Chapter Text
Derek was certain that there had to be a better way to spend his New Years other than this; stumbling through a dingy alleyway in the middle of the night, his whole body aching like it was seconds away from falling apart.
His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, pressing his fingers to his teeth. It did nothing to stop the way he felt. Weak and disoriented.
He was hungry.
He couldn't remember the last time he had this strong of an urge. A few hours ago, everything was going fine. No sudden ache in his gums, nor any cravings that drove him crazy—everything was perfect.
By the time it was half past midnight, he should've known things were suspiciously too calm. He had excused himself from the crowd in the bar he visited—people who's names he couldn't even remember now—with the excuse of a "smoke break" near the stairs.
He didn't smoke, he just needed a good excuse to finally drink the blood bag he had saved all week. So when he rummaged through his pockets only to find an empty bag—the result of being in a rush—his first instinct was to jump straight down the stairs—which wouldn't really kill him, but would hurt like hell. Wouldn't be the first time.
What came next was hunger.
Subtle at first, something he could ignore if he just avoided every living being with a beating heart. But apparently, New Years was the perfect time for every soul to be out on the street.
In other words, the hunger was all he thought about in the entirety of the night. Blood, more specifically.
He flinched when a group of kids ran by, laughing loudly with fireworks in their hands. Derek caught a whiff of their blood, bitting his bottom lip with the hopes of restraining himself.
Warm
Nothing like the frozen bags at home.
Fresh
It was so strong he could almost taste it.
Blood
People passed him casually, dismissing him as another drunk man. But each time someone walked by him, he was tempted to take a bite right then and there.
So he ran.
He needed to get home, fast. He couldn't trust himself not to bite the first person he caught.
Maybe he could get an uber? What if they figured him out? He had no idea what his appearance was right now. What if they drove him straight to the police like last time?
He slumped behind another alley. The coast seemed clear, no civilians in sight. His chest heaved, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. From running? Maybe. From hunger? Most likely.
His hands trembled, fingertips clammy from repeatedly checking his teeth. This wasn't good, he might need to pull them out again later. That is, if he makes it back home.
He leaned his head back on the concrete wall, paint peeling off from old age. He's had better New Years. If anyone lived as long as him, they'd quickly come to accept the reality that everyday was no different. Years were just another one of the genius things humans invented. A useless thing, really. Celebrations every 365 days wouldn't change anything anyway.
Clang
Derek flicked his gaze towards where a sudden sound came from; a rusty metal bin, tipped over with its contents spilling on the ground. A rat rustled from the inside before crawling out, nibbling on a piece of filth.
A rat?
He couldn't…
He was not going to drink from a rat.
Derek's body, however, betrayed him. Hands already reaching for the small creature. His mouth parted subconsciously, eyes wide and fixated on nothing but what was infront of him.
Blood
He needed it. Needed it now—
"—Eugh…"
A shadow feel over him, paired by heavy but unsteady footsteps from behind. The rat scurried back into the darkness as a result, leaving him there, dumbfounded.
No.
Derek was on his feet instantly. For a second, he thought of following it, but then he remembered why it ran in the first place.
The figure walked straight past him, their legs almost making them fall over if they hadn't grabbed ahold of the wall. They bent down infront of the metal bin, putting it back up into place—
—before vomiting.
"Hmph—"
It went on for about three more minutes before they finally turned to look at Derek. The stranger looked him up and down before breaking the silence, speech slurred;
"You… alone too?"
Derek wasn't too keen on answering them. Not with his focus entirely on their neck.
They stood up, staggering slightly. They moved towards him, standing a little too close to his face.
"Look… hic— at you…" they slurred, eyes half—lidded and hazy "…look half dead."
"Pardon?"
They just snorted. "If you're hungry… shouldn't eat—hic… trash."
Derek blinked, realization slowly dawning on him. They thought he was a homeless man, looking through scraps? He must look really awful if that was the case.
The stranger continued;
"Mhm… here I have some uhh…" They pulled out their wallet. "…must be hungry huh…"
Derek's stomach churned. Oh, he was.
"…I'm Starving."
By the time they saw the look on Derek's face, his hands had already reached out to grip their arm, stopping them in their movements. He leaned his head down next to their ear;
"I'm sorry." He whispered, right before opening his mouth and sinking his sharp fangs into their neck.
The moment he finally tasted blood, his entire body relaxed. Days of not having blood—weeks of only drinking those wretched, frozen blood bags. Finally, finally he could feast.
It was incredible. How long has it been? Fresh and warm blood, right here in front of him. He couldn't get enough of it.
More.
Just a bit more…
"—Woah"
He froze. The voice of the stranger snapping him out of his trance.
"I must be… really drunk…" they muttered.
Derek fully expected them to scream. Instead, they did something unexpected;
Hands suddenly wrapped around his waist, pulling them closer to each other. Derek suppressed the urge to flinch, both from the fear of someone seeing him now that he realized what he was doing, and from the fact that this human was not running at all—they were hugging him.
His hunger kept him still, as well as their voice;
"Go on…"
"Mhm—?"
"Drink. No one will bat an eye."
Their other hand traveled from his waist up to the back of his head before they turned their head to the side, exposing more of their neck.
"Feels like… a kiss, don't you think?"
He soon understood what they meant. Footsteps approached from behind them and Derek would've hid had it not been for the arm secured around him. Sure enough, the person looked at them once before turning away. No suspicion whatsoever, to them it was just another couple on the street.
Derek waited until they seemed to be far enough before he pushed himself off of them, wiping his lips with trembling hands.
"Ow…" The stranger winced, hand coming up to press against their bleeding neck.
"You sure—" they winced, pulling back their palm to find a smear of blood. "—bite hard."
Derek avoided their gaze, his breathing coming out through deep, shaky pants. The blood was tempting him again. It wasn't as strong as before but it was there—urging him to continue.
But then he saw the bite mark. The way they winced before he met their gaze; unfocused, and vulnerable. He couldn't feel anything but guilt.
"I–I'm sorry." He stammered out an apology again before darting out the alleyway, running as far away as he could from them.
The door to his fridge creaked from how hard he slammed it open. Here it was, the blood he'd been searching for the whole night. But strangely enough, it wasn't as tempting. The hunger had passed just as he had suspected.
He dragged himself up the stairs and into his bedroom, where a large bed was situated in the middle. Because in contrary to common stereotypes, Derek did not sleep in a coffin—that trend died centuries ago.
The rails creaked when he collapsed into the mattress, exhaustion weighed heavy on him yet he couldn't sleep. It was almost two in the morning so the thought of an early sleep did occur to him.
Except he knew he wouldn't be able to get a wink of rest. Not after what happened.
Humans weren't his food to eat. That was the one condition he tried to keep even after all these years. He's seen it cause irreparable damage to his kind. Take too much and it would drive them mad. How much did he take earlier? He didn't even pay attention. And that human didn't even resist. They would be dead by now had it been a different kind of vampire—
And he would be dead had they not been there to save him.
The realization made Derek stop his overthinking.
He owed them his life.