because Vlad and Deacon were being dickheads. I am, obviously, grateful to have met you, too, but it’s a bit funny that we technically have them to thank. I like to think that hopefully, we would have met even if things had stayed civil. Not to get sappy, but it’s like this; two stars in a binary system have a gravitational bond, constantly orbiting around each other, never touching but looking like one point of light in the sky. Sometimes, their orbits decay, and the two stars collide to form a much bigger, brighter star. I think, in our case, it was inevitable.

All that to say, I’m grateful I met you, too, even if the circumstances weren’t the best. Sorry Dion called you Count Fagula. He knows I’m gay, so I’m not too sure what his thought process was there. Gave him a real dressing down once the cameras were gone. Anyway, I’m getting off topic, so I’m going to end it here.

Be safe over there. I miss you. I’ll be waiting.

Yours,

Anton

P.S. I’ve been feeding your raven. She’s very sweet.

P.P. S. It may be best we don’t use phones often. Overseas billing can be expensive. Though, I wouldn’t mind a call now and then.

My dearest Anton,

I must implore you to take better care of yourself surrounding the moon. I know you have managed a long time thus far, but I am concerned more than ever being so far away. When I return, I will make more of an effort to be there for you during your cycle.

The Vampiric Council here is very organized, if chaotic at times. In Wellington, it was mostly Vlad, Deacon, and myself in conjunction with a select few others in the area. The breadth of the council reaches further here, but I think there is a difference in customs. Most vampires here are not keen to follow the rules of the council or human society, which complicates things greatly. In Wellington, and from what I gathered in our few encounters with other so-called leaders in New Zealand, it is easier to find vampires willing to cooperate with each other and create order. There is always posturing to be found in vampiric society, but here it seems engrained in the national culture. It has been a challenge to be certain, but we are managing with the help of other leaders. Our Supreme Council is filled with vampires who vary greatly on the political spectrum if you could call it such. Some of them are incredibly old fashioned, while others seemingly advocate for more integration and freedoms, and still others swing back and forth as though on a pendulum. They are highly unpredictable. Tilda is the oldest, and one of the most critical upon learning about the relationship we three have formed with the pack. Evan, on the other hand, was intrigued and enthusiastic, interested in reaching out to some of the local packs here. It seems impossible at this juncture to lead them to an agreement on the subject. I think, anyway, that there are too many problems within the vampiric community here to focus on garnering peace with hereditary enemies yet.

Often times, the work is repetitive, but I have recently discovered a vast library detailing the history of vampires and our origins. I spend much of my time here. Deacon says I am sulking. Perhaps he is right, in a way.

I have told you before that I feel disconnected. I feel it more acutely now than ever. These last months, spending so much time with you, and our pack, and with Maia and Pete, I have felt a greater sense of belonging: one I have not felt in many, many years. I love Vladislav and Deacon, but I feel that up until we left Wellington, they expected me to be someone I no longer am. Maybe this line of thinking could be contributed to your influence, though I certainly do not say that in a negative sense, but I think my doubts mostly come from within myself. I mean to say that I have felt this way for a long while, and only recently have I deigned to give the thoughts substance, or to recognize the feelings. Perhaps I knew they would overturn my comfort and so I avoided them, but you came along, liebling, and did it for me. I am grateful, but I am at a loss at where to go from here. So, I bury myself in books for now, and do what I can to improve things for others, but I remain antisocial, at least in the eyes of my friends and peers. I try to make the most of the circumstances, but some days are more difficult than others.

Tired though I may be, I still find enjoyment in this life. You need not worry. These are the ramblings of an old man, and as you said in your letter, we must feel uncomfortable sometimes. Otherwise, we would not know what comfort was.

I miss you now, as always. I would hope that your comparison to the stars is accurate as well; I certainly feel as though it is true, though I am a bit biased now, I think. It has only been a few short months, and hardly the longest we have been apart, but the uncertainty makes it worse, I think. Send my warmest greetings and regards to Stu, the pack, to our friends, and Nick if you see him. If you could supply me with Maia’s address, I would like to correspond with her as well. I believe she would like some souvenirs.

Yours,

Viago

Dear Vi,

The moon was better this month. To be honest, knowing you’re okay helped. I was sulking too, in my own way. The guys gave me shit for it, but I think I’m handling being unwillingly separated from my kind-of-boyfriend (I don’t like that word; you’re much more than that, and I’m not sixteen) pretty well, all things considered. Everyone says hello, including Nick, I’m sure, but I haven’t seen him. I tried going ‘round, but he wasn’t home. I think he’s got a job, if Stu’s to be believed. Imagine that.

I know we’ve shared our thoughts on the philosophy of life and what makes it, but I didn’t mean for it to send you into some sort of tailspin, or mid-life crisis (though I would hope it wouldn’t be mid-life, as you’re an eternal creature). There’s something to be said for the endurance of the vampiric way of life, and as much as you say you’ve been isolated all these centuries, you’ve still had relationships and made connections. Katherine was a human that was in love with you; Maia and Pete are humans that are friends with you. No one is perfect. Everyone has their idiosyncrasies. But I reckon given that you were born four hundred years ago, you’ve managed pretty damn well thus far. Vlad and Deacon put up more of a façade than you do, but even they can show their underbellies now and again, but whether it’s pride or a fear of getting hurt that keeps those walls up I don’t know. That being said, I want to clarify that I don’t dislike vampires or your way of doing things; I just worry that vampires like Vlad and Deacon forget themselves in the image they try and present. I worry that they unknowingly make themselves part of the human systems that continue to divide and harm us. I see too much of it in the day to day; I would call them out for the same things even if they were human.

I want you to be proud of who you are, Vi. And I don’t want you to think that I’m not proud to know you. I meant it when I said you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. Every person on this planet has faults; the fundamental parts of us aren’t included in those. We all can always strive to be better. I know that’s what you’re doing, and I’ll support you whatever you choose to do. But always make sure you’re doing it for yourself. I also meant it when I said I’m not a higher authority. I can’t decide what’s right or wrong for you.

I let my emotions get the better of me on Matariki, and I think because of that I may have given voice to frustration I have with vampiric society as a whole, but specifically Vlad and Deacon, in a way that wasn’t entirely respectful. I could’ve worded it better, could’ve not lost my temper, and though I’m glad it got them thinking, I regret that much at least. I’m an outsider, as much as I’m also a supernatural creature trying to survive in human society, and it’s not really my place to tell you how to change.

The long and short of it is, I don’t want you to change anything about yourself for me. If you want to continue the way you are now, or the way you were four years ago, or if you want to completely cut yourself off from vampires for a bit or forever- I’ll still love you. That won’t change, at least.

I think this letter has gone on a bit too long and a bit too sad, so I’m going to end it. I’m not even sure it all makes sense. I might’ve been talking myself in circles.

Be safe. I miss you. I’ll be waiting.

Yours eternally (haha),

Anton

P.S. I’ve added Maia’s address on a separate slip. She says if you’re sending her a t-shirt that she’s a size medium.

“Liebling?”

“I just sent you a letter,” Anton says too loudly in his empty flat, breathing too heavily. He inhales through his nose and swallows, trying to calm himself. “And I wrote something in there, and I didn’t even think about it until it was too late, and the bloody bird was gone, and this phone call probably costs so much already, but- but I wanted you to hear it from me first. Out loud. Not on a bloody- piece of paper.” He takes another deep breath, releases it shakily so his voice doesn’t. “I love you.”

