Archive of Our Own ^beta

With a moan of agony, Jean crumpled up his outline and tossed it to the floor, which was quickly becoming a graveyard of dead ideas. The latest outline hit the top of the growing mountain of paper balls, starting a small avalanche that scattered wrinkled paper all over the room. Jean raked his fingers through his hair, staring at the words written on a notecard pinned to the bulletin board above his desk.

Dissertation Outline Due Monday

His mentor had said that the writing would be the hardest part, and the research would be a close second. She’d forgotten to mention how excruciatingly difficult it would be to just write the outline for the paper. Admittedly, Jean had underestimated the pressure of the outline. He’d figured it would just throw itself together. But here he was, 2 a.m. on a Saturday night, thirty seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

And he couldn’t even properly scream in frustration without waking up his roommates. And if he woke Connie and Sasha up now, they’d just worry about him. And he did not need their sympathy nor their pity right now. Because he was Jean Christopher Kirschtein. And he still had some shred of dignity.

With a sigh, Jean pushed away from his desk. He reached for his jacket and shoes on autopilot, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He’d been sitting in his room for the past five hours, staring at computer screens and sheets of notebook paper, scribbling nonsense in ink in case words of genius accidentally spilled forth from his pen instead of the senseless stupidity he’d gotten for the majority of the day on the keyboard. What he needed was a break, some fresh air to clear his head. And sure it was two in the morning, but Jean didn’t have to walk far. Just a walk to the end of the block would do wonders.

Slipping out of the apartment with the silence of a ghost, Jean crept down the three flights of stairs to the street, pushing out of the humid hallway into a crisp and clear October evening. He took a long draught of the night air, closing his eyes and letting the night envelop him. The apartment door clicked shut. He’d never felt so free in his entire life.

Opening his eyes, Jean took in his surroundings. He couldn’t recall seeing his street at 2 am before, at least not sober anyway. All of the storefronts were dark, their insides transformed into shadowy silhouettes in the light of the streetlamps. Few cars were still out, their headlights shining bright against the night. The air was quiet, calm, as if had joined the human race in sleep. The world was at peace. And Jean was ready to take some of that peace inside with him. But not before taking a quick stroll around the block.

Jean set off down the street, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. It was just starting to cool down, and the autumn breeze felt heavenly to his overworked brain and fresh air deprived body. So did the silence. Sure, he’d been sitting in his quiet room all day, but that was a contained quiet. This was an open, free silence that gave him space to think, to breathe. The only sounds he heard were his footsteps echoing across the empty street and the breeze blowing through the trees.

Jean walked a block and a half away from his apartment without crossing another human being. One car passed by him, and he watched one cross a streetlight two blocks up. He was totally alone. And it felt wonderful.

But the serenity of the night was put on pause as he crossed the alley that halved the block between Cedar Ave. and Walter Ave. and he got the unmistakable feeling that he was being watched.

Jean stopped walking. The only sound he heard was his footsteps echoing back to him from the alley. The rest of the air stood still. He couldn’t tell if it was a noise or a movement that had spurred the feeling. Maybe it was just his imagination having his way with him; he had been looking at Dracula and Frankenstein and their gothic friends all day. It wouldn’t be out of the question that he’d imagine ghosts where they didn’t exist.

Jean turned towards the alley, eyes squinting into the darkness. Nothing seemed unusual, just a line of dumpsters and a stack of cardboard boxes sagging with age and water damage. The dumpsters were all packed too close together to be hiding any sort of criminal. There really was nothing to be afraid of. Still, Jean stood still as a statue for a minute more, watching the darkness, daring it to move.

He was so busy studying the alley that he missed the shadow that began to slink towards him from the building to his left. By the time he noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, the simple shadow that could have been the reflection of a lamppost projected from a car’s headlights had transformed into the shape of a man. Or the resemblance of a man. The shadow was far too long to be human, as if it were stretched too thin.

The shadow began to peel itself from the wall. Jean rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly to make sure that what he was seeing was just an illusion, an exhaustion-fueled hallucination. But the shadow was still there when he opened his eyes, and it was no longer just a shadow. It was now a full-fledged figure, standing in front of him on the sidewalk. Two blank spots of white appeared where its eyes would have been, and the two milky orbs seemed to be fixated on Jean. The young man watched, frozen to the pavement, as the creature raised an arm, its fingers brushing Jean’s cheek. The skin it touched began to prickle as if it were about to catch fire.

Jean ran.

He turned and took off down the street, hearing a rush that wasn’t the wind behind him. He ran across Walter Avenue, straight through a “Don’t Walk” sign, trusting that there wouldn’t be any cars to hit him anyway. He didn’t even realize he was running away from home until he was already at the next stoplight, and it was too late to turn around. He could try to cut left and circle around home. But his feet kept carrying him forward as his eyes periodically glanced at the windows he passed, checking the shadow’s progress. And every time he