Chapter Text
Kirol had been running all their life. They lived for playground races in elementary school, took up track in middle school, and played football and soccer throughout high school. For most of their 19 years of life (vampires are alive, they have to remind a lot of their classmates), they ran early morning laps around schools or neighborhoods with whatever pack of jocks were on their team. But since starting at Strixhaven in August, a private college known for its incredible academics and surprisingly good football team, those morning runs had gotten a lot more difficult.
For one thing, Strixhaven’s football team had a very different understanding of what it meant to practice than any other team Kirol had been a part of. There was no real gym on campus, for one thing. If they wanted to work out with any real equipment, the team had to use a YMCA gym located about 30 minutes from the fairly remote campus. The football field—or what stood for one at Strixhaven—was also far too damp most mornings to be subjected to a team’s worth of cleats. So practice for the Strixhaven Spirits was typically unorthodox. Running up and down stairwells in the biology building; using the performing arts building’s stage for pushups and footwork drills. And the running was all done through the woods.
Coach Plargg said it was good for their dexterity, having to navigate the woods over roots and under branches, dodging thorn bushes and mud puddles. And keeping yourself oriented through the dense trees and brush was considered helpful for keeping sense of your surroundings during a game. Kirol, of course, believed all of this was just trying to find an excuse for why Strixhaven wouldn’t front enough money for a real track on campus. As long as the school paid for their scholarship, though, that belief was kept to themself.
Kirol’s teammates, however, were a different breed of student. While Kirol had been captain of both the community league soccer team and high school football team, they felt incredibly far behind their teammates in terms of athletic prowess. Where they had once commanded respect and admiration as a high school senior, they now struggled to keep up with even the other freshmen on the team. Literally. Kirol couldn’t even see their teammates anymore.
This run had started out like any other—out of the dorm by 4:30am, out on the trail by 4:45am, with a breakfast of disgusting protein bars and banana milkshakes (and blood for Kirol, the only vampire on the team) scoffed down in the in-between. Their teammates were friendly, sure, but not quite friends yet. Kirol didn’t even know most of their first names. They ran together every morning, but mostly in silence, with this morning no exception—Kirol keeping up the rear while everyone else pushed ahead.
Their vampire nature usually helped Kirol in these situations. Being able to go much longer than humans or orcs between breaths meant being able to push themself for longer periods of time. Stronger vision at night meant the dark hours of early morning didn't require a headlamp like some teammates. A more dependable sense of smell could help them follow the cheap deodorant that the team captain always wore. But being a vampire had also somewhat ostracized Kirol from their teammates. Some of that was the local prejudices which were uncommon in Connecticut, where Kirol had grown up, but still somewhat pervasive even among the out-of-state students in northern Georgia. Some of it was Kirol’s own self-imposed distancing from other non-vampires around these parts.
And all that led to Kirol lost in the woods. They were still running, keeping a good pace, but with no direction and no sense of where their teammates had gone. Their teammates, definitely, hadn’t even realized they’d lost their freshman vampire 10 minutes ago. And Kirol certainly had no intention of slowing down, stopping, or even thinking. They were on autopilot, the vague sense of panic tucked behind layers and layers of athletic conditioning. Unfamiliar trees, unfamiliar plants, but a familiar sense of rhythm. Heart beating, legs lifting, lungs filling and emptying. Lost, but free.
And then they hear someone yell “Fuck!”
Vampires are gifted with many graces that the other humanoids of the world are jealous of. They move quietly. Their resting heart rate is so low it’s nearly imperceptible. Some vampires, as they grow older, can leverage their natural dexterity into something close to flying. And then there’s their killer instincts and their heightened reflexes which made vampires of old into fearsome predators.
So when Kirol hears the shout, their head snaps in the direction of the sound. They see a shape in the distance of what looks like a crouching man, but the more pressing shape is that of an arrow heading directly at them. Kirol’s reflexes pull them away from the arrow and towards the ground, naturally making them a smaller target for whatever was hunting them. Blood rushes through their athletic frame, their fangs naturally extend, and their pupils dilate to take in as much of the early morning light that could make its way through the canopy.
And then they trip and crash head first into a tree.
——————————————————————————
“Fuck!”
Lluwen realized what he’d shot at as the arrow was leaving his bow. It was still dark in the woods, and that thing moving so gracefully and quiet triggered a hunter’s instinct in him. He was, however, shit at hunting. His father had always said so. And his brothers. And his uncles, cousins, and even the one aunt who visited for winter last year. He was a fine shot, both with his father’s rifles and his own bow, when he was aiming at hay bales and paper targets. But in the woods, with living deer and rabbits...
And he’d even managed to, thankfully, miss again. Whatever it was, it had collided head first into an oak instead of being struck by the arrow. So if it died, Lluwen knew he wasn’t to blame. At least, not directly. He approached the supine humanoid quietly and deliberately, one hand on his knife and the other still holding his bow. It wasn’t unheard of for people from that nearby school to get lost in the woods, but it wasn’t common for them to move so fast and so quiet when they were lost, so he took no chances.
Standing over the humanoid—the person, he admitted—he felt his stomach drop. They didn’t appear to be breathing, and their skin was the kind of pale that Lluwen had only seen on the very old or the recently dead, or both. But something was... off. They had the face of a human, with a rounded jaw-line and flat nose, but the delicate high cheek bones and slender, long ears of an elf. Their body, too, was strong and broad, clearly the result of regular exercise rather than time spent bent over books. Their hair was currently matted with sweat, but it was short and inky black—not typical for the city elves that staffed and attended that school.
Lluwen was familiar with those elves, who disregarded their more country cousins as unsophisticated hicks. Lluwen’s family, the Lysalanas, and their extended community of elves had been living in and around the city of Arcavios, Georgia, since long before that school was built, and long before even the gold was found in the hills that paid for the school. Their strong, cervine legs had served them well as farmers and hunters, and their horns were worn with pride. Those city elves, who lived in such close proximity to the humans, had given up their pride, and instead of horns they grew prejudices against their cousins who kept to traditional ways of living.
