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Will hadn’t noticed that James’ gigs were the only ones without a single photo online, which, in hindsight, should have been enough of a red flag in itself. If he ever had, he hadn’t said anything about it. Not to James, anyway.
Will never saw anything wrong with James’ lack of online presence, he was a very private man with a very public music career. A lot of celebrities didn’t take to social media for publicity, like… Jake Gyllenhaal and Winona Ryder. It wasn’t that big of a shock that James didn’t use social media often. Whenever he did, it was never photos of himself.
Whenever you’d look him up, James’ album covers would show up, but never a photo of his face. Ever. There’d be drawings of him done from memory by those who had attended his shows, although most were far from accurate.
Only Will really got to see him. In the flesh, in person, and not in fluorescent lights that caused James’ otherwise pale skin to flourish red for at least twenty four hours after.
Will was, really, the only person who could judge the accuracy of the drawings. James didn’t know what he looked like half of the time, couldn’t see himself in any mirrors, so he went based off of touch more often than not. Will would fix up his appearance for him, anyway.
Sometimes, when James came to Will’s apartment before he had a show in their city, Will would take to fixing up his appearance. Smoothing out the hair that never seemed to be neat when he came, fixing the collars of his shirts because it seemed James couldn’t feel around his neck for some strange reason, and Will had learned to do eyeliner on himself just so James’ didn’t turn out messy.
Because, for some strange reason, James didn’t have any stylists. No mirrors, either, and Will had been told it was because he was self-conscious. Not wanting to make his friend feel terrible at his place, he’d taken down all of the mirrors except the one in the bathroom so James was comfortable around his place.
Twelve am wasn’t the ideal wake-up time for Will, and he’d not really gotten used to it because it was so sporadic, and only seemed to be on nights when James had a show in or close to London. But he’d been jolted awake by a frantic knock at his door and a more frantic-looking James stood outside of it.
“Mate. I told you to let yourself in if you were gonna be here late.” Will had immediately taken to complaining, door handle still in his hand, hair sleep-tousled and pyjama pants halfway up his legs.
“Didn’t want to come in without asking.”
James’ voice was slightly slurred, which caused Will’s brows to furrow, concern etched in his features. He opened the door a little wider and tilted his head, signalling James inside.
James didn’t budge. Will sighed.
“What?” James asked, shifting from one leg to another. Will assumed it was because of the cold; James was always cold, after all.
“Why aren’t you coming inside?”
“Dunno.”
James had shrugged like him standing outside in cold winter weather wasn’t concerning enough in itself, and Will frowned just a little.
“You can come in, you know.” Will had said it, sarcastic-sounding, and for a second James seemed to relax before he seemingly noticed the ingenuine tone in Will’s voice.
“Oh.” He’d hummed, still not moving, looking just a little more down than he did. Will almost laughed, chalking it up to inability to read his tone.
“Come in, James. Couch is yours.”
James fully relaxed then, stepping into the warmth of Will’s apartment; it didn’t really make a difference, James still looked cold, but he always did. Will always tried to warm him anyway.
“You know, I reckon you might be on something.” Will turned his back to James, and only then did James let himself smile.
James always appreciated Will’s confused understanding of his situation. Assuming Will knew about James’ predicament, James found comfort in the man, going to him often whenever he either needed something or just wanted to be around somebody. After all, not many people would be so understanding if they had a living (yet not really breathing) vampire in their apartment.
James assumed Will knew. Will didn’t, and he hadn’t figured out in their year of knowing each other.
They’d met at a bandstand near Will’s recording studio. Will had been on a late run, not having hit the step goal he’d had for maybe two weeks before he gave up on it. He’d decided to cram all of his steps in at 10:54pm, because obviously that would help with his physique.
James had been standing on the bandstand, right in the centre like it was some kind of ritual he’d perfected, having just fed off of some random guy that evidently didn’t taste very nice. Due to alcohol, probably, and from then on James had sworn off of drinking from drunk people.
He’d called it his sobriety streak just to seem more normal in other people’s eyes, so he was currently one year, two months sober.