Viago is silent on the other end for too long a moment.

“Sorry,” Anton says, his heart thudding in his chest even as his stomach sinks. “I know that’s- maybe that’s a lot, and maybe a bit too soon. You don’t have to-“

“I love you,” Viago says quietly.

“Oh,” Anton says. They’re both silent. “That’s- alright. That’s good.”

“Yes,” Viago says, sounding amused. Anton can see the exact expression on his face in his mind’s eye.

“Yeah,” Anton agrees, flopping down onto the couch, hanging his head over the back and looking at his upside-down kitchen, exhausted.

“Is that all?”

“That’s kind of rude,” Anton retorts, fighting a smile.

“I’m only concerned for your telephone bill, liebling,” Viago says gently, his own smile audible in his voice.

“Right,” Anton says, rubbing the back of his neck, grinning like an idiot. “Then I’m gonna- go.” He pauses. “I do love you,” he repeats quietly, his face easing into a gentler expression with the gravity of the statement.

“And I you,” Viago says softly. “Though it hardly feels adequate.” They’re both silent again. “Be well.”

“You too,” Anton whispers.

His throat constricts and he looks down as the line goes dead.

Dearest Anton,

It was very nice to hear your voice, if briefly. It isn’t quite the same as hearing it in person, but it was lovely, nonetheless.

I apologize for the long wait between letters. I received your raven a few days after your call, but things have been busy here in preparation for the arrival of a very important member of Vampiric Society. I am not looking forward to it. The man is a bit of an asshole.

If you are worried about my feelings on being a vampire, I would like you to rest assured that I feel no pressure to change on your behalf. I said that you make me want to be better; that is a feeling that also comes from within me. You make me feel such a way that inspires me to be the person you believe I am. That feeling is something precious to me, and not something I could ever fault you or resent you for. I appreciate your concern, but please do not worry over that. If anything ever happens- should we drift apart, or perhaps far in the future, when my longevity curses us to part against our wills, I would still strive to be that version of myself. This is the gift you have given me, and I would not give it up so lightly.

In regard to Vladislav and Deacon, you should know they are not upset with you for what you said. None of us were offended. We were all surprised- no one has ever dared to be so candid about our flaws, and I especially was amazed that you would broach the subject with them. You and I have built a rapport over the years, but your relationship with them is different. As I mentioned previously, I believe what you said made them think about their priorities thus far. In a similar way as I have been disillusioned recently, I believe they are beginning to see things for what they are. More so in Deacon, but Vladislav as well, to an extent. Deacon has always been more irresponsible, being so young, but both of their attitudes are shifting. I believe they care less in a good way. Perhaps this is exactly what the Vampiric Council here was trying to fight against, and why we were asked here to begin with, but I care more about the health, happiness, and fulfillment of my friends than old-fashioned rules and what someone two thousand years ago might have decided it meant to be a vampire.

This line of conversation grows weary, though, and I, too, wish to speak of lighter things, so I will leave it with this: my research in this library is going very well and I am learning more than I could have hoped about vampiric origins, properties, and laws. I do not wish to discuss it further as it is all secretive information; if the council were to find out I have been sharing it with someone who is technically an enemy, I could be put on trial, and our sentences tend to be very archaic, but know that the results of my efforts are more than satisfactory for my purposes.

Please once again give my regards to our pack. I miss them all terribly. Vampires- even Vlad and Deacon- can be very macabre, and I miss their lighthearted youthfulness as fiercely as I miss you.

Ich liebe dich, liebling.

Auf wiedersehen,

Your Viago

My Vi,

Heh. I get a little thrill, writing that out.

I’m glad to hear your research is going well, though I have no bloody clue what that means. If it’s too dangerous to be talking about it, I’d like you to be more careful, but I support whatever you’re doing if it makes you so excited. I think. Maybe that’s not the best attitude to have, considering things like drugs and murder are also exciting to some people, but maybe that’s how gone I am on you. Actually, considering you eat people, that’s definitely how gone I am on you. Though the whole eating people thing isn’t really by choice. I’m getting side-tracked.

I know you said you’re tired of talking about it, so I’ll keep this bit brief: You’ve always inspired me to be better, too. Ever since we met, I saw the things I admired in you and the things that made us similar and I learned to embrace those qualities more in myself. I’m not great at putting the feeling into words and I don’t want to just repeat what you said, but know that it’s mutual.

Anyway, there’s not much new here to report. Dion’s had a rather explosive relationship that I think would put a vampire’s to shame; seriously, they were about as on-again, off-again as Vlad and Pauline used to be. He accidentally turned her, and those police with the cameras discovered her, which has been a whole nightmare- I really told him off for that one- but once she got over the whole being a werewolf thing, Sheena’s been great. She really helps balance things out most of the time. She and Dion are on better terms now, too. They still hook up every now and then, though, and sometimes it sets things off again. I think I’ve gone a bit grey over it.

Nick came over the other day. He and Stu have got a bit of thing going now, I think, but then once I saw Deacon with his hand on Nick’s back. Not too sure what’s happening there. Are vampires polygamous? Is that the politically correct term? I suppose it kind of makes sense as a concept. Life’s too long, and all that. I’d prefer you not date anyone else while we’re together, but if you must, I’d like to get to know them first. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

Maia and Pete say hello, though I hear you’ve been in contact with the former quite regularly (thank you for not using the ravens; I’m not sure how we’d explain magical birds). Regardless, she sends her love. We won the most recent pub quiz. I wish you could’ve been there; She almost got us permanently barred she was rubbing it in so hard. One more rude hand gesture and I fear the Park Rangers would have been no more.

Not to make things upsetting again, but I’ve been missing you more than usual lately. We’ve officially been apart longer than the seven months of witch-induced mania courtesy of Vlad and Deacon. How much is a plane ticket to New York?

I’ve just looked it up and I think a bit of me died. Oh, well. Maybe I should do it your way.

Never mind. I’d need too much time off work and also food and a coffin. Maybe I’ll buy a boat, leave my life behind and learn to sail to you myself like some kind of bad pirate. I think my dad would be thrilled, anyway, the nut.

Be safe over there. I miss you. I love you. I’ll be waiting.

Your Anton

“Kia ora-”

“You didn’t tell me you and Viago were together!” Maia all but shrieks into the phone. Anton winces, holding it away from his sensitive ear, looking at other shoppers to see if they’ve noticed.

“Alright, Maia,” he says.

“Fuck off,” she says with a laugh. “That’s exciting. Remember that conversation we had about sharing our personal lives?”

“Yeah, alright, sorry,” Anton gripes, but he smiles briefly despite himself. “Obviously things are a bit difficult right now. It just sort of slipped my mind.”

“That you’re dating someone?”

“No,” he says. “And I don’t like that word. No, I just mean that it didn’t occur to me to tell you because I was kind of focused on the actual thing that was happening. Which was, you know, him being shipped off to the actual other side of the world.” He looks around as he finds a corner in the fish department of the grocery where he’s not in the way.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” she says. “You don’t like what word?”

“Dating.”

“I’m telling you right now, if you’re one of those guys that doesn’t like labels, I’m immediately taking Viago’s side. I don’t care how much longer I’ve known you.”

