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You absentmindedly dust the various antiques that cover nearly every surface of the shop, trying to focus on not knocking any (very breakable) things over. Despite your best efforts, you can’t keep your mind from wandering to the night before.
You repress a shudder as you think about it; Florian’s breath on your neck, the barest hint of fangs pressed to your skin. You almost feel like you should’ve realized the whole vampire thing sooner- his avoidance of the sun, his fleeing at the sight of your blood, his weird attitude about the coffee, the fangs- but then again, you aren’t yet used to this town, and all the weird happenings within. “Vampire” wasn’t exactly on your radar.
You sigh and glance up at the door, hoping to see Florian walking in. He’s not there, of course, so you sigh and continue trying to clean in his absence. It’s not like he’d really be working on a Sunday anyway, seeing as the place is closed, but you don’t doubt he’d try to come in overnight despite that.
Worry makes it hard for you to take your mind off of Florian. He’s looked so, so exhausted since the first time you met him, and it’s only gotten worse throughout the week. Before, you thought it was just some kind of sleep issue, but now… he must be starving on top of that. You can’t imagine how horrible he’s feeling, and the image of him huddled on your bedroom floor, shaking and trying to catch his breath, has refused to leave your head.
Just as you’re contemplating going back to your search for some kind of contact information on him, the door chimes from behind you.
“Sorry, we’re not open-”
You quickly stop talking as you see a familiar figure standing in the doorway, covered head to toe in dark, slightly oversized clothing, as per usual. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the floor for a long moment before he closes the door behind him and looks up, meeting your eyes sheepishly.
“Can we… talk?,” he asks quietly, his eyes flitting from yours to the floor and back. You don’t answer right away, your own eyes roaming up and down his figure. He looks even worse than last night, with eyebags as pronounced as ever and a slight hunch to his stance.
A quip comes easily to your tongue- we’re talking right now, aren’t we?- but you can’t get it past your lips. Instead, you nod, looking to the opposite side of the shop, where Winnie seems to be practicing her dancing in an old mirror.
“Upstairs?,” you ask, taking a step towards the stairs and waiting to see if he follows. Florian hesitates for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he likely remembers the events of last night, before he slowly nods and makes to follow you.
You offer him what you hope is a reassuring smile and lead the way upstairs, gesturing for him to sit on the same couch as before. He lowers himself onto it tentatively, his eyes fixed on the floor once more as he fidgets with his hands in his lap, a sign of nervousness you don’t think you’ve seen from him before.
You take a seat beside him, a bit closer than last night, and wait for him to speak. He’s hunched over even more now that he’s sat down, one arm wrapped around his stomach, and the other sitting stiff on his knee. Your hand twitches, as though to move and rest on top of his, but you refrain. You don’t want to scare him off now that he’s just come back.
“I’m sorry, for… running off. And sorry for… what I.. for trying to hurt you, I just…”
Florian doesn’t speak for a long moment. His mouth opens and closes a couple times, as though he wants to start talking but can’t find the words. He glances up at you, and, seeing the encouraging smile on your face, finally begins to speak.
“This is… this is all new to me. I’m a fucking… vampire, I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t choose this, and…”
He trails off, hand clenching tighter on his knee. You finally give in to the urge, lightly placing your own hand atop his. It’s cold.
He jolts slightly, as though he’s going to pull away, but he lets out a shaky breath and settles, looking at you for a moment and then back down. He takes a couple of deep breaths before continuing.
“I don’t… I hate blood. The smell, the… taste, it’s just… it’s disgusting. I try to avoid it, I do, but sometimes… sometimes I just…
Sometimes I’m just not in control. I get so hungry, but none of my favorite foods work anymore, and I’m just so… so hungry.”
He lets out a harsh breath, pulling his hand away from yours to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. Your hand hovers briefly before you pull it back to your own lap. You watch him for a moment, mouth opening to try and comfort him, but he talks again before you can.
“I just… try to keep people away from me. Keep to myself. This fucking sucks,” his voice breaks on the last word and he cuts off, both arms now wrapped around his torso.