And whoever this was on the ground—not elf enough to be elf, not human enough to be human—wasn’t living anymore, Lluwen was sure. With his knife still in hand, he reached down, carefully, and put two fingers against the soft skin of the creature’s neck. No pulse strong enough to feel. He moved to feel under the nose for a hint of a breath, and felt nothing. He sheathed his knife, then carefully reached under the head to lift it up, to look for blood, to be sure this thing’s brains must be leaking out, to be sure he’d accidentally killed someone.
Lluwen saw the fangs and instinctively leapt back, dropping the head back against the root of the tree with a thump. Neither human nor elf would have fangs like that. His knife was in his hand again, and his heart was pounding. There was only one answer to what this creature was, and it was an answer Lluwen was terrified to accept. A vampire.
His mother, Mama Morcant, was very sweet, loving, and kind. But she’d warned all her children to stay away from those vampire folk at the school. Lluwen had never seen one, until today, but he’d heard his mother’s warnings. They were cold as death, vicious bloodsuckers, and, worst of all, rude. They lived up north, she said, and they should stay up there. They weren’t to be trusted any further than you could throw them, she said.
And this one, Lluwen realized, was still alive. It groaned a long, low groan, twisting in the dirt. The elf felt a rush of relief mingled with fear. He’d almost killed a vampire, which was maybe worse than having actually killed a vampire. But he couldn’t run away and leave it to die like this, lost in the woods with what was definitely some kind of concussion. Slowly, his hooves silent on the soft earth, he approached the poor thing.
“It’s okay,” Lluwen said, trying to mask his thick accent enough to be understood by someone from out of town, “don’t move and keep your head still.”
The vampire’s eyelids fluttered open for a moment, revealing a golden color that caught Lluwen by surprise, before wincing closed again in pain. They tried to sit up and lift their head, as if they had no consideration for the elf’s warnings, and Lluwen pushed them back down, causing them to groan again.
“Are your ears working, or did you decide not to listen to me when I told you not to move?”
Another groan, and some garbled speech.
“You hit your head, hard, and probably have a concussion,” Lluwen said, holding his hand to the wounded person’s chest. There was some semblance of a heartbeat now, fast under the firm chest muscles.
“You...” the vampire spoke.
“Shh, you need to—”
“You fuckin’ shot me.”
——————————————————————————
“You fuckin’ shot me,” Kirol groaned. Their whole body felt sore, even though the pain was sharply concentrated in their head. It was a wet, hot pain, the kind that must mean they were bleeding in addition to being bludgeoned.
“I didn’ shoot ya,” the shooter snapped back, defensively.
“That’s bullshit,” was all Kirol could get out. They tried opening their eyes again, but even the dim light that filtered through the canopy was too much right now. For a brief moment, they saw their attacker—helper?—and thought they saw horns.
“Yer going to need to lie down for a spell,” the shooter said, firmly, hand still pressed against Kirol’s chest. “You might do well with some water and to get yer head cleaned up.”
“You shot me—”
“I! Did! Not! Shoot! You!” the shooter yelled, their hand now pressing down on Kirol’s chest. As hurt and scared as they felt, they didn’t mind the feeling of another person caring for them. Even if that person did, maybe, shoot them.
“I was huntin’ and you came leapin’ out of the brush like a deer. I did not shoot you, hear? I shot at you. That’s different.”
“My head hurts.”
“Yeah, I bet it does. Hold still.”
Kirol’s eyes remained closed, but they felt the hand leave their chest before there was some rustling sound—grabbing a knife?—and then the feeling of slender hands again, this time on the back of their head and neck, gently lifting Kirol upright. Pain flashed through them again, but sitting up did feel like some of the pressure was let off of their head. They winced through it, and then slowly opened their eyes part way, just enough to see the face of this stranger.
He was an elf, but not like the elves at school. Kirol had seen elves like this one in books before, and sometimes magazines, but never in person. They weren’t exactly known for being welcoming to outsiders. This elf had horns slicked straight back, a sharp jaw line that ended in a soft chin, thin lips and nose... For a moment, Kirol understood why elves were always called beautiful. But then the elf glared at them and pursed his lips.
“What were you doin’ out here?” he asked, voice no longer defensive or gentle. Kirol closed his eyes again.
“I was running, obviously. Why were you shooting at me?”
“I was huntin’. Deer. Or rabbits. Not vampires.”
Was hunting vampires something that the elves around here did? Kirol was used to the looks they got from locals, and knew that these rural elves were typically worse.
“Would you?” they asked.
“Would I what? Hunt you?”
“Are you going to kill me?”
There was a long, painful pause. Kirol managed to open their eyes and keep them open, staring into the dark eyes of this elf who was still cradling the back of their head in his hands. The elf looked hurt, for a moment, before rolling his eyes and looking off into the distance somewhere. Kirol noticed his soft, long white hair rolled up into a messy bun on the back of his head.
“Yer an idiot. Can you stand up?”
The elf moved and grabbed Kirol’s arm with one free hand while still cradling their head with the other. With some help, Kirol managed to get on their feet, but a sharp pain in their right ankle nearly bowled them over back to the forest floor. The elf was stronger than he looked, though, and managed to catch Kirol’s weight.
“I think my ankle’s broken,” Kirol grunted, their hand instinctively reaching out and grabbing hold of the elf’s side to keep steady.
“It’s not,” the elf replied, “Yer just a city boy who can’t handle tree roots.”
“Not a boy,” Kirol huffed back, “and I can run just fine, asshole.”
“What makes you think I’m the asshole here when yer the one callin’ me names while I’m tryin’a help you? What’s yer name?”
“Kirol,” they replied, sheepishly. Maybe they were being an asshole.
——————————————————————————
“I’m Lluwen, and I live not far from here. I’m going to walk you back to my cabin and get you a bandage for your head. And you’ll say thank you.”