“I’m kind of offended that that’s the kind of guy you think I am.” He looks down, picking at a sticker on the handle of his shopping basket. “Nah, I just mean dating feels kind of…” He sighs. “I haven’t ‘dated’ many people, so maybe my frame of reference is a bit small, but this feels like way more than any of that.” He looks at a cluster of shellfish in a tank. The man behind the counter looks at him oddly. “I don’t know. It’s like I was waiting to find him, and if anything happens… Well, I don’t think there’ll be anyone after him, if that makes sense.” She’s silent on the other end. “Anyway, I’m kind of in a shop and I think I’m putting one of the attendants off.”

“Right, sorry,” she says, sounding strained. He grins.

“Are you crying right now?”

“Fuck off, I just love love, okay?” She sniffs. “And I love you guys, and I like when you’re happy.” He continues strolling through the grocery, now that the conversation isn’t as Earth-shattering.

“I don’t think you’ve ever said anything so genuine to me.”

“Fuck off,” she repeats with a laugh. “Do your shopping. And call your family. Maybe tell them about Viago.”

“I’d rather die,” he grimaces, thinking about his mum crying like Maia if she were to find out that if they weren’t both supernatural creatures (one of whom doesn’t exist according to the government) he’d have half a mind to marry Viago.

Well, he’ll have to tell her some day, anyway.

Chapter Text

The next letter arrives just a couple weeks before the one-year mark of Viago’s departure and three months after the last one.

More inconveniently, it arrives in Christchurch in the middle of a family dinner.

He’s been down for about a week; his birthday and Gracie’s fall around the same time of year, and in tandem with Matariki, his mum had finally bullied him into properly requesting the time off to celebrate with them all together for once, not that he’d needed much convincing. Declan had taken a step up when he’d been moping and getting lackadaisical in the first month of Viago’s absence, and though he’d since gotten over it, he’d been letting him help more. He felt comfortable enough now to let go for a bit and trust Declan to take care of the rest of the guys while he played hooky. And anyway, it was only a week during the new moon, and they were all adults.

Or so he keeps telling himself.

Anton tries to ignore the raven, to leave it for after dinner when he can try and slip outside undetected to retrieve the note and send her on her way before his parents notice, but the thing keeps pecking and pecking at the window until finally, Gracie asks what the hell it’s doing, and he has to acknowledge her.

The bird lingers after he unties the letter, looking at him expectantly, probably expecting the seeds he usually gives her, and he has to nudge her away to encourage her to fly off. She looks annoyed, and he shrugs an apology before she turns and takes off into the night sky.

“I’m so sorry for asking,” she says, pointing her fork at him as he shuts the window. “But did you just get a letter from a bloody bird?”

“Don’t swear, Grace,” his mum says pointedly, but then rounds on him. “And elbows off the table. But she’s right, love. That’s highly unusual. And unsanitary.”

“Unusual?” His dad says with a laugh. “It’s bloody fascinating is what it is.” Anton’s mum glares at him for his language, too, but doesn’t mention it further.

Anton closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the window in mild despair before turning around with a pleasant smile, tucking the letter into his back pocket.

“Yes, I got a letter from a bird. Can we go back to dinner now?”

“Sure, if you explain how you trained a raven to home to you in Christchurch,” Gracie says.

Anton sits heavily in his chair and sighs, picking up his fork to poke at the food still left on his plate.

“I didn’t train it. It’s my… friend’s. He trained it.”

When he looks up, his family is looking at him with identical expressions of ‘we know.’

“What?” He asks in annoyance.

“Anton, last time you called someone your friend like that I walked in on you pashing him in your room when you were home for the holiday, like, twenty minutes later,” Gracie says.

“Never say pashing in the context of me, forty-one-year-old, ever again,” Anton says calmly.

“You should have thought of that before you traumatized me, six-year-old,” she retorts. Anton braves a look at his parents and they both look down. His dad is visibly shaking with laughter. “And anyway, you just got bird-post in the middle of dinner. I think we have a right to know.”

“I don’t know how it works,” Anton argues, and he’s telling the truth. “Sometimes they show up in the middle of the bloody bush. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Very Harry Potter.”

Over the course of this conversation, he realizes why he’s so attached to Maia.

“Well, I think it’s lovely he sends you letters,” his mum says.

“Bit old-fashioned,” Gracie mutters.

“Old-fashioned can be nice,” his mum argues.

“I won your mother over with love-letters,” his dad says in agreement. Anton looks at his plate and smiles privately at the thought, his heart swelling with affection for Viago.

“Yeah, but that was, like, normal for your time,” Gracie replies.

“What exactly is ‘my time?’”

Anton lets the argument wash over him as it devolves into jokes and more stories from Gracie’s childhood, and then Anton’s, and then their dad’s, and he tries not to think about opening the letter or how much he wishes Viago were just here until his mum gets up and clears the dishes away to the sink and he follows to help her. They wash up in silence, accompanied by Gracie’s outraged interjections and both of their laughter; he watches his mum as she scrubs at a plate with a small smile on her face. She glances at him.

“I wish you’d bring him,” she says. “I know those two like to tease you, but I could make them behave.”

“I will,” Anton says quietly. “Maybe this Christmas. Or sooner. I want to see you more.”

“Well, I already like him if he’s convinced you to visit us,” his mum says with a short laugh. “But I’d like to know more.”

He smiles to himself, drying the last plate she hands him as she turns the faucet off and drapes her gloves over the lip of the sink.

“I’ll tell you about him. Some other time when I don’t have a flight to catch in the morning.” He kisses the side of her head before turning to Gracie and saying louder, “You should go to bed, too. We have to be up early.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. And you don’t need to be at the airport three hours before your flight. Don’t make me suffer for your paranoia.”

“I’m just a worrywart that takes it out on others,” he agrees, and he kisses the top of her head, too, for good measure.

The next morning, he says goodbye to his parents and Grace takes him to the airport. The letter still burns a hole in the inner pocket of his jacket, but he wants to read it in privacy and Grace is far too nosy to be trusted, even while driving, so he looks out the window as she talks.

“Do you think I could stay with you in a month or so?” She asks suddenly. He blinks, swearing she’d just been talking about some new television show she likes; her mind’s always gone too fast for him.

“When?”

“July sometime. The week of the 18^th, I think. There’s a conference at the Otago campus in Wellington and one of my old thesis advisors is giving a talk. I kind of wanted to go just to network, but I haven’t visited you since your graduation. I barely remember it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He doesn’t think about the fact that it’s cutting it dangerously close to the moon and he might not be in the best state to have her, but it’s a problem he’ll have to deal with when it comes because he can’t take it back and she looks thrilled and he’s tired of missing out on her life. The way she smiles at him as she continues talking about the conference sets it in stone.

He hugs her goodbye when they arrive and watches her drive off, clutching the strap of his luggage and ignoring the emptiness in his chest with the thought that it’ll hardly be any time at all before he sees her again.

When he boards a couple hours later, he finally takes the letter out of his pocket and nestles himself into the corner between his seat and the window of the plane to avoid any uncomfortable questions from whoever ends up next to him.

My Anton,

I assure you my interests here are nothing to do with drugs or murder of the cold-blooded variety, though your attitude towards them was greatly amusing. I am intrigued by the pack member we’ve gained and would like to know more about her. Hopefully, one day soon, I will get the chance to meet her.

I admit, I was surprised to hear about Nick and Stu. However, I think becoming a vampire removes some of the proclivities surrounding societal norms that may have constricted us when we were human. Usually, this change in attitude takes much longer. Perhaps Nick was already exploring these facets of himself before Petyr turned him. You mentioned you were homosexual, though from what I extrapolated, not in a sense that this was something you discovered for becoming a werewolf. Did you experience a change in the similar to vampires when you were turned? The way I have worded it is poor- I do not think becoming a werewolf makes you homosexual. I hope you are able to gather my meaning.