Your heart aches as you look at him, and you long to pull him into a hug as you did before. You decide to place a hand on his shoulder instead, not wanting to overwhelm him when he’s already so vulnerable.
“So… all the exhaustion has been from hunger, then?,” you ask, looking at him sympathetically. You know he’s said he doesn’t want your pity, but you can’t help the pain you feel as you watch his shoulders shake as he tries not to cry in front of you.
“...Yeah.”
“When’s the last time you ate? You haven’t looked this bad all week.”
He’s silent for a long moment, and you can’t tell if he’s thinking or if he simply doesn’t want to answer you. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure. It’s… been a while. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he chokes out. You find your gaze drawn to his fangs as he speaks. You hadn’t noticed them much before, but they’re glaringly obvious now, where they poke out slightly from his lips. You’d call them cute under different circumstances, but you doubt he’d appreciate the compliment at the moment.
“Well… you haven’t, have you? Hurt anyone?”
He finally looks up at you, with a somewhat confused look on his face, before hesitantly shaking his head.
“Well, there you go. No harm done, right? Except to yourself,” you say, trying to keep his gaze even as he turns his head away from you.
“You say that, but you don’t… you don’t get it,” he stresses, fingers curled tightly into his sides. “Sure, I haven’t hurt anyone yet. But I… I want to. So, so badly, sometimes, I just want to-” he cuts himself off again with a growl. “I hate it,” he says quietly, voice wavering. “I don’t want to feel like this, or… be like this, I don’t… want to hurt anyone, really. I can’t help it.”
Your gaze softens as he curls in on himself for a moment, feeling a little like your heart has been torn out.
“Well, you haven’t hurt me, right?”
That gets him to look back up at you, baffled despite the tears forming in his eyes.
“You… what?”
“You’re not a danger to me. I believe that.”
He stares at you in confusion for a long moment, before his hands come up to cover his face, a weak laugh escaping him.
“You’re… really a fucking moron, huh? Why aren’t you… scared?”
You smile at him, gently grabbing his wrists and urging his hands away from his face so you can look him in the eye.
“Because I like you, Florian. I care about you, and I don’t think you’d hurt me.”
“...You really are an idiot.”
“I know. I also know I’m right.”
“You just… it won’t happen again, alright? I won’t let it. Just… keep your distance. Please.”
His hair falls to shield his face as he turns away from you again, his cold hands pulled from your grasp as he clenches them tightly in his lap. Undeterred, you place your hands on his once more.
“No. I’m not going to abandon you just because you’re scared of yourself, or because you think you’re gonna hurt me. I can be careful, okay? You can ask me that, but don’t ask me to stay away, or to pretend that I don’t care about you. I don’t think I could do it.”
He’s silent for what feels like forever, before he finally chokes out a laugh.
“I don’t… I don’t get you. Why… why the fuck are you so nice to me?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?,” you counter, feeling your own eyes prickle a little with tears. Watching this boy suffer, the shock on his face simply from someone being nice to him… you feel your chest ache as you continue, “You deserve it, Florian. You’re a good person.”
He stares at you blanky, his hands shaking where they sit beneath yours. His eyes flit between yours for a long moment. He opens his mouth, seemingly to retort, but all that comes out is a choked, vaguely pained gasp. Your eyes widen as you lean closer, a worried “Florian?” falling from your lips.
He shakes his head and hunches in further, his fingers once again digging into his sides as he hugs himself. “I need… I need to go. I can’t- I don’t want to drag you into my bullshit.”
He tries to stand, but he wobbles as he does so, and you quickly pull him back down onto the couch; It’s concerning, how easily he goes with you. You lightly grab his chin and turn his face towards you, brows furrowing with worry.
His face is somehow paler than usual, his features contorted in pain as he pants lightly.
“Florian? What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head again, eyes flicking down to your neck before he squeezes them shut and pulls away.
“I can’t,” he gasps out, his whole body shaking. “Please. Let me go. I can’t hurt you, I can’t, I won’t-” he cuts off with another pained, almost desperate sounding noise.
“Florian, please, talk to me,” you beg, worry twisting in your chest as he lets out another quiet groan of discomfort.