Lluwen was incredibly aware of the weight of Kirol, and the way their hand gripped his side. The vampire was bulky all around—thick hands, thick arms, thick thighs—but Lluwen had spent his whole life working the kind of manual labor that this student would never know. He could handle Kirol’s weight as long as their hand stayed exactly where it was. He still didn’t trust the vampire, but his knife was slung on his other hip, within his reach but out of Kirol’s. And it’s not like this bookworm would ever know how to use a real hunting bow. If they could even pull the string back, Lluwen would be too impressed to be bothered about getting shot.
“Are you an elf?” Kirol asked, their golden eyes focused on Lluwen’s ears and horns. The elf tried not to blush under the scrutiny. He knew other elves would call him ugly if they ever saw him, with his plain horns and small eyes. He didn’t like being perceived in this way. He also didn’t like that this vampire was staring at him instead of walking.
“Yes, obviously. I don’t know what they teach you at that school,” Lluwen replied, pushing softly on the back of Kirol’s head. “We have to walk for a while. Just keep your weight off that ankle and don’t make any sudden movements.”
“Why, are you going to shoot me again?”
“I will.”
Kirol looked forward now, very seriously, and started to limp with the assistance of Lluwen, who was finding it difficult to move with someone so close to him. They were making quite a racket at this point, and any deer in the area were certainly gone. He went out hunting, Lluwen thought, and came back with a nearly dead vampire. He’d never live this one down.
——————————————————————————
After 15 minutes of near silent walking, broken up only by occasional grumbles of pain from Kirol and sharp reprimands from Lluwen, they reached a log large enough to sit on.
“I think I need to take a break,” Kirol said, loosening his grip on Lluwen’s side. They put all their weight on their good ankle and angled their fall to land onto the log with a thud. Lluwen wasn’t expecting this sudden movement and nearly fell over, managing to recover gracefully. This was the first time Kirol had actually looked at the elf’s legs. The legs were unlike anything they’d ever seen in person. Sure, Strixhaven had all sorts of students from all over. There were loxodon, leonin, some owlin, and even one really curious transfer student who was mostly lizard. There had been rumors of a minotaur joining as a botany major, but Kirol had never seen them.
This elf, Lluwen, had legs like a deer. They were slender but strong, with thicker haunches that tapered down to hooves that were at once delicate and hard. Lluwen wore pants, blue jeans, but they stopped just short of the hairy calves and ankle. Lluwen’s hair on his legs was the same soft white as the hair on his head, though it appeared to grow curly on his legs and straight as an arrow on his head. Kirol imagined, for a moment, that there was more of that white hair all across the elf’s body, underneath the flannel shirt and thick hunting jacket. They thought about how the elves at the school were all more or less like slender-figured humans. And, as Kirol had seen in the locker room, they had very little body hair. Kirol kept what little they had neat, and shaved their legs and arms for “aerodynamics,” so they’d never seen anyone with as much as Lluwen had on just his legs.
“What’re ya staring at, vampire?” the elf asked, pointedly.
“I’ve just, you know, never seen—”
“And I ain’t never seen someone so rude,” Lluwen snapped back, turning his back to Kirol and rummaging through a small fanny pack.
“Whoa, and you don’t have a tail.”
Lluwen stopped, then sighed loudly. “I’d ‘preciate it if you’d keep yer thoughts about my body to yerself.”
“Sorry.”
There was a moment of silence, as Lluwen pulled out a small tube of chapstick and a slim water bottle. He applied the chapstick to himself, then tossed the water bottle at Kirol. Kirol thought they’d caught it, but it slipped through his hand and hit them square in the chest before bouncing off and rolling across the damp soft ground of the woods. Lluwen sighed and motioned for Kirol to stay put, then bent over to pick it up and hand it directly to them.
“I’ve never met a vampire, either. That is what ya are, right?”
“Yeah.”
Kirol grabbed the bottle, but their brain flickered for a moment, like a radio signal that was lost when passing through a tunnel. They just kept their hand on the water bottle, next to where Lluwen held it. They shook their head, catching that lost signal, then finally took the bottle from the elf and drank from it. It tasted faintly of chapstick.
“So, vampires...” Lluwen leaned against a tree, those dark eyes fixed firmly on Kirol, “You drink blood, right? Hunt yer victims at night?”
“Uh, well, I mean,” Kirol stuttered, suddenly very aware that they couldn’t possibly run away from this elf even if they desperately needed to, “we do drink blood. I get mine from the school cafeteria, though. Like, they have a special fridge with it. I don’t hunt.”
“Is it elf blood?”
“No way.”
“What, is elf blood not good enough for you?”
“What? Of course it is, just—”
“What kind of blood is it?”
Kirol struggled with this question, because it wasn’t an easy one to answer. People didn’t like to hear about it. Vampires couldn’t just drink any blood. It had to be from a still living being, still imbued with life. So the blood they sourced, ethically, usually came from farms with dairy cows or with breeding programs. Animals that were still alive when the blood was taken from them, then quickly packaged and refrigerated for vampires. It was a pretty lucrative business—Kirol knew some vampires whose families were filthy rich from owning these kinds of farms—but it wasn’t exactly the kind of talk you’d have in polite company.
Luckily, nothing about Lluwen’s company felt polite, so Kirol told him all about it.
“That’s...” the elf seemed to struggle to find the right words.
“Deplorable? Disgusting? Leech-like? I’ve heard it all.” Kirol offered up some suggestions. They took another sip of the water. As much as they needed blood, they needed to stay hydrated, too. And eat. Their stomach rumbled at the worst possible moment. Lluwen looked down at Kirol’s stomach, then quickly back up to their eyes.
“No,” the elf finally said, “It’s reassuring, honestly. I thought you’d kill me and drink me dry.”
“Other way around,” Kirol said matter-of-factly, “I’d need to drink you dry and then kill you, usually vis-a-vis the drinking dry part.”
“Oh.”