Will had been concerned and, after a little bit of an awkward back and forth, Will had concluded that the blood on the back of James’ sleeve was from a small nosebleed, and that’s why he’d been wiping at his mouth when Will first saw him.
They’d, strangely, exchanged socials immediately after meeting. Something about James kind of drew Will in, and here they were.
“What?” James had momentarily panicked, thinking for a moment that Will was implying that he was on some sort of drug. He wasn’t that strange with his vampire thing, was he?
“The spectrum, Jim. I reckon you’re autistic.”
James kind of paused at that, frowning. He wasn’t autistic. He couldn’t really confirm it, hadn’t had a diagnosis and couldn’t have one. But he swore he wasn’t.
“I’m not autistic.” With a furrowed brow, James had piped up, and Will looked confused for a moment.
“You’re not? Could’ve sworn your little social cue thing was an autism trait.”
And then there were the other little things, like his lack (or overuse) of eye contact, his weird thing about the texture of liquid on him, and his inability to recognise whether or not Will was joking about.
“No? I never have been, Will.”
“Oh. OCD?”
“No?”
“Huh. I coulda sworn you were some form of neurodivergent.”
James laughed, a little hesitant, scratching at the back of his neck. His thumb slid to the side of it for a moment, as if checking his pulse, and Will’s gaze had caught onto the action. He, for a moment, thought James was just lying about the whole not being neurodivergent thing, thinking of this as a subconscious stim of some sorts. It happened quite a bit.
Really, it was just James checking to see if the scarring on his neck was still there. It would be, it always would be, but sometimes Will made James just feel so distinctly human that he almost forgot he wasn’t.
“You want anything to drink? You look freezing, man, I can make you a coffee.”
“No, thank you, Will. I’m not thirsty.” James nodded, tentatively sitting on the couch like it had personally offended him in one way or another.
“...you’re strange.”
James had scoffed, and Will had moved to switch off the TV. He’d left it on before he went to bed, so maybe James visiting so late wasn’t such a bad thing. He saved his electricity bill from getting too high.
“Your trousers, Will.” James had pointed out, and when Will looked down to see what he was on about, he let himself grin, finding something so amusing.
His grin fell when Will looked back at him, hiding his two too-sharp canines from view, settling into a smile.
“What about them?” Will almost pouted, frown on his face. “They’re mint. Don’t know why you’re pointing them out.”
“Mate, you’re wearing fluffy football pyjama trousers. I wouldn’t call them mint.”
Will, as if he was being personally attacked (it felt like he was), mumbled something about James being an inconsiderate asshole, adjusting his trousers so they weren’t pushing up his calf, bringing James’ attention to the fact he was only wearing one sock. He immediately came to the conclusion that he’d probably woken Will up from some much-needed sleep.
“How come you’re here, anyway?” Will asked out of the blue, and James paused as if trying to come up with a reason.
“Dunno.” He’d repeated his word from earlier, from when he stood in front of Will’s open door, all wide-eyed and dazed. “Felt ill, I was jumping around too much while performing. Your place was closer than mine.”
“Right. Well, crash here if you need to, no rush to leave.” Nodding as he spoke, Will moved to the door that led into his bedroom. “I’m gonna sleep, though. You woke me up, and I’m knackered. Night.”
Wordlessly, Will walked into his bedroom and seemingly kicked the door shut with how hard James heard it slam. He winced a little. Someone needed his beauty sleep.
Every evening, Will dimmed his lights so it wouldn’t hurt his eyes when it got late, which James was eternally grateful for at this very point.
Fluorescent pink and green lights didn’t really help his skin. His face was reddened, and he swore he had blisters on his hands from where the light had been particularly harsh against his skin. Turns out the sun wasn’t the only light that vampires couldn’t survive comfortably in, and stage lights did in fact hurt him in the long run.
It was whatever. He could deal with it. His shows got him a lot of money, too, so he figured it was only fair to get a little sun-damaged with each one.
He wasn’t so sure on how he’d gotten so big as a musician considering he was on one social media and that was Twitter. He never posted photos of himself, and the only people who knew what he looked like were those who had attended his shows in person. Phones and photos weren’t allowed in his venues, and those who did sneak photos found that they always narrowly missed where he’d been standing.