“It hurts,” he mutters, trying weakly to pull away from you but unable to find the energy. His eyes open again, his gaze hazy as it meets yours, and suddenly, you understand.
“Shit, Florian,” you hiss, grabbing his cheeks and trying to get him to focus on you. “Has it been that long since you ate? Is that what’s wrong?”
He fights your grip, shaking his head. He leans in closer before pulling back twice as quick. “I’m so… I don’t want to hurt you,” he pleads, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Looking into his unfocused eyes, watching his chest heave with desperate breaths, you make a decision before you can think about it.
Carefully, you move yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his own, which you try very hard not to focus on as he seems to slightly snap out of his daze to look at you with a mix of panic and confusion.
“What the fuck are you doing?”, he asks in disbelief, panic still clouding his gaze.
“You’re hungry, right? Just… feed… drink? Ugh, whatever- my blood. Take it.”
His eyes widen as he weakly shoves at you and shakes his head. “No, I- I can’t, I don’t want to-”
“You’re not hurting me,” you say firmly, looking at him until he finally looks back. “I’m saying it’s okay. I want you to. Please?”
His eyes are fixed firmly on your neck now, and you lean in closer to him. One of your hands rests on the back of his head, the other hovering for a moment before you settle it lightly on his shoulder.
He leans in a little closer, his breath ghosting over your neck. You hear him swallow thickly, before asking in a soft, shaky tone, “Are you… sure? I mean it, really, I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s not hurting me, Florian, it’s okay. Please. I want you to feel better,” you answer quietly, gently pushing him a little closer to you and tilting your head to properly expose your neck.
You feel a shaky breath puff over your skin, and soon after, the soft graze of fangs, reminiscent of the night before. You try to repress a shiver at the feeling, accompanied by his hair tickling your jaw and his hands tentatively settling over your waist to keep you still.
“Please… tell me if you want me to stop. At any point.”
“I will. I won’t let you hurt me, okay? I promise. Don’t worry.”
He takes a second to process the words before, finally, he nods. You feel his fangs press more firmly against your skin, and you can’t repress your sharp hiss as they break through. He pulls his head back slightly, and you gently push it back towards your neck.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, lightly petting your hand over his hair. It’s surprisingly soft, even more so than you had thought from feeling it earlier that day. “Keep going.”
Florian hesitates briefly before he presses his tongue to the two small punctures, beginning to lightly suck at the wounds. You feel his nose wrinkle up where it’s pressed to your skin- no doubt at the taste- but he relaxes at the same time, body melting back slightly into the couch as he finally begins to feed.
You continue to lightly pet his hair, partially to soothe yourself and partially because he seems to be enjoying it. He lets out a soft groan of pleasure as he presses his tongue to your neck, his fingers tighteningly slightly around your waist, and you try to ignore the spike of something that shoots through your chest at the noise.
You’re just helping him. That’s all this is.
Your fingers tighten on his shoulder as he sucks a little harder, soft noises still being drawn from his throat. You can tell he’s trying to control himself, but his fingers continue to tighten and then loosen around your waist. He pulls you incrementally closer, tilting his head for a better angle.
You can’t help the quiet sound that escapes you as he laves his tongue over the bite marks. He pulls back at the noise, unsure if it was from pain, and you’re not sure yourself. You open your mouth to tell him it’s okay, to continue, but you find yourself speechless as you look at him.
His hair is disheveled, partially from your own hand that still sits on his head. His face is flushed, and he’s panting slightly, blood staining his fangs and darkening his lips, and fuck, that really shouldn’t be attractive, should it?
Most of all, you can’t help but notice how different his eyes look. The night before, when you awoke to him caging you against the couch, his gaze had been almost blank, as though Florian wasn’t really in there. Now, however, it’s almost the opposite. His eyes seem dark and bright at the same time, an intensity in his gaze that you didn’t know was possible, coming from him.
He notices your staring, and asks worriedly, “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
You snap out of your reverie and shake your head, offering a shaky smile. “I’m alright, Florian. Are you feeling better? Did you get enough?”
He nods, tongue darting out to lick the blood from his teeth and lips, and you find yourself staring once more, almost fascinated at the sight.