Another long, horrible pause. Kirol put some weight on their right ankle, to test it and also to feel a little bit of pain as punishment for the incredibly awkward way they’d just threatened to kill the only person who knew where they were.
“I mean, I’m not going to—”
“I sure hope not.”
“—but if I was going to—”
“Which you aren’t.”
“—I would have to drink your blood while you were still alive, first.”
“Uh-huh, we can stop—”
“And it’s not like I’ve even ever done that before, from someone who was alive.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Like, I’ve only ever had it from a bag. Even when I was a kid. The fangs are really just ornamental.”
Kirol bared their fangs at Lluwen, whose eyes widened.
“That’s very reassuring, Kirol. Ya wanna put those away for me?”
——————————————————————————
Lluwen was surprised to see the vampire could blush. Their skin was so pale, the blush was painfully obvious. This, in turn, made Lluwen blush. He quickly turned his back on Kirol and started to walk again, away from the vampire.
“Hey, wait, I’m sorry!” Kirol shouted after him, before trying to stand. Lluwen heard the grunt of pain, then wheeled back around and managed to catch Kirol before they fell, again.
“You shouldn’t put any weight on that ankle,” he said, his eyes cast down. “It’s another half an hour before we get to my cabin, and it’ll be even longer if you try to push yourself.”
“You were going to leave me behind,” Kirol protested, wrapping an arm around Lluwen’s waist for stability. And only for stability, Lluwen reminded himself. This vampire was getting too close for comfort, closer than anyone else had been in a very long time. Even his own mother hadn’t hugged him in years. And now this vampire was pressed right up next to him, leaning on him, his hand dangerously close to his knife...
“I wasn’t going to leave you anywhere. You’re coming to the cabin with me.”
“Oh? Am I being kidnapped?” Kirol asked, a tinge of humor on their voice, though still enough wiggle room in their tone to be read as sincere. Lluwen sighed and pushed them forward with his hand on Kirol’s back.
“Yes. Being kidnapped to somewhere with bandages and a shower where you can clean your wound.”
Lluwen held his hand up in front of Kirol’s face, blood drying on his fingers. Kirol reached up with his free hand and touched it. Lluwen pulled his hand back and kept the two of them walking.
“Wow, I’m sorry. I’m bleeding a lot.”
“You were bleeding a lot. You’re not anymore. But you need to wash it and dress it.”
“Yes sir.”
Lluwen blushed again, thankful that Kirol couldn’t see it. While Kirol was dense, they weren’t particularly tall. Lluwen was. Elves weren’t naturally taller than other humanoids, but Lluwen just happened to have outgrown his family in his early teens and never stopped. At 20 years old, he was probably around six foot and two inches. Kirol, on the other hand, was maybe five foot and eight inches when they weren’t limping along the uneven forest floor.
They continued in silence for several minutes, the sunrise catching up to them. Birds were waking up. Lluwen thought of his family, back at the house. He was the only one who went out hunting that morning, but everyone else would have left by now. He’d gone out as far as he could, close to the hunting cabin they keep on the very edge of the property. In fact, Lluwen knew he was hunting on property that technically belonged to that school. That wasn’t a bit of information he needed to share with his new ward.
After a while, Kirol spoke again. “So, like, where are we? Do you have a phone at this cabin?”
“What? No. The cabin doesn’t have electricity. It’s a cabin. There’s a phone at the house you can use after.”
“Oh. I just— you know, my teammates—”
“Who?”
“My teammates. I was out running with my teammates and they’re probably looking for me.”
Lluwen considered it for a moment. There hadn’t been anyone else anywhere near his part of the woods this morning. Kirol was further off the trail than they’d realized. And their teammates wouldn’t even know where to look. If he hadn’t nearly killed the vampire, it would have probably ended in an actual death from exposure.
“We’ll get to the house later and we’ll call the school from there, let everyone know that you’re still somehow alive.”
Another period of silence. Kirol’s hand squeezed Lluwen’s side. He tried to ignore it.
“What sport?” Lluwen asked.
“What?”
“Sport. You said teammates. What sport?”
“Oh, uh, football.”
Silence. The crunch of leaves and twigs under their feet. The sharp breaths Kirol lets out when stepping, even lightly, on their right foot. The tapping of Lluwen’s hooves hitting rocks.
“My brothers love football,” Lluwen broke the silence, “They watch it all the time at the house.”
“Do they watch any college football?”
“Yes,” Lluwen smiled, “they’re big fans of the Tolarian Terrors.”
Kirol groaned. If Strixhaven could be said to have a rival team, it was the Terrors. That was the end of Lluwen’s football knowledge, though. He never watched the game. When it was on, he’d find his way to the kitchen to help his mom cook dinner, or out to the cabin where he could be alone. His brothers never missed him.
“Well, if you don’t kidnap me and force me to live in your basement,” Kirol said, a smile on their voice, “I’ll owe you a couple of tickets to our next game with the Terrors. You can bring your brothers.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t.”
“What, you wouldn’t share?”
“Look,” Lluwen stopped, looking into Kirol’s gold eyes. He paused for a moment, then his brain caught up with him again. “I don’t go to that school, and my family doesn’t much care for it. We’re not going to go to your games.”
Kirol looked hurt, and Lluwen felt sick. He looked away and kept walking, pulling Kirol along.
“I’m sorry,” Kirol said, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought I owed you.”
“What for? Nearly killing you? Should I have finished you off?”
“The team might have appreciated it,” Kirol laughed, “I’m the worst player on the roster and everyone knows it. And we’re fighting over scholarships, too. If I was off the team, someone else could take my place, get my scholarship, and probably contribute more than I do.”
Lluwen didn’t know what to say. He just kept moving, the cabin in sight.
“Hey, is that your cabin?” Kirol asked.
“No, it belongs to a cult of murderous elves who are going to kill you for being bad at football.”
“Uhh...”
“Come on, college kid, you should be smart enough to tell when I’m joking.”