Anton bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh out loud like an idiot. He looks up and nods his acknowledgment at the man taking his seat next to him, trying to school his expression into something more neutral. The man gives him an odd look. Anton looks back down at the letter.

I do know that Stu was in a relationship with Nick’s sister, which is how they met. I fear that would make for some awkward dinners if Nick were to invite him over as a partner. Regarding Deacon, it is possible he and Nick also have something of a relationship, but he has not shared such with me. They grew quite close after Stu’s ‘death.’ Perhaps things have developed from there. Regarding polygamy- I am hardly the one to ask about the accuracy of the term, but I cannot think of another. Perhaps Maia would know. In any sense, it is a common practice amongst vampires for exactly the reason you cited, though I have never been drawn to it myself. Should things change, I will tell you immediately, but I would not worry over it, liebling. I would hope, at the very least, that our three friends would communicate openly about it in the same way.

As much as I would enjoy seeing you, I must ask that you not buy a boat. They are far too much work to maintain. And anyway, I think you would worry too much about leaving the pack behind.

To update you on matters here, our guest did not so much as visit the Vampiric Council upon his arrival, and from what I am to understand is continuing his slumber while he waits for three vampires in Staten Island to conquer the New World. Really, this guy has no understanding of how the modern world works. Even I can recognize that. At any rate, the pressure is now off of us for the time being, though the whole matter has been incredibly frustrating.

Deacon is becoming increasingly detached from council matters. He’s discovered an affinity for drug-blood, particularly from users of marijuana. If I still cared as much as I used to about council matters myself, I might be concerned about it, but I am beginning to feel as though the vampires here might benefit from facing the consequences of their actions more than they might benefit from a firmer enforcement of the rules by the three of us. There is no served consequence but death or extended imprisonment (in the realm of centuries in duration) that might change their minds. We do not have the resources to jail all those guilty of minor crimes, but not every rule-breaker deserves death. Vampires can be cruel, though, and we have put many to death regardless of the weight of their indiscretions, like choosing names out of a hat. That’s what’s expected. Even if we three dissent, we are vastly outnumbered, though I think Vladislav occasionally finds enjoyment in it. I find myself flippant in judgement in a way I despise.

The plane begins to taxi, and Anton folds the letter back into his pocket, leaning against the wall and biting his thumbnail as that dread he gets every time Viago laments over council matters or vampirism returns to his belly. He pretends to focus on the attendants going through their safety demonstration but all he can think about is how badly he wishes Viago were just home and away from them all, how badly he wishes he could do something, anything about the situation, but he feels like if he were to bite the bullet and just show up one day that he might make things worse or maybe even end up executed, if the council had a mind to.

He watches the plane take off, the ground disappearing beneath the clouds before he pulls the letter out once more.

I miss Wellington more than ever. Things were much simpler there, though it didn’t always feel like it. I have seen far too many die, by our decision or otherwise. My peers have become callous; they turn further against each other with every meeting and tribunal. Everything moves so quickly here. Being a vampire, it always seems to. Revolutions and wars end as quickly as they start, trends come and go, people live and die and it feels like minutes; but here, in this city, it seems like most people- human or vampire- never stop to connect with each other or this world they are living in. In that way, these humans and vampires are more alike than different. In irony, common ground was something I always yearned for, tried to find, but not like this.

This letter has become dreary, and though I have somewhat given up trying to change things here for the better, I have not given up the hope that I might still carve a better life out for myself, and my friends, and for us, liebling. These desires may be selfish, but living for that love is better, I think, than this ruthless path.

I fear this letter may go out later than I would like. Things have escalated with our guest in the time since I have started writing, you could say, and I have been attempting to finish it for some weeks. I will send updates when I can. For now, know that the thought of you brings me comfort in the most trying of times. As always, you are like the sun.

Your Viago

Anton runs his thumb over Viago’s name, eyes burning a bit, and he blinks against it, trying not to put his neighbor off even further.

He doesn’t realize it’s the last letter Viago will send.

Anton sends his response only a few days later, but because he has to use the regular post, it’s weeks before he’s even certain it would have arrived at Viago’s residence; before he knows it, the moon passes, and he’s picking Grace up from the airport the evening after with a fresh scratch down his face from Dion that, so very conveniently, won’t magically heal itself. It’s the usual fare for werewolf-induced injuries, and he expects as much, but it still alarms Gracie.

“Jesus,” she says when he steps out of his jeep to help her with her bag even though it’s small. “Did you get into a fight?”

“Eye-level sticks,” he says with a weary smile. “Psychopaths of the bush, I tell you.”

“Lucky I’m half a doctor, then,” she says, but she looks concerned as she comes in for a hug, and pulls away only slightly to appraise the gash on his cheek and temple.

“Ah, I’ll be okay,” he says, waving her off and getting back into the jeep. She gets in the passenger seat and looks at him once more, even as he turns away to check for oncoming traffic.

“I’ll at least disinfect it. It doesn’t look like it needs stitches…”

“It’s fine,” he insists, looking at her and trying to convey every ounce of his exhaustion. She raises her hands in surrender and looks out the window as they drive. It’s already long since gotten dark, winter in full effect. “When’s your conference tomorrow?”

“It starts at nine, but I think it ends for the day at one, and then I’m grabbing lunch with my thesis advisor. Maybe we can go out tomorrow night? I can meet some of your friends. It’s been ages since I saw Dec.”

“What do you want to see him for?” Anton asks with a scoff, but he doesn’t mean it.

“It’s like having a second brother that I don’t feel as bad for ruthlessly taking the piss out of.”

“I can endorse that.”

The evening’s traffic holds them up only slightly, but Anton is still ready to fall into bed by the time they reach his flat. He practically stumbles out of the car, half listening to Gracie as she babbles excitedly about the talk her thesis advisor is giving on some obscure, incomprehensible-to-Anton pediatric medical practice while he gets her bag from the back. He drops his keys closing the door and she makes some quip about it, laughing at the glare he sends her as she continues her dissection of the conference.

He’s still fumbling with the keys, trying to find the one to his front door, when she gasps softly before laughing again. He looks up in time to see her press a hand to her chest.

“You scared me, mate. What’re you sitting on the steps for?”

He follows her line of sight as he comes around one of the other cars in the lot and drops his keys again, freezing.

“Oh,” says Viago, seated on the bottom stair with his hands on his knees like he hasn’t been gone for over a year, like Anton hasn’t been pining for him every single one of those days, scared to death over every other letter he writes. He looks the same as ever, if slightly rumpled. His lips are parted in surprise, in the way Anton’s always liked, in the way that reminds Anton of shaking his hand for the first time. “You must be Gracie. You look very much alike.”

He stands quickly, extending his arm like he’s going to shake her hand, too, and promptly collapses, falling hard onto the ground like a deadweight.

Anton’s still motionless with shock for a moment as he stares, his breath quickening slightly, but Grace springs into action, dropping her purse and shoving her phone into her pocket to kneel beside Viago, unbuttoning his sleeve to push it up and out of the way of his wrist. Anton drops her luggage and joins her, kneeling at Viago’s other side turning his body over. He’s warm, like he’s just eaten.

“His pulse is still strong,” Grace says, looking up at Viago’s face. She slaps it a little.