He was never in any photos people snuck of him, because he just couldn’t appear on camera at all.
It was a little fun, being such a popular face without a face. He’d racked up three hundred thousand monthly listeners on Spotify alone, half due to his actual music and the other half just following and listening to try and figure out who exactly he was.
He stretched on the couch, back cracking and shoulders popping back properly into place, laying like that for a moment, much like an outstretched cat. He’d leave in about an hour, not wanting to be up all night in Will’s apartment just to sleep on the couch in the morning. Will might need it, and James didn’t want to take up too much space.
The second biggest red flag that Will should have picked up on was James’ weird fixation on blood, whether it be the sight of it or just the general thought of it.
For example, James had been hanging in Will’s apartment in the late afternoon for once, the rain outside causing dark clouds to form and effectively block out most of the sun. James looked like he’d just woken up, and he explained it was because he worked nightshifts more often than not so he only really slept in the mornings.
It was reasonable, and Will had seen James lurking around the place he claimed to work at once or twice at night, so Will believed him. He had no reason not to, really.
Will had been going through paperwork, something about another copyright claim on one of the videos he’d gotten, when he promptly sliced his finger on the corner of a piece of blank paper. He’d winced and complained, sure, but that was the most he’d worried about.
When he’d joked and turned to James, expecting him to joke back, he’d found the other’s eyes fixed onto the small cut on his thumb. He’d frowned.
“Dude, you’re staring. What’s wrong?”
Will had effectively startled James out of his trance, and James immediately took a small step backwards and smiled sheepishly, just about managing to stop his fangs poking through. He didn’t want Will to freak out over them.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… blood. There can’t be… blood around me.” James’ response had been a little hurried, and Will made a small sound of acknowledgement.
“Ah. Right. Sorry, Jim, I’ll grab a plaster.”
And he had, covering the wound. He respected James, and respected that other people’s fears may be more severe than his own. James was just squeamish at the sight of blood, he had multiple friends who were. It wasn’t that big of a deal, really.
“Thanks.” James had practically sighed in relief when Will showed him his freshly bandaged thumb.
Several times in several conversations, James would bring up the idea of bleeding. He’d casually mention a cut he’d gotten a few days ago that Will hadn’t noticed on his arm considering it had healed rather quickly. He’d give Will a once-over and mention the fact he had a scab on his leg if he was wearing shorts, and his eyes lingered just a little too long for comfort.
And then Will remembered that James just struggled with social cues, and he’d said nothing about it.
James was a little freaked out by blood whilst being fascinated by it. It wasn’t that big of a deal.
He was a little fixated on blood, horribly pale, had to be invited in and had a very severe garlic allergy. But it was fine, because everybody was different and he also had a friend who was allergic to something similar.
But then, just over a year into their friendship, James started getting weird. And not the good kind of weird; it was creepy, like you’d see in those horror movies about the supernatural and ghosts and stuff.
It had started when Will woke up one night to see James stood at the side of his bed, perfectly still and unblinking. Will had almost screamed, thinking he was about to be murdered, before he realised he recognised the silhouette. James had shied away after Will had flicked the lamp on, previously unfocused eyes wincing so hard Will thought he’d screwed his eyes shut.
Will had turned it off the moment after, asking what James was doing, to which James replied with a shrug, telling him:
“I was probably sleepwalking. The light woke me up, sorry if I freaked you out.”
James sleepwalks with his eyes open was the new addition to Will’s ever growing list of ‘James-tisms’.
They became less like small little quirks and more like genuine concerning behaviour very, very quickly Every time he thought too hard about it, that time James had told him a story about an old friend dating back to ‘just a few years ago, really’ would flash into his mind.
Will, on his way to visit a dead relative’s grave, found that the name on the gravestone right next to the grave he was meant to be visiting, first and last name, matched up exactly to the one in the story James had told. They’d died forty years ago, so Will had chalked it up to just coincidence.
Every weird thing James did from then on stuck into Will’s mind, but despite all of the overwhelming evidence, he could never quite figure it out.
He never figured out why, when he’d close his eyes around James, he felt a warm breath against the side of his neck, and when he opened them, he’d spot James staring directly at him from across the room.