He seems to come back to himself rather suddenly, with the realization that his hands are firmly around your waist, as opposed to the barely-there grip he had started with. He yanks his hands away like they’ve been burned, his face flushing further as he seems to properly take in the position you’re both in.
You feel him shudder beneath you, and you can’t help but grin slightly, one hand still on his shoulder as you run the other through his hair. “Are you sure you’re alright now, Florian?”
He’s lost for words for a moment as he looks up at you, properly flustered, before he looks away and nods. “You can… you can get up now.”
You pout and squeeze his shoulder lightly, your grin widening. “Aw, really? I thought this was pretty comfy.”
He somehow flushes further, before lightly pushing you off of him and onto the couch. “Stay here.”
You try to get up and follow him, mostly just to be annoying, but a wave of dizziness washes over you, and you quickly sit back down. He returns a moment later, an apple and a water bottle in his hands. He quickly pushes them into your own hands, with a firm command to "eat," shifting his weight from foot to foot afterwards.
“Are you gonna sit down?.” you ask teasingly, and he glares at you before carefully settling down next to you. He watches you intently as you crack open the bottle and take a long sip.
“Um… Thank you, for… that. And for. Um. Everything,” he says awkwardly, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You smile and take a bite of the apple, content to let him sit with that for a moment before you reply.
“You don’t need to thank me,” you say honestly, eyebrows raising at the almost scandalized look that he gives you.
“What the fuck- obviously I do! You just… ugh. You… make no sense,” he huffs, his regular slight frown back on his (less pale!) face.
“I’m aware,” you say happily, taking another loud crunch out of the apple just to watch his nose wrinkle slightly. His expression turns a bit more serious, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before speaking in a softer tone than you’re used to from him.
“Seriously. I don’t… I suck at this. Talking. I’m not… I don’t know what I would’ve done, without… this. You. So… thanks,” he murmurs, briefly making eye contact before quickly looking down again. Your grin softens into a much more genuine smile, and you set your food aside to grab his hand in both of yours.
“Any time, Florian. Really. I’m here to help you,” you say tenderly, doing your best to catch his eye as you say it. He doesn’t grace you with a response, so you continue.
“How often are you supposed to eat?”
At that, Florian looks up, seemingly caught off guard. “Um. I don’t… really know?”
You roll your eyes, pressing, “Well, you know when you start to feel bad, right? When does that start?”
He takes a moment to think, before muttering, “After a couple days, I guess.”
You nod in response, leaning in slightly. “Okay, then, it’s decided.”
He eyes you suspiciously, waiting for you to continue. You do, happily. “Every couple days, you can come up here, and have some of my wonderful, perfect blood.”
His eyes widen as he gapes at you, seemingly lost for words. “Are you… I… are you crazy? No! This was- this was a one-time thing. One time. That’s it.”
You eye him disbelievingly. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”
He continues to glare, and you sigh, shoulders drooping.
“...Please, Florian? I don’t want to… I don’t think I can watch you get so sick again. It makes me feel sick, too,” you say softly, looking into his eyes as he looks anywhere but yours. “I really don’t mind, okay? It makes me feel better. I want to help you.”
He curls in on himself slightly, clearly warring with himself over it. Finally, he relents.
“...Once a week. That’s the most I’m willing to do.”
You smile and let out a relieved sigh, and, before you can change your mind, lean in to hug him. “Once a week, then,” you muffle into his shoulder. He stays frozen for a second, hands hovering, before they come up and he squeezes you back.
You both stay like that for a while, and you generously refrain from commenting on the way his shoulders shake slightly, or the small wet patch that remains on your shoulder after he pulls away.
He clears his throat and stands up, looking a little flushed. “I should… get going.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night here?,” you offer, tilting your head with a small pout. “It’s very comfortable.”
He shakes his head, though he can’t stop a small smile from forming on his lips, and your own grin doubles in size at the sight. “I… I shouldn’t. But, um… Thanks again. For… yeah.”
With that, he turns and walks back down the stairs, and you hear the door chime a moment later. You lean back into the soft couch cushions, glancing to the spot he had been sitting with a long-suffering sigh.
You are so, so fucked.