Kirol laughed a little strained laugh, but it was enough to make Lluwen feel better. He instinctively squeezed Kirol’s shoulder, and then immediately regretted that level of familiarity. Kirol was a vampire, a student at the school his family hates, and an idiot who doesn’t know when they’re lost in the woods. Lluwen was only helping them because, as is typical, they went hunting and got caught up in their own sympathies.
——————————————————————————
The cabin was really, really nice. Kirol was sort of shocked at its very existence. They’d been expecting a shack with rusted nails and peeling old wood planks. But this cabin was gorgeous, a modern construction with exterior walls painted to match the forest around it and a porch with a pair of wood chairs and a small table. And inside—Lluwen opened the door while Kirol waited leaning against a porch post—was a single room with genuine furniture. There was a soft-looking couch, a recliner, a full-size bed, a dining table with two chairs, a kitchenette, with a small shower in the corner. Behind the couch was a bookshelf with old paperbacks and a radio.
“Wow,” Kirol exhaled, the surprise clear on their face.
“Don’t try to flatter me, ya hear? It’s just a cabin.” Lluwen helped Kirol in and sat them down at the dining table. The wooden chair felt softer than the log had earlier.
“I was just expecting, considering the area, and the woods, and how you were out hunting, you know, that maybe it would be...”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Lluwen rolled his eyes, dropping his bow and quiver and knife onto a recliner, and began to open up cabinets in the kitchenette. There was a sink, a single-burner gas stove, and what appeared to be an old icebox in addition to the cabinets. Lluwen was looking for something, and Kirol was looking at Lluwen. Even just rummaging through kitchen cabinets, the elf had more grace than Kirol felt they ever had on the football field. Despite being much taller than Kirol, with longer legs and arms, Lluwen moved like he could fit into any space. Even with their vampiric nature, Kirol struggled to feel like they could move through a cafeteria without looking like a dog in a trampoline park.
It didn’t show, of course. Kirol knew this. Vampires always looked a little ethereal. But Kirol felt it. Eyes were always on them, on the field and off, and it was hard to move when someone watched you. Lluwen, despite being watched, seemed to flow between cabinets, hands moving with precision to pull out bandages and peroxide and clean rags.
——————————————————————————
Lluwen could feel Kirol’s eyes on him and hadn’t taken a breath since opening the first cabinet. This vampire was in his home away from home, watching his every movement, judging his lanky arms and unsteady hooves...
——————————————————————————
When the elf approached the table, he let out a long sigh and stood behind Kirol. When they tried to turn and look at him—they didn’t want to stop watching him move, they had the remarkably honest thought—the elf grabbed the sides of Kirol’s head with both of his slender, soft hands and forced them to look forward.
“I’m gonna clean the back of yer head, and it’s gonna sting, ya hear me?”
“Yes sir.”
A pause.
“You don’t haveta talk like that.”
“Sorry, sir.”
A sigh.
“And then yer gonna stand still while I put a bandage on it. And when we’re all done, I’ll put a brace on your ankle and we’ll get ya back to that school.”
Lluwen carried the rag to the sink and turned the handle, expectantly. He stood for a moment, his face stoic, holding the rag under the tap and waiting... And waiting...
“Well,” he says. Kirol waits.
“... Well what?”
“The well. I forgot that the line to the sink had a leak and I disconnected it from the well pump.”
“Oh.”
Lluwen sighed and turned the handle back to a closed position. He stood still, the rag in his other hand, staring at the sink. Kirol had seen someone deep in thought before, but the elf was absolutely stoic in his contemplation. They didn’t think that washing the back of their head would be such a trial.
“Yer gonna need to use the shower,” Lluwen finally spoke, not looking at Kirol.
“Are you saying I stink?” Kirol tried to joke, but Lluwen’s face was so serious that the humor was sort of choked out of them.
“Well, ya do. But I just need ya to get yer head under the water so I can wipe off the blood and mud.”
Kirol nodded, tried to stand, and immediately lost their footing, stumbling forward and on to their bad ankle. They winced through the pain, but Lluwen caught them before they fell directly onto the ice box. Again, Kirol was astounded that this elf, whose arms were half as thick as Kirol’s calves, felt solid as marble when he caught them.
“Ya need to move slower, ya hear me?” Lluwen pulled Kirol’s arm over his shoulder, lifting the shorter vampire slightly and getting their weight off their feet. In the same motion, they step forward and towards the small shower that’s built into the corner of the cabin. It’s just a small metal showerhead sticking out of the wall with a drain in a patch of tile floor at the bottom and a single knob for water. It’s less than two feet away from the cabinet that held the bandages.
Lluwen stopped, his thin fingers biting into Kirol’s side. Kirol dressed for a run, with a thick cotton pullover emblazoned with the Strixhaven Spirits logo and a pair of wine-red track pants. And proper shoes, of course. Kirol wouldn’t be caught dead on a run through the woods in a pair of plain tennis shoes. It dawned on them, though, that there must be dried blood all down the back of their head, probably to the collar of the cotton pullover.
“Um...” Kirol mumbled, looking at the showerhead and knob and drain and not at all at Lluwen, “I’m probably going to need to take off my sweater.”
“That makes sense,” Lluwen replied. He didn't move.
“Could you, uh, help me lean against the cabinet or something?”
Lluwen moved quick, practically pushing Kirol against the cabinet. And then he turned to look away, staring at the empty, open icebox. Kirol found a comfortable leaning position, practically sitting on the low cabinet top, and pulled the sweater over their head. This is the first time they’d stretched their shoulders like this since the fall, and there was a surprising amount of pain. They thought back to gym class in high school and their coach explaining that a sudden burst of adrenaline and exertion of reflexes can make your muscles just as tender as a long day of working out.
“Do ya want it hot?” Lluwen asked, still staring into the empty icebox.
“What?”
“I asked if ya like it hot.”