Will began taking note of what happened before James knocked onto his door, too: the wind around him would go cold, James’ footsteps would echo into his ears despite being metres away and outside, and the faintest indecipherable whisper would sweep through his mind.
Will had found claw marks underneath his coffee table, too, too thick and too deep to be from any animal; even if they had been, Will didn’t allow any animal except his (former) dog, Basil, into his house. And, coincidentally, they were at the spot where James always took to sitting.
But Will refused to believe he was dealing with the supernatural, refused to believe that there was something wrong with James outside of possible, yet unconfirmed, neurodivergency.
It was quiet the night Will finally let himself think that maybe, just maybe, James’ weirdness was due to a much larger issue than Will wanted to believe.
Will had felt cold for at least a half hour despite the heating in his house being on, effectively wasting his money. He thought back to what usually caused his house to get colder, and for a reason he would only describe as stupid, he walked to his door and opened it.
His breath caught, and when he let it out, he felt as if he’d been holding it for a while.
“Could’ve knocked.”
“Didn’t wanna wake you after last time. You seemed annoyed.”
“Well… yeah, but it’s better than being in the cold.” Will sighed, a little concerned, trying to think of how long James had been there, just stood outside of his door. “Not like I was sleeping, anyway.”
“Right.”
Will made a move to turn back, walk into his house, expecting James to do the same. When he heard no footsteps except his own, he turned his head back, curious.
Over a week or two, he’d been piecing together wild theories; maybe James was a member of the CIA, sent to gather information on him, but his contract said he needed explicit permission to enter his house or else he was breaking some law?
Or, worse, Will had created such an abstract theory, tricking himself into thinking James was a vampire for a solid two days.
Which was absurd, really. James wasn’t a vampire. He was a normal person, who did normal things, he just worked night shifts, hated bright lights and never ate or drank anything when with Will.
“You not working today?” Will started a conversation, thinking it would prompt James into entering his house. It didn’t. It never did.
“What?”
The genuine confusion in James’ voice caused Will’s mind to scramble. Maybe James had just forgotten to go to work that day. It happened to a lot of people.
“I thought you worked night shifts. You should be working right now.”
“...no? I don’t. You’re going mental, Will.”
“Oh.”
Will very clearly remembered James telling him that he worked night shifts, and that was exactly why he slept during the day and not at night. Will’s brow furrowed, and James’ brow raised, confused.
“Right, sorry, man.” Will cleared his throat, backtracking, thinking that maybe James had just been fired, and maybe it was a touchy subject. He didn’t bring it up. “You can come in. Sorry if I sounded weird.”
James grinned and only laughed it off, stepping in the second he was allowed to. As he did so, Will let himself notice the fact that the bulbs dimmed the second James looked up into them. He tried his hardest to chalk it up to the fact they were just faulty.
Although, he failed to properly take note of the unnatural way James’ shadow stretched, seemingly glitching, trying to find a proper physical form to replicate on the wall next to him. He’d caught it for the briefest of moments, having been looking at the lightbulb for too long, but when he’d caught it, it had gone back to what he would consider normal.
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Should’ve figured. Why’re you here this time?”
Will got straight to the point; he was confused on why James was here. They’d messaged earlier, and when they’d started, James offhandedly mentioned that he would be busy that night.
“You messaged me.” James hummed, not elaborating further for a second. He took his usual seat on the couch, frowning at the fact that the coffee table seemed to be further away than it was before.
“Well, yeah, I did… hours ago.”
“You messaged me two hours ago saying you fainted. I got worried.”
The frown on James’ face seemed genuine, and for a second, Will’s heart felt like it was melting. He hated to admit it, but he’d grown fond of having the other around. He was kind of like a girlfriend; visiting just to visit, at weird times, and a lot of James’ things had become skewed around Will’s apartment like it was becoming both of theirs.
He never thought too hard about it. He did, though, think too hard about James’ eyes flicking straight to his neck, lingering until Will coughed into his fist discreetly.
James smiled sheepishly, thinking Will just wanted to make sure his mind wasn’t wandering, because obviously Will knew about the whole vampire thing and had done since day one.