“He’s got a pulse?” Anton asks, feeling a bit wild, and she glances at him with a strange expression, as if to say, ‘what else would he have?’

“Hey, mate,” she says instead, still tapping his cheek, looking back at Viago. Viago’s eyelids flutter but stay shut as he makes a soft noise, and she slaps his face a little harder. His eyes open, dazedly, and Anton exhales sharply. “Hey. You munted or what?”

“Vi,” Anton says, shaking him, trying to bring some more awareness about him. “It’s me.”

“You know this guy?”

“Bird-post,” Anton says, ignoring her little squeak of ‘oh!’ “Viago, what’s wrong with you, mate?”

“That is… a bit rude,” Viago mumbles, attempting to sit up. Anton helps him, hovering uncertainly.

“You just collapsed on my doorstep after turning up unannounced. I’d say that’s a bit rude,” Anton shoots back, his hand finding Viago’s without having to think about it. “What’s going on? Why are you even here?”

“It is… a very long story, liebling. And before I tell it, I think… I think I must eat.” He blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to wake himself now, leaning into Anton.

“What is actually going on?” Grace hisses to him as they hoist Viago up. Anton shakes his head, sliding an arm underneath both of Viago’s and looping the one closest to him around his shoulders.

“Just grab my keys, if you can, please,” he says. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, reaching within himself and willing the wolf to come out, just enough to send some strength surging through his blood. He uses it to pick Viago up, like a bride, or a werewolf stoned and drunk and halfway bled out of his mind, and climbs the steps.

“This is largely unnecessary,” Viago says quietly, gaze boring into the side of Anton’s skull.

“Piss off,” Anton says fondly, finally looking down at him, really looking at him, and his face, unsure if this is all just a weird dream. “Why do you have a pulse?” He asks, softly enough that Grace won’t hear over the sound of footsteps.

Viago simply looks back, eyes glowing, lips pressed together, forehead slightly creased.

Grace opens the door for them after asking which key is the correct one and goes immediately to the kitchen, saying something about water and glasses. Anton takes Viago to the sofa, setting him down as gently as he can with his waning strength before all but collapsing himself next to him, closing his eyes as the back of his head hits the cushion. There’s a delicate touch to the side of the face; it traces down the length of his wound, just next to it, so as not to reopen it, and Anton winces at the uncomfortable feeling on the tender skin. He opens one eye, peeking at Viago. Viago just continues to stare, his knuckle lingering on Anton’s cheek, his eyes troubled.

Gracie clears her throat above them and Anton jerks in surprise.

“Here,” she says, not unkindly- more uncertain, if anything- and offers the contents of her hands to Viago. It’s a single piece of bread and two glasses: one with water and one with orange juice. A laugh erupts from Anton’s chest before she even finishes speaking. “Well, it’s not my fault you have bloody nothing in your flat. Is this what you planned on feeding me? I’m giving you one star on Yelp.”

“Sorry,” is all he can manage, and when he glances at Viago, he’s smiling, too, small, close-lipped, the tension gone slightly from his expression. “It’s not you, I promise.”

Viago takes the bread first, and Grace comes around the sofa to sit on his other side after setting the glasses on the coffee table. Anton glances between the two of them, unsure of who he should be watching more. Grace looks utterly bewildered as she observes Viago sniff the bread suspiciously, observes the way he closes his eyes and takes a reverent bite. Anton’s head spins with questions and an underlying fear of what might happen to Viago for eating the food. He’s seen Nick projectile vomit blood only once, but it was enough to make sure no vampire ate human food again under his care, no matter their drunken protests.

But nothing happens. Viago chews and swallows and looks like he’s tearing up, but not with sickness, just with relief and joy, and Anton is utterly, utterly lost.

“When was the last time you ate, mate?” Grace asks.

“Days,” Viago mumbles. “Only two, or so. I have gone longer. I didn’t think it would be an issue.” She scoffs, a short laugh.

“You need to eat more than that, bro. Have you been drinking water at least?”

Viago just shakes his head, still looking at the bread like it’s God’s gift to Earth.

“Gracie,” Anton starts, finally looking away from Viago. “D’you mind staying in my room tonight?”

She looks at him, then Viago, then back at him, like she’s halfway to saying no, but she nods. He nods in return.

“Yeah, as long as you get him something proper to eat. I wanted the bed, anyway,” she says with a conspiratorial smile at Viago. He squints minutely at her with good humor, still chewing.

Anton escorts her to the bedroom, carrying her bag for her. She sighs as she sits heavily on the bed, watching him as he gathers spare blankets and pillows from the closet.

“What’s going on, Anton?” She asks softly. “Is this, like, normal for you?”

“No,” he says, but then pauses, running a hand over one of the blankets as he turns to face her. “Well. Kind of,” he says with a frown. “Not with him, though.”

“And that’s the guy that’s been sending you letters?”

“Yeah,” Anton whispers, his chest aching with what he feels for Viago, even now. “He was away for a while,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t expecting him to be here. I’m sorry.” She shakes her head before he’s even finished.

“I don’t care about that.” She smiles a bit. “As long as he’s not, like, on the lam or something.” She pauses a moment. “I can tell you care a lot about him. But more importantly, I can tell he cares a lot about you. But don’t even think for a second that I’m not going all in tomorrow. I want to know everything. He’ll face my full wrath.”

He sighs as he makes his way toward the door, pulling it mostly closed behind him before saying:

“Remind me to invite my friend Maia out tomorrow. You’d love her.”

“Try not to be too loud tonight,” she calls after him.

“Get out of my house,” he says over his shoulder, loud enough to be heard through the now-closed door, and he smirks at her cackle, ambling back down the hall until he comes to the living area again.

The glass of water is empty on the table. Viago looks down at the glass of orange juice in his hands like he’s studying it until he senses Anton reentering the room and focuses on him instead. Anton purses his lips, clutching the blankets tighter to himself like they’ll comfort him more than the man sitting ten feet away.

“I’m going to make tea,” he says quietly. Viago nods, looking down at the glass once more. Anton sighs, walking to the sofa to put the blankets down next to him.

He lifts his hand, faltering for a moment, and Viago looks at him, eyes still aglow with all that emotion Anton hasn’t had time to decipher yet, so he tries again. Viago leans into the caress, looking more relieved than anything that Anton is touching him.

Letting him go the night of the festival a year ago had been one of the hardest things Anton had ever had to do, holding him like he is now until Viago had to pull away, leaving him empty and heartbroken and yearning, and even though his head is incessantly buzzing with questions and confusion, there’s an unreserved elation filling his chest at having him back. His eyes burn with it.

“I want to know what’s going on,” he says, whisper soft.

“Yes,” Viago says, just as quietly.

“But I missed you.”

“Yes,” Viago breathes. They stay like that, unmoving, for a few moments before Viago reaches up, removes Anton’s hand from his face, like the last time. “You should make your tea.”

“Yeah,” Anton rasps, and he pulls himself away.

“In the end it was an accident,” Viago says a little while later, his voice hushed to avoid alerting Grace to their conversation. His hands cup the mug of tea Anton places in front of him on the dining table, and he looks at it like it’s something wondrous, brings it up to his face and inhales the steam. “At first, I lost hope. The most common method- or easiest and most accessible, I should say- is a potion made from the blood of the sire of the vampire looking to be cured. My sire passed long ago, so this wasn’t an option for me. But the further I searched in the library, the more dated material I found-“

“Wait a minute,” Anton interrupts him, closing his eyes briefly. “They just have this information available? And no one knows about it? I feel like this could bring down the entirety of… vampire-kind.”