With Lluwen’s eyes averted, Kirol confidently stares back at the tall elf. His hair was still pulled up into a bun, exposing the slim, unblemished neck beneath it. In Connecticut, they call a lot of the people who live and work around the south “rednecks,” because of how they spend all day hunched over in the sun working in fields. But Lluwen’s neck wasn’t red at all. The rest of him looked tan, highlighting some of the green tinge that all elves have, but his neck seemed to rarely see the light of day. It must be the hair, Kirol thought, maybe typically let down over that small strip of skin just above the collar, protecting it.
“Well?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I wouldn’t mind it. Vampires, you know. We’re, uh, cold-blooded. Warm water really helps relax our muscles.”
Lluwen turned, saw Kirol with their shirt off, then quickly looked away and hurried over to a small panel in the wall by the shower. He pulled a lighter from his fanny pack—how big is that thing?—turned a knob, and lit a small flame. It must be some kind of water heater just for the shower, Kirol thought. It’s amazing how people can still live comfortably without electricity.
——————————————————————————
Lluwen was hunched over the water heater with his eyes closed, trying to will away the blush he knew was on his cheeks. This is too much for him, he thought. He was homeschooled, as were all his siblings. He only ever found himself around other people when he made the trek out to the market or their yearly trip to the shopping mall for clothes. And here was someone his age, someone he had spent nearly an hour pressed up against walking through the woods, shirtless in his cabin. He hardly even saw his brothers without clothes on. It was indecent.
Kirol was fit, too. Very fit. The kind of fit that no one in Lluwen’s family ever was. They were all naturally thin and lean. Strong, of course, but wiry. Lluwen would look at himself in the mirror and see knotted vines and tree branches, coarse fur covering legs that might as well be made of stone. His horns might as well be the softest part of his body. He was an ugly elf, sinuous with small eyes and plain-looking horns and hair that was not a silvery blue or the color of first light, but a pale, sickly white. That hair covered even his legs, where his brothers and father and mother were all blessed with rich, chocolatey brown. But Kirol was fit.
Lluwen had only looked for a second, but the vision wouldn’t leave him. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, a strong chest that Lluwen already knew felt firm but soft. Their skin in the pre-dawn light had looked ashen and gray, but now it looked like soft eggshell to him. He wanted to know what it would look like after a hot shower, once the blood was drawn more to the surface. He couldn’t help himself from thinking about what Kirol would look like under so many different circumstances. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the curves of Kirol’s body, the softness of the belly, the flesh around the waist that asked to be grabbed, the thighs...
He considered dunking his head under the water while it was still cold, but knew that would betray his thoughts.
“Um, how long...” Kirol began to ask.
“Oh, uh, it may already be warm,” Lluwen practically whispered, his voice not quite in concert with his thoughts, thankfully. He turned the knob of the shower and warm water fell out. There’s not exactly water pressure in this system, but it worked fine for Lluwen when he needed to clean up after wallowing in the mud during a hunt. He stepped away from the shower, now just looking anywhere other than the cabinet.
“Could you, um, give me a hand? I don’t want to put any weight on my ankle.”
Lluwen thought a curse in elvish that his father taught him when he was a kid and turned around. There’s Kirol, still looking... like that. Still leaned up against the cabinet. Lluwen tried not to look and stood next to them, letting the vampire grab his arm and shoulder and lift up, pivoting towards the shower. Kirol hopped on one foot towards the shower.
“Can you, uh, like, help me not fall over?” they asked, not looking at Lluwen either. The elf considered that maybe this is just as awkward for the vampire as it was for him. He imagined how he would feel if a vampire nearly killed him, dragged him to a cabin, and made him take his shirt off...
“How can I...”
“Just, like, what if I...”
Kirol tried to maneuver in a way that let them hold their head under the water and nearly slips and falls. Lluwen instinctively grabbed Kirol's arm, pulling them back and holding them up.
“What if I, uh... here, let me...” Kirol muttered, their grip moving down Lluwen’s arm as they lowered themself to the floor and on their knees. Lluwen swallowed hard, no longer pretending not to look. Kirol never let go, their hand wrapped now around Lluwen’s wrist.
“I’m going to just, like, lean forward and hope I don’t get my pants wet,” Kirol said, quietly, as if to themself. Lluwen nodded, eyes transfixed by the slope of Kirol’s shoulders. You could take your pants off, Lluwen thought. He cringed.
Kirol leaned forward, their head under the warm shower, looking down at the drain, one hand on the floor of the cabin and the other gripping still to Lluwen’s wrist. That doesn’t have to be there anymore, Lluwen thought. He doesn't say anything. He watches.
The water rinsed dried blood out of the vampire’s hair, running in ribbons down their shoulders, dripping off their chest and onto the floor beneath them. Lluwen can see droplets of water bouncing off Kirol’s head, leaving small dark spots on his bluejeans and their own track pants. He grabbed Kirol’s hand with his own free hand, moving it off his wrist, holding perfectly still to give the vampire a steady support. Then, with his now free hand, he reached forward.
——————————————————————————
It stings, a little, when Lluwen’s hand touches the back of their head, but Kirol doesn’t gasp for the pain of it. The contact felt different than before, when Lluwen had been supporting their head in the woods and pushing them forward. It was gentle, moving through their hair and loosening up the dried blood, feeling at the edges of the ragged cut the tree had left. If Kirol hadn’t turned to look at where the arrow came from, they thought, they would have collided face first with the tree and likely broken their nose or chipped their fangs. This could have been so much worse.
But now there was a soft, slender hand running through their short black hair, purposeful and direct enough that they knew that when it dipped down to the back of their neck it was on purpose. There must be dried blood there, or dirt, or some soft part of their body that needed to be touched.
Ever since taking their pullover off, Kirol had felt it. Lluwen was trying not to look at them, but wouldn’t be caught doing it. So Kirol looked away. It felt wrong to keep the elf from what he wanted. And when he reached out and ran his hand through their hair, Kirol wanted it, too. Maybe it was because Lluwen was a stranger, and this was a strange place, and Kirol couldn’t run even if they wanted to. Maybe because they had to make a choice. This had to be a confrontation, and there had to be an answer. Did Kirol want this, or did they not? If Lluwen touched them, would they let their body feel it or would they shut it out?
