Chapter Text
The room is shrouded in darkness, with only a few sources of light to illuminate its contents. The walls are adorned with Gothic-style decor, and the furniture is a mix of modern and traditional pieces. A grandfather clock ticks away in the corner, its rhythmic sound echoing through the still air.
In the centre of the room sits a man, dressed in a black shirt with a jabot collar. His trousers are modern, but his overall appearance suggests another era. His hair falls in a limp wave down to his navel, and his skin is pale, almost a blue that could perhaps appear to glow in the dim light. His eyes stand out the most, with a piercing, almost black colour that gives him an otherworldly appearance.
This is Vincent Enfield, a vampire. He sits in his chair, reading a cliche vampire novel, but he seems more interested in his thoughts than the words on the page, given his half-hearted distaste. His features are sharp and angular, with a thin aquiline nose and high cheekbones that give him a striking appearance. He exudes an air of sophistication and mystery as if he is a creature from another world altogether.
Vincent hears a sudden knock at his door, breaking the silence of his solitude. He sighs deeply, feeling irritated at the interruption, but still makes his way towards the door. As he opens it, he is greeted by the sight of an older boy standing in front of him. The boy is shorter than him, but his long brown braid, reaching to his mid-back, makes him appear taller than he is. Vincent can't help but notice the wavy strands of hair that escape the braid and fall over the boy's forehead. His skin is tanner than Vincent's, with a small quantity of freckles adorning his cheeks. The boy's green eyes are striking, almost captivating, and his clothes are a mix of shades of purple and blue, now stained with blood. As Vincent's gaze travels downwards, he notices the boy is carrying another boy in his arms. The pale boy's hair is shoulder-length and blonde, with ringlets cascading down his back. Every visible inch of his skin is covered with freckles, giving him an ethereal look. Glasses are tucked into the collar of his shirt, which is now soaked with blood. The most alarming feature, however, is the two bloody puncture marks on his neck. It's evident that the pale boy has lost a lot of blood, and Vincent can't help but wonder what happened to him.
The brown-haired boy begins to speak.
“Took you long enough.” He grumbles, more a sigh than genuine sounds. Vincent raises his eyebrows and accusingly asks
“What did you do, Cecil?” This in turn makes Cecil frown further. He rambles, clearly offended
“What do you mean, “What did I do” ?! I just found him like this alright- But I know how volatile vampires can be after they turn and I’m sure he’s not dead, normal dead anyway and we don’t know if he’s going to and I figured you wouldn’t want a potential danger, plus you’re the authority on vampiric bullshit but I-” Vincent looks at him and cuts him off gently
“You’re rambling Cecil.” Cecil takes a large intake of air.
“Right. Sorry. Can I bring him inside?” He takes another shaky breath
“The bleeding stopped earlier but I wanted him to wake up with someone who could explain it to him if he wakes up frightened and disoriented. I would’ve brought him to mine, but…”
Vincent turns to enter the building, with Cecil following closely. His familiarity with the place is evident as he doesn't question their destination.
Vincent's face lights up with a grin as he turns towards Cecil.
“You smell like a wet dog?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement. Cecil responds to the teasing remark with a playful glare, but his expression soon softens as he too breaks into a smile,
“Fuck you. But…yeah, pretty much” The two share a laugh, their playful banter adding to the comfortable familiarity of the mood.
As they step into the sitting room, Vincent and Cecil gently lay the injured boy down on the sofa. The boy appears to be taller than Cecil, with his limbs extended beyond the edges of the sofa. Vincent takes the boy into his arms, cradling him gently as he inspects the wound. He carefully examines the injury, probing it with his fingers to assess the extent of the damage. The room is quiet, punctuated only by the sound of their breathing and the occasional creak of the old furniture.
Vincent's voice is tinged with urgency as he asks,
“Will you please fetch me a soft flannel and a bowl of warm water?” He seems preoccupied and barely looks at Cecil as he speaks. Cecil raises his eyebrow in confusion and asks,
“Why me?”