“It is not accessible to most. Only those on the Supreme Council know of it, and they have little interest in the information stored there. It was more a collection for show. Many of them think they know everything of our kind. That’s why none of them cared I was spending so much time and reading so thoroughly.” He looks down at his tea again. “Many of them believe a myth- that if the sire of a vampire is killed, then all of that vampire’s ‘children,’ so to speak, die as well, so they keep the original vampire, The Sire, contained in a cell in the headquarters.” He leans down and brings the mug to his lips, hesitating before taking a sip, like he’s scared. He wrinkles his nose. “This is what everyone is so obsessed with? It tastes like dirty water.”

Despite the situation and his spinning head, Anton smiles, his heart seizing with endearment at Viago’s enduring bitchiness.

“Usually people put cream or sugar in it.”

Viago gives him a dubious look but sets his mug down to cool as he continues.

“Obviously, this myth is not true, or else I would have died many years ago, and Deacon and Nick would have died when Petyr was killed, and so on. Really, it’s quite cruel how they are treating The Sire, but everyone is so afraid that they don’t consider his feelings, and his language is so old they wouldn’t be able to understand regardless.” Viago looks back down at his mug. Anton switches it for his, which has been doctored to his tastes and is probably more suitable for someone who doesn’t know how they like theirs yet. Viago looks at him as he sips it, manages a small smile of approval despite the dour subject. The sight is still so foreign it kind of rocks Anton.

“So, what happened next, then?” Anton asks, trying to lead him away from all the issues with the council. “You said it was an accident, but obviously you were trying to…” he trails off, not really able to complete the sentence because the meaning of it is too great and too close to him and his brain has gone to mush with enervation.

“There are, it turns out, a lot of methods to de-vampire oneself. Many of them are derived from human practices in the Middle Ages, ones used to protect them from becoming vampires to begin with. Tinctures of holy water and myrrh, blessings, exorcisms, even garlic.”

“Garlic actually works?” Anton asks with a frown.

“To be fair, most food is enough to ward us off, considering how ill we become when we eat it,” Viago says with a good-humored smile. “But yes, garlic is especially repulsive. Poisonous, if taken in large enough quantities, but an ingredient in a reversal spell if used right.” He takes another sip of his tea. Anton rests his chin on his hand. “But I don’t have magic- didn’t, I suppose- and not the kind with which I would be able to perform spells. So, I had to approach a coven.

“The covens here are tame, compared to the ones of New York. Here, at least with most, we can have civil conversations. Even do dealings sometimes, if the opportunity is right. You met some at the masquerade. But in the New World, they are very much trap-and-tie-up-to-harvest-semen first and ask questions later. In my search for a coven who would help, I accidentally found myself in a lair. An old witch- older than I am- was conducting a ritual, one very powerful and important to her, apparently, and I interrupted it. At first, she was keen to capture and use me, but she had apparently had foul dealings with other vampires in the area and thought to punish me instead, to send a message to them. In her eyes, the worst punishment she could think of was to take away my vampirism. For many other vampires, this may have been worse than death, but she had not known that this is what I was approaching her for to begin with.”

“But why?” Anton asks softly. “I know… I know you’ve been thinking about it for a long time. But there was so much you loved about your life. Wasn’t there a compromise?” A new guilt eats at him now, like he’s responsible for the feelings that put Viago in this situation to begin with. “I thought you just meant stepping away for a bit, or leaving the council, not-”

“Oh, liebling,” Viago says, sad. “A few magic tricks aren’t worth the lives that have kept me here until now, or the countless more I would have to take to sustain myself. Not anymore. All the people I would lose, the corruption I would face, the years of eternity I would have to spend alone but for my two or three friends. The years of eternity I would have to spend without you.” He looks down as something dark creeps into his eyes. “This last year with the council has proven to me that I am no longer willing to pay this price.” When he looks up, he’s got a thoughtful expression. “Besides. I was never very good at being a vampire anyway. The council merely overlooked it because I was… diplomatic, and a stickler for fine print, I think.”

Anton is silent for a moment, turning the words over in his head and drinking his tea as he considers the gravity of the situation.

“Do the council know, then?”

“No,” Viago says quickly. “They believe I am across the country on emergency business.”

“Do Vlad and Deacon know?”

Viago nods once, looking down again.

“They helped me return to New Zealand. Once we can create a reason good enough to present to the council, we will tell them I am not returning. Deacon will be returning as well, eventually. I think Vlad wishes to stay, at least for now.”

“Does he really enjoy all of that?”

“I think he is simply more used to it, growing up and being turned when he did. And I think he is less likely to change his ways.” He fiddles with the mug like he’s nervous. “I hope… I hope you do not think too ill of him, or us, for what we have done. For many years, I have felt as though my hands were tied, and my options limited. For the others… for Vlad… Well. Until recently, vampires really did only have each other, and I think being so old in a world that moves so fast… it is easier to hold on to what you know. In his time, this was normal. He might even feel somewhat vindicated. I’m unsure if his attitude will ever shift.”

Anton reaches across the table, takes his hand to still it.

“I don’t think ill of you. I don’t even think ill of Vlad and Deacon, most of the time. I don’t care what vampires do to other vampires, and I don’t even care that they eat people. I almost killed your best friend because he was human, and now he’s stuck with this bullshit, too. I wasn’t judging you for any of that. I was judging the situation you were in because it was making you unhappy.” He hadn’t even really thought about it until he says it out loud in that moment, but it’s wholly the truth. “And I think Vlad and Deacon are unhappy, too. Maybe not to the same extreme, but I can see it. And I judge their attitudes for it, because I want them to see that it doesn’t have to be like that.” He exhales shortly through his nose. “I don’t love you because I’m ignorant to all the things you’ve done. I love you because I see you always trying to be better.” He squeezes Viago’s hand briefly, trying to ignore the way the words ‘I love you’ feel bloody massive, even though he’s said them before. “For a lot of other reasons, too. But that’s a pretty big one,” he says, giving Viago a small smile, trying to draw the same out of him. It works. They sit in silence for another moment. “Are you going to be alright until tomorrow? I think I’m about to keel over like you did.”

“I believe so.” He smiles a little wider. “There is always more bread.”

Viago watches Anton build their little blanket nest wordlessly, sipping at another glass of water at Anton’s insistence. It’s easier than the last time Anton did this, though what he’s gained in sobriety and blood volume he loses to sheer exhaustion, and it’s all he can do to change into the sweatpants he’d grabbed earlier before he collapses into the pile, the events of the last twenty-four hours finally fully catching up with him.

Viago takes his time finishing the water before removing his shoes and outer layers. Anton watches him slowly, neatly fold them before turning out the lights and coming to stand over Anton. Anton thinks that if this were any less tired, he’d be more thrilled to have Viago over him in his underclothes, but all he can do now is reach up a hand and tug him gently down when Viago takes it.

Viago settles close to him, close enough that he can feel his breath, smell his scent, though it’s different now- still like himself, but different. He watches Viago blink rapidly in the dark.

“I can’t see you anymore,” Viago says quietly, mournfully.

Anton’s reaches out and touches his arm to let him know where he is before letting his fingertips slide lightly up, skirting over Viago’s shirt, watching Viago’s lips part at the sensation.