Their body was answering for them. Blood rushed to their ears, their cheeks, the back of their neck. What was red with blood from the wound was now pink. Lluwen could see it, Kirol knew. And Lluwen’s hand wasn’t stopping. He ran his fingers through all of Kirol’s hair, he grazed their ears, he lingered a moment in that space where Kirol’s neck met their back.
“You’ve got... Can I...”
“Yes,” Kirol answered to whatever question was trying to form. Lluwen’s hand moved across their shoulders, ostensibly wiping more of the dried blood off. It brushed across their neck, all of it. It moved lower, across the broad expanse of their back. Kirol gripped Lluwen’s stationary hand harder.
They lingered there, for a moment, neither moving. Kirol could see that Lluwen’s jeans were wet around the cuff, and droplets of water were gathering on their hooves, wetting his soft white hair. They felt the water pooling around their knees. The warm water ran clear, but both of them were frozen in place. Moving would force another confrontation, another moment they couldn’t run away from.
Kirol spoke first.
“Thank you.”
“Hm?” Lluwen intonated, a forced sound coming from somewhere in his chest that Kirol would like to see. Maybe the curly white hairs covered that spot, too.
“For, uh... washing my hair. And um...” Making me feel something I’m not ready to talk about?
This broke the spell, and Lluwen turned off the water and propane-powered heater, then lifted Kirol up, or Kirol lifted themself up with Lluwen’s steady hand. It wasn’t entirely clear to the vampire, who couldn’t meet the elf’s gaze. And Lluwen was looking at them now, at their face, searching for something. Kirol held tight to Lluwen’s hand, even standing, believing that they needed it to not fall over on their weak ankle. Lluwen didn’t seem to mind, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a single, scratchy towel. He smiled and draped it over Kirol’s head.
“I told ya that you’d thank me for it,” Lluwen laughed, still grasping Kirol’s hand.
And Kirol couldn’t help but laugh, too, using their free hand to dry their face, their chest, their hair. They winced when the rough towel contacted the back of their head, and Lluwen moved, causing Kirol to lose balance. The laugh became a shout, but Lluwen caught them.
“Okay, so ya can’t stand without me I figure,” he said, hands grasping Kirol’s side and hip, holding them steady and putting them back on their good foot. Lluwen was so close. Kirol could smell him, that earthy scent of trees and dead leaves and musk. He thought back to just a moment ago when Lluwen said they stank and hoped it was a joke.
——————————————————————————
Kirol smelt so good it was making Lluwen lightheaded. He felt like he was watching himself from outside his own body, and everything was lighter than air. Somewhere while washing Kirol’s hair, maybe between the side of their neck behind their ear and the nape of their neck, everything shifted within him. It was as if, in a dream, he saw the unreal, a sign that he was asleep. Except it was turned around, and this was the real, and everything else had been a dream to this point.
Maybe it was when they said yes, and his hands roamed. It was purposeful, it was, he told himself. The blood had stained their perfect shoulders red and he had to clean it off. But then his hands kept moving. There was pink everywhere. It was warm, soft skin, so unlike his own and, for that reason, so beautiful. Beauty was the word. He couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight than Kirol, on their knees, head bowed under the water, hand holding his, flush and pink on the floor of his hunting cabin. He wanted to touch so much that he had to stop all together. And then there was the smell, the sweat and dirt, the blood rising to the surface of the vampire’s skin. Some sort of deodorant, probably just Speed Stick. It was overwhelming. He thought he might pass out.
He had to get this vampire out of his reach before he made a mistake. He pivoted, swinging back around, and nearly pushed Kirol over into the chair.
“Pat it dry, and don’t worry about the towel,” Lluwen said, grabbing the bandage and hydrogen peroxide. Kirol did as they were told and held the towel out to the elf, who grabbed it, dried his own hand, and then applied the peroxide to a corner of it.
“This will sting. On the count of three. One—”
He dabbed the towel to Kirol’s wound, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a wince. The wound wasn’t nearly as bad as Lluwen had thought at first. There was probably a concussion underneath it, but the skin would heal without stitches. It even looked like it might already be healing. Maybe that was a vampire thing? He would ask, but he worried that would remind Kirol that they didn’t need any help, actually, and they could just hop out the door and off into the woods all alone.
“Ouch ouch ouch,” Kirol muttered, head leaned forward, eyes closed. Lluwen’s eyes were fixated on that spot on the back of their neck...
He tossed the towel onto the table and picked up the bandage. He unwrapped it, held it up to the back of Kirol’s head, confirmed it was the right size, and then leaned in close to affix it right over the wound. It had stopped bleeding surprisingly fast, and he couldn’t help but comment on that.
“Oh, yeah,” the vampire responded, reaching back to touch the bandage, “We—vampires don’t produce their own blood. It’s why we have to, you know, feed. So, if we get cut, there’s not like... a lot of it to go around. If it’s just a flesh wound, it’ll stop bleeding pretty fast. Especially if the blood is occupied elsewhere.”
“And where did you put all your blood, then?” Lluwen asked, innocently, but he saw the pink rise again in Kirol’s skin.
“Probably when I passed out, it didn’t have anywhere to go, so it just came out of the cut, but then when I woke up it went back into, you know, my heart and stuff.”
Lluwen thought of how shallow the vampire’s heartbeat had been when he found him, and how quick it felt once they woke up. And making them blush might have saved a few more drops, kept it in circulation.
“Well, now we have to see to your ankle,” Lluwen said, moving back to the cabinets, kneeling down to look through the medical supplies again. His back was to Kirol, and he felt their eyes on him. He liked it, damnit. He didn’t like that he liked it, but he did like it, and he wanted it. Every elf in his life saw him as— He didn’t like using the slur, but it’s what they felt, and he knew it. He was an eyeblight to his family, to his community, and always had been. And eyeblights weren’t desired. But he felt Kirol’s desire—even if Kirol didn’t recognize it—and it was intoxicating.