“I didn’t… faint. Came close to it, though, all fine now.”
“Can I…?”
James trailed off, unspeaking for another second, and Will worried that he’d say some freak shit that for sure confirmed that James was some sort of vampire or werewolf.
“Can you what?”
“Check. That you’re fine.” James paused, thinking that maybe he sounded a little too weird. Having a vampire ask to feel for your pulse might have seemed scary, and he thought that Will’s hesitance came from not wanting to be bitten. “Sorry, I get… paranoid, Will. You’re my, er, best friend. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Oh.” Will repeated again, softer, immediately feeling bad for silently accusing James of being a vampire. He cursed himself inwardly for even starting to believe that theory. “Yeah, man, go for it.”
Will knew what it was like to be paranoid over somebody you cared about, so he outstretched his wrist. James perked up almost immediately, almost too much, but then he thought, ‘What if James is just scared he’ll have to start mourning my death?’
James’ fingers nimbly wrapped around Will’s wrist, a little cold but not the most uncomfortable, checking for a pulse that he knew would be there anyway considering Will was there, living and breathing in front of his eyes.
“Your pupils are really dilated, man. Are you sure you don’t want a-”
“I’m fine.” James had cut Will off quickly, expression growing pleased as he felt an obvious pulse under his fingers. He didn’t mention the fact he felt it pick up under his thumb as Will’s eyes roamed James’ face. “It’s… I can feel it. It’s steady.”
“And that’s good. Right?” Will looked just a little unnerved, and James didn’t notice.
“Great. Perfect, even. Can feel it going like my finger’s just… right on the actual vein.” James sounded far too into this for a guy who was just concerned about his friend, and he kept going. “Will, you don’t understand. It’s fucking rare to feel something this…” he scrambled for a word, “...strong.”
Will chuckled nervously, having to coax James’ fingers away from his wrist, feeling for the pulse himself just to find the skin cold and the pulse far fainter than James described it.
“Feels normal to me.”
“To you.”
“...you’re really starting to freak me out, James.” Will had almost forced out a laugh after that, strained and awkward in a way that made James think it was all good-natured joking around.
“It changes when you move, man. And speak. You ever notice that? Your blood knows when you’re doing something, too.” James had only muttered, inching just a little closer, and Will inched back.
“You really gotta calm down on this. You’re genuinely scaring me.” Will’s tone was less light and far, far more serious, causing James to clear his throat and sit back at a comfortable distance this time
“Right, right. Sorry. It’s all jokes.” James laughed sheepishly, but Will didn’t follow.
Jokes, but he’d sounded so into talking about Will’s bloodstream. It was all jokes, but was everything else jokes, too? His garlic allergy? His sensitivity to light? The fact he never had photos taken, and had no mirrors? Did he force Will to tell him to come into his house just for a laugh every time?
And then it clicked for Will.
Either James was a very, very dedicated actor, or he was dealing with a genuine vampire. He’d believed them to be myth, but after a story came out a few months before about a girl just in his city being killed by full removal of her blood, he’d been wary. That was when he’d started keeping an eye on James.
James, who he hadn’t been seen by Will the night the murder apparently happened.
James, who had shown up the day after, looking terribly proud of himself and far, far more energised than usual.
He swallowed thickly, tensing just a little where he sat next to James, but he thought; did this actually, genuinely, change anything?
James had never once attacked him. Never once used anything to try and harm him, and never seemed to have ill intentions. James considered Will his friend and not a victim he’d just gotten close to so he could attack easier. Sure, James did damage to his furniture, but that was furniture, not Will himself.
“Huh.” Will hadn’t realised he’d made a noise out loud until James turned to look at him.
“What?”
“Sorry, I’m thinking, Jim.” Will quickly apologised, still a little tense, before his thoughts shifted to the fact that maybe having a vampire in his home wasn’t so bad considering James didn’t seem harmful. Not towards Will, anyways.
Will didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, really. He just leaned back, letting the thought settle, almost curious about the whole thing. James was still sitting there, oblivious, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve; Will couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He’d known James better than anyone, but he’d never actually known him at all.
And that was fine.