“You still have your fangs,” he comments, maybe as a reassurance, as his hand comes to rest on Viago’s cheek, his thumb on Viago’s lower lip, pulling it down so he can see them better. He releases it after a moment. Viago’s mouth closes. “Are you sure you’re okay with all this?”

“I would have liked more say in the timing. I would have liked to prepare myself more. It was painful, more so than I expected, more than being turned. There, at least, is the venom, then, which numbs the body.” Viago frowns, but he doesn’t look upset, just thoughtful. “The most terrifying, I think, was being put out to the sun by the coven the next morning, not fully comprehending what had happened until that moment.” Anton inhales at the thought; he has no frame of reference for what that might’ve been like, but the thought of the danger Viago had been in gives him enough of an idea. And then Viago smiles, soft and gentle. “But it is summer in New York, and the sun, liebling… the city, it smells, and it is so crowded and noisy, but the feeling of the sun in that moment was more than all of it. So, yes. I am sure.”

“I wish you hadn’t been alone,” Anton says, barely whispering now.

Viago’s hand comes up to grab his, his thumb pressing into the center of his palm as he draws it away, and he looks blindly at it, eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Oh, schatz. The sun has spent so long ruling my life. In a way… it still does. But now, it means something new.” He puts Anton’s hand back on his face, holds it there. “I may have been alone, but I had the sun. In that, I had you with me. I didn’t feel so alone then.” Anton exhales shakily as Viago smiles, something small and endlessly tender. “Anyway. I am tired, and you are, too.” His thumb strokes across Anton’s knuckles. “Sleep,” he commands softly.

There’s a lot Anton wants to say, needs to say, but he can’t summon the energy, not now, so he scoots forward to press a gentle kiss to Viago’s forehead, and another to his lips, sweet and warm and everything he’s been wanting for the past year and beyond. It’s not a replacement, or an avoidance- he fully intends to bare his soul to Viago, because he deserves to know everything he makes Anton feel, how much he deserves every ounce of love Anton wants to give to him- but for now, it’s enough.

They’ve always been enough.

Chapter Text

It’s an adjustment to be sure.

For the first couple months, Viago doesn’t really know how to take care of himself, and he doesn’t stay with Anton all the time either so it’s difficult to make sure he eats and drinks water regularly. It’s not like he’s an infant, but Anton watches him lose fifteen pounds quite rapidly as he gets used to the amount of food he actually needs, and he was on the lower end of a ‘healthy’ weight to begin with. Anton cooks more, if only because he has more reason now, so Viago puts the weight back on quickly enough, but it had been alarming regardless. He also has an incredibly strange sleep pattern that even now, somewhere in mid-winter, has him sleeping until two in the afternoon or waking to try and run errands at eleven at night. He’s getting better about it, but like everything about this, it’s a work in progress.

Grace’s networking at the conference she gone to had been rather successful; she’d already been applying to residencies around the country at the time she’d attended, but her thesis advisor introduced her to a doctor from the children’s hospital at Wellington Regional that liked her so much, it had practically been a shoe-in. Anton isn’t shy about being thrilled, but he had tried to refrain from influencing her decision when she’d gotten other offers, so he’s exceptionally happy when she decides on Wellington after all.

He also tells her.

Because she lives so close and sees him so much now, it would have become unavoidable anyway, but he’s much more comfortable telling her on his own terms instead of having her find out on accident, or worse, getting turned herself. So, he tells her everything, from how he was turned and when, to how he and Viago really met, and everything that’s happened since. At first she’d thought he’d lost it, kept trying to find medical reasons for his sudden apparent psychosis, tearfully asking him if he’s on drugs, and even tries to come up with excuses as to why, when he cuts his palm with a sparing knife, he’s fully healed without a trace just half an hour later. In a way, he’s kind of reminded of Scully from The X Files, with her insistence on scientific reasoning to a fault. But when Deacon arrives back in the country a couple months after she moves, under careful supervision (because Anton doesn’t entirely trust him around his too-human sister, though he really had changed in the time he’d been away), Anton has her try to take his vitals, and she has a bit of crisis when she can’t find anything but a temperature that should be hypothermic. After that, she begins to believe him, and also kind of makes herself Viago’s personal physician, now that she understands what had really been going on when they’d first met. He regrets it, though, when she figures out she can catch Anton off guard throwing a fake stick if he’s tired enough.

The pack, for what it’s worth, had apparently thought Viago and Anton had been together for months (years?) longer than they actually were, though they still get a kick out of it when Anton tells them anyway. So much of a kick that Anton has to remove himself from the group chat and then mute it when they add him back in against his will.

Viago, however, tells them about his human condition in person. Well, less tells them, more accidentally shows up to Anton’s flat before sunset one night in late winter while some of the guys are over and they collectively lose their minds. In Viago’s defense, he doesn’t know the pack were going to be there when it happens, but he’s always enjoyed a little drama, so he doesn’t mind.

Anton buys an apartment in Karori. Really, he’d just gotten lucky; Grace had been over one day (she visits a lot, now), and one of her favorite hobbies is fantasizing about buying every house she likes on real estate websites, and he’d indulged her when she’d asked what his budget would be, but he hadn’t expected her to actually turn anything up, let alone something he might like. He’s usually against being in so much debt, but he’s been working for decades now and had enough saved up for a down payment large enough that the monthly cost ended up being less than what he pays in rent, so it worked out. It’s further from the pack than he’s used to, and it’s not big, but he can drill holes and paint the walls without worrying about a landlord, and it even has a small bit of yard out the back, which is better than four walls without even a balcony.

Anton turns his yard into a tiny slice of the park. He’d chosen his studies and his career because he’d had an affinity for the natural since he was a kid, dragging Declan on tramps through the bush until they’d get lost just to practice finding their way back by the sun and stars, knowing every plant and bird and animal and trail by heart. So, the first opportunity he gets, he tears the grass out of the ground and plants some foliage that’s good for the land, and then a tree or two, and he keeps going until by December, it’s unrecognizable from the dying, barren lawn that had been there before. And he stands there in the grey light of every morning he can, with a cup of coffee and his feet in the dirt as he connects with the Earth.

Also, Viago moves in.

He still visits his old home frequently, but being a human once more, it had gotten kind of awkward with the other vampires of the residence. It wasn’t like Deacon and Nick wanted to eat Viago, but they couldn’t help smelling him sometimes, and Anton and Viago spent so much time with each other anyway that it just made sense. And it’s nice, having someone to come home to. He’s always had the pack (he still does; Viago accepts their propensity for showing up unannounced and lingering even when Anton’s not there with a rather undue grace), but it’s a different kind of fulfillment when he returns from work to Viago trying to recreate something his mother would cook or putting the finishing touches on a soon-to-be-fired planter-pot at the small worktable crammed in the corner.

Viago breathes warmth and his joy at life into the place. Even when the pack would practically live in Anton’s old flat part-time, there’d been no trace of it beyond the food in the pantry and the spare blankets he kept around. He’d kept it so sterile, perhaps because he hadn’t felt the place was truly his own. But Viago has his hobbies and a wonder at everything he experiences, collecting little trinkets and printing photos of their friends from his phone and tending to houseplants- he gets very into houseplants. He even gets a part-time job at the Palmers in town (despite Anton’s insistence that he doesn’t need to, that he can take care of them both financially, but it’s not really about that) once he can convince Deacon to hypnotize the managers into hiring him without proper paperwork.