——————————————————————————
Kirol couldn’t keep their eyes off Lluwen’s back while he crouched in front of the cabinet. His jeans weren’t exactly tight, but when he was crouched like that... Did deer have nice butts? That wasn’t a thought Kirol ever thought they’d have, but now they were thinking about deer butts. How far up did the deer legs go? Are butts part of your legs?
They realized that their racing thoughts were working as a distraction from the very real, very difficult situation they found themself in. They wanted to keep looking at Lluwen’s waist, the way his legs held him so gracefully, that spot on the back of his neck, the sliver of skin that showed just briefly between his belt and the bottom of his jacket. But, well, Lluwen had been very clear earlier. Keep those thoughts to yourself.
And who’s to say this isn’t Stockholm syndrome? Like Patty Hearst? Maybe Lluwen had kidnapped them and the shower was just a somewhat literal brainwashing. That’s why his hands felt so nice, and why he couldn’t stop thinking about how he wanted to see what the elf looked like with his shirt off. And that was only fair, right? He should take his shirt off, too. If Kirol had to be half naked, then so did Lluwen. Rules are rules.
When Lluwen finally did turn around, Kirol snapped their head around so fast to stare at a blank wall that they thought they might give themself another concussion. If the elf noticed, he didn’t say anything. They heard the tapping sounds of hooves crossing the room. And then the elf was on his knees in front of him.
“I found this here ankle brace,” he said, looking directly up into Kirol’s eyes. It was a good thing vampires didn’t need to breathe as often as other living creatures, because they weren’t breathing now. “We can put it on yer ankle an’ maybe keep it steady ‘nough to walk. Get us back to the house so we can call that team of yers.”
“Okay,” was all Kirol managed. Please stop looking, they thought, please just look at my ankle. I need to breathe again.
Lluwen obliged, reaching out to grab Kirol’s right shoe, gently unlacing it. It throbbed with pain, but the vampire didn’t make a sound, couldn’t afford to. All they could do was focus again on the top of Lluwen’s head, that soft white hair and long, thin horns.
“I figure,” Lluwen said to himself, not realizing that the vampire was lost in another world, “we should probably get some ice on it first, ya hear? I don’t have ice here, but I can get some, bring it back. Maybe elevate it a bit ‘fore we go out and walk on it.”
“Uh huh,” Kirol said, their hand reaching out.
“My brother, Nath, he twisted his ankle something serious when we were kids and didn’t bother puttin’ a brace on it at first, and you know our ankles are a bit higher up. We sent our pa out to get a brace fer him and he came back with this one—you know, for feet like yers. And so into the cabinet it went—”
Lluwen stopped, the brace half on Kirol’s foot. Kirol was running their hand along Lluwen’s left horn, feeling the ridges on it. They couldn’t help it. They may never have another chance to know what a real elf’s horn felt like, and here was an elf on his knees in front of him.
Lluwen’s gaze cast up towards Kirol, those dark, intense eyes looking directly into their own.
“What’re you doin’, Kirol?”
They didn’t have an answer. They pulled their hand back, and looked away.
“Sorry.”
Lluwen silently finished putting the brace on Kirol’s ankle. The dull throb of pain didn’t go away, but the brace already made their ankle feel more secure, less likely to snap underneath their own weight. In a better state of mind, Kirol would have been thinking about the next football game, if they could even play with what might be a concussion and a sprained ankle. But in this state of mind, Kirol could only think about those horns.
——————————————————————————
“You can, if you want,” Lluwen said, still looking up at Kirol’s face, trying to meet their golden eyes with his own. His horns had nerve endings in them. People didn’t seem to understand that, but elves could, in fact, feel their horns. They weren’t sensitive, but there was still sensation under that hard keratin. And he wanted to feel Kirol’s hands on them.
Kirol slowly turned and looked down again.
“It’s fine, really,” Lluwen quietly explained, bending his neck slightly to present his horns to the vampire, “I know you don’t have elves like me at that school. Have you ever...”
“No,” Kirol whispered, both hands reaching down and touching the length of both horns. Lluwen could feel a difference between the two hands. Their right hand moved more confidently than their left. Right-handed, he thought. Good to know. Their left hand was more clumsy, simply moving up and down the ridges of Lluwen’s right horn. “Your horns,” Kirol whispered, “they’re not identical.”
“No, they’re not. The right one—”
“It bends more. And your left one, it’s smoother, too.”
“My mother always says they’re sisters, not twins. But they’re horns. And they’re my horns. So they should be brothers.”
Kirol smiled at this awful joke, and that made Lluwen smile.
“I think they look perfect,” Kirol whispered, hands still roaming now closer to the base of the horns, “I think things that are too symmetrical look unnatural.”
Before Lluwen could respond, to tell Kirol that was basically blasphemy in the Lysalana household, the vampire’s hands moved through the elf’s hair. Lluwen’s breath caught in his throat. It was only fair, he thought. He’d touched Kirol’s hair. But that had been medicinal, until it wasn’t. And this definitely didn’t even start medicinal. They were just running their hands through Lluwen’s hair, behind his ears. Lluwen reached up and pulled free his bun, letting his long, white hair down. Kirol gently lifted a strand of it, running their fingers through the full length. Their other hand moved around to stroke behind Lluwen’s ear, then down his long, sharp jaw, to the tip of his pointed chin. He tipped his face up towards Kirol’s.
“I’m sorry...” Kirol breathed, their face showing every emotion at once: fear, delight, anxiety, anguish, something that Lluwen wanted to interpret as desire that could have been pain. But he didn’t give the vampire time to figure it out. He stood, letting Kirol’s hands fall down to their sides, his hair loose and hanging around his face. He reached out, cupped their chin in his hand, felt the dimple with his thumb, then bent down to kiss them.