Vincent looks at him quizzically and then gestures to the small boy in his arms. The child seems to be in pain, and his face is twisted into a grimace.
“Yeah yeah, I got it.”
Cecil then exits into the kitchen to gather the requested items. As he fills the bowl with warm water, he can't help but wonder what could have caused the child's distress. Several minutes pass before Cecil returns, and he can hear Vincent's hushed whispers as he approaches.
Vincent whispers,
“...right.” As he does so, he takes the opportunity to examine the blonde boy more closely. The blood on him has started to dry and both the boy and Vincent wrinkle their nose in discomfort. Any noticeable shaking or trembling from earlier has subsided and the boy appears to be in stable condition. Vincent looks at him with a sense of sadness, lost in his thoughts and not fully present in the moment. Though the boy is not stirring, it's clear that he is experiencing some unsettling dreams.
As Cecil enters the room, his eyes fall upon Vincent, who seems lost in thought.
“I brought what you asked for, Vince,” he says, breaking the silence. Vincent responds slowly, his voice dripping like honey from a dipper,
“Ah yes, thank you, Cecil.” Vincent takes the bowl from Cecil, the thick scent of iron filling the air, and begins to gently wipe away most of the blood with clinical precision.
Cecil, who is rubbing soothing circles into the palm of the blonde boy's hand, notices Vincent's distress and fixes him with a questioning look. “Do... do you want to talk about it? ”Cecil starts slowly, pausing between fragments of sentences, almost unsure of what to say.
Vincent feels the weight of the conversation as he takes a shaky breath. He attempts to suppress his emotions, trying to remain calm and composed. However, he can't stop the tremor in his voice, which reveals his inner turmoil. When Cecil asks if he's okay, Vincent gives a blank stare before answering in a monotone voice,
“Not particularly,” as he struggles to keep his voice steady. Cecil notices the hesitation in Vincent's response, and his tone becomes dubious as he responds,
“Right, right.” Before he adds on in a softer tone
“That’s fine.”
The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of droplets hitting the bowl and the soft murmurs of the blonde. Vincent finally speaks up, breaking the quietness with a question that indicates he understands Cecil's intentions:
“Will you be staying here tonight?” Cecil hesitates before trailing off,
“Oh, I uhh… wasn't going to?..” realizing that the thought of being alone doesn't seem too appealing at the moment. Vincent senses this and urges him to stay, pulling at the sleeve of Cecil's shirt as he examines the stains thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should,” he suggests, thumbing over the marks on the fabric.
“Come upstairs with me. I was planning on getting some clothes for our mystery boy, and I'll get you some as well since you seem a little...bloody.”He pauses before adding,
“You should take a shower and go to bed. It's late, and you're one of the few who needs regular sleep.” Cecil seems to realise the truth in this, nodding slowly and replying with a grateful
“Yeah...thanks.”
Vincent gently pulls out a soft and warm blanket from the top of the sofa, making sure not to disturb the blonde boy who is sleeping on it. He then spreads the blanket carefully over the boy, tucking it in around his feet and shoulders. After making sure the boy is comfortable, Vincent gets up and walks towards the hallway, Cecil follows him at a leisurely pace.
The blonde boy seems to be less fitful now, his breathing becoming more even and relaxed. Vincent notices that the boy's glasses are still tucked into his shirt, and he gently adjusts them to make sure they're secure and won't fall out.
As Vincent returns to the room, he carries a neatly folded set of clothes, which he places with care on the arm of the chair. With a graceful stride, he walks over to the kitchen and pours two glasses, one with a rich red liquid and the other with cool and refreshing water. Vincent takes care to position the glasses carefully on the table in front of the sofa, making sure they won't spill, before settling down in a high-backed armchair.
Vincent picks up a book from the table and begins to read, preparing himself for what might be a long wait. He's not sure how long he'll need to wait, but he's determined to be patient and calm. As he reads, he occasionally glances over at the blonde boy, making sure he’s still sleeping peacefully. Vincent knows that he needs to be fully alert and focused, ready to act quickly if the boy needs any help or assistance.