“I like the way it makes me feel,” Viago says when Anton asks him about it as he’s watering some of them in the kitchen sink one day. “Like I am giving life to something instead of taking it.”

And Anton, thinking about the past years he’s spent with him, about his desire to help Viago opening something within him, strengthening his relationship with his friends and his pack and renewing his own desire to live beyond survival, tells him he is.

“Happy Christmas!” Maia cheers the moment Anton opens the door, throwing some white paper confetti in his face and temporarily blinding him.

“Cheers,” he says, faking annoyance and pretending to shut the door on her. She laughs in delight as she barges in, depositing a large bag of wrapped presents by the front table. “You’re a bit early, mate,” he says.

“Yeah, I was too bored and excited to wait,” she says, sitting on the sofa only to immediately stand again when she sees one of Viago’s new plants in the corner by his worktable.

“Well, good. You can make yourself useful around here.”

“Hello, Maia,” Viago says, emerging from the bedroom, drawn by the sound of her voice. “I thought you were arriving later.” Anton sidles up to him and presses a kiss to his cheek just because he’s there and he can.

“Is this a pink princess?” She asks, ignoring their display and pointing at the plant incredulously.

“Oh yes,” Viago says eagerly, drawing away from Anton to pick the plant up and show her different angles, leaving him to pout. “Some regulars at the garden center- a lovely couple- gave me a cutting some weeks ago. I think she is establishing herself nicely.”

“For free?” Maia squeaks.

“I always give them a discount even though I’m not supposed to,” Viago says. “I told them I think it’s a silly rule, but they were quite grateful anyways.”

“My little anarchist,” Anton says dreamily.

“Can I have a cutting?”

“When she is big enough,” Viago says, amused, and Maia flops down on the sofa again while he frets over his plants.

“Now you’ve done it,” Anton says to Maia teasingly, sitting in the armchair to lounge across from her. “He won’t stop till he checks every one of them now. It’ll be hours.”

“I haven’t checked them for new growth today,” Viago says, his lower lip jutting out in a frown. “You know it is growing season.”

I’m incredibly in love with you, Anton thinks.

“I’m incredibly in love with you,” Anton says, because he’s never once managed to get a proper filter up around him, and now he doesn’t really need to. Besides, he likes making Viago blush for once.

“Piss off,” Maia complains. “When is Gracie getting here?”

They hadn’t ended up meeting the first time Grace had visited, but as soon as she’d moved, they’d been fast friends and were practically inseparable. Figures.

“Soon, and she’s bringing my parents, so behave.”

“I literally always behave.” She crosses her legs and holds her knee, smiling angelically at him. “Besides, Carol and Monty love me.”

Anton makes a face at his parents’ first names.

“You’ve never even met them.”

“We’ve emailed.”

“Why?” He asks incredulously.

“Had to coordinate gifts, man,” Maia says, like she’s really saying ‘duh.’

“Did you know about this?” He asks Viago, who takes his face out of a large pothos.

“Yes. I have been emailing with your parents, too.” The idea of it sends a flush of mortification to Anton’s cheeks. “Grace even had facetime with them while I was with her once.”

“Facetimed,” Maia says. “Like a verb.”

“Facetimed,” Viago repeats with an air of benevolence.

“Right,” Anton says dubiously before standing once more. “I’m going to change so I can start cooking. Vi, don’t let Maia open anything.”

“I’m not actually a child,” she calls after him in annoyance.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh, mum,” Anton groans like an embarrassed teenager as he opens the door. Grace cackles behind her.

“Merry Christmas, love,” his mum says warmly, ignoring his tone. She’s got the absolute worst christmas sweater he’s ever seen in his life on (even though it’s sweltering) as well as a headband with antennaed red pompoms whose tips are dipped in green like they’re supposed to look like pōhutukawa blooms.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” he says, returning the hug with a smile anyway. “How’d she get you to wear those, then?” He asks his dad, hugging him as well. He’s got a matching headband on, though he’s wearing a short-sleeved collared shirt that only has tiny Santa’s on it, which is ostensibly more conservative than his mother’s regalia.

“Your mother doesn’t need to convince me of anything,” Monty says like he’s offended at the question. “I do whatever she asks. Especially when it humiliates you.” He can’t contain his devilish grin, and the answer to Anton’s question becomes very clear.

“Oh, Viago,” Carol says, moving on too fast for Anton to properly introduce the actual love of his life for himself. Not that they need much of an introduction anyway, apparently, but he’s still slightly miffed. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person, love.”

“Yes,” Viago says, warmly, earnestly, though he looks anxious, hands wringing in that worried way. But Carol just approaches with her arms raised for a hug, and he returns the embrace. He’s still a little awkward about it, even with Anton, but he’s gotten better. Monty shakes Viago’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder with the other. Anton smiles to himself at the exchange, throwing an arm around Grace’s shoulders and kissing the side of her head before shoving her off with a light tousle to her hair, which she glares at him for.

“And you, Maia,” Carol says, something mischievous in her tone.

“Hi, Mrs. C,” Maia says evilly, hugging her too. Anton mentally bars Maia from meeting anyone else he knows, fearing her corruptive powers.

And he watches his family move further inside, Maia showing off her new manicure to Grace and Viago showing some of his plants to his mother and father who are either very interested or at least politely listening like they are. Anton will show off a bit, too, eventually; he knows his dad will especially like the yard. Declan and some of the others who, like Maia, can’t travel to be with their own families this year will be arriving soon; they’ll grill a truly extraordinary amount of meat on the barbecue like the kiwis they are and eat and drink and exchange gifts until the sun goes down and Grace has to return to the hospital for the night shift, taking his slightly-too-tipsy parents home with her. Viago’s old flat mates will come over and revel with them until Anton is officially too worn out and tipsy himself, throwing a blanket over the passed-out pack-members on his sofa while Viago sees his friends off.

In the privacy of their room, after a long day of friends and family, slightly emboldened by the alcohol but mostly drunk just on love, Anton will give Viago one last gift. It’s a bit early by human standards, but when an immortal creature gives up eternity and chooses explicitly to spend the rest of their now considerably shorter life with you, a tired mess of an alpha werewolf, trivialities like that fall to the wayside. He’d intended to do it more romantically, and maybe he will, someday, with a fancier, prettier ring to go with Viago’s fancier, prettier everything, but this feels right, in the moment, and that’s what their relationship has always been based on. Viago will accept the gift, the plain gold band, and will slip the matching one on Anton’s finger as they lie in their bed. He’ll place a hand on Anton’s cheek, and Anton will remember lying under the stars, uncertain about everything but his love for the man before him. Everything has changed around them, but this never will.

This apartment in Karori is small. Too small for them, far too small for their ever-growing pack (family), and far, far too small for the love and warmth that fills it, overflows with the light that spills out onto the park strip and the laughter that echoes in the air and the plant propagations Viago starts giving away and the pastries that they bake the neighbors at least once a month. But it cradles them, holds them through the joys of life and the sorrows of what they’ve lost, what they’ll continue to lose, their growing pains and their first real fight and the immediacy of their forgiveness. It will watch them grow old and grow together, no longer two strangers in a mirror, no longer stealing each other away into the night, no longer needing to; two stars whose orbits have decayed until they’re indistinguishable.

Tomorrow, it will watch them step into the sun; Anton will watch Viago, the way the light of it splashes over his face and warms his skin and glints off of the ring he put there, and tell him it's where he belongs.

But tonight, it will hold them as they hold each other, basking in a happiness a long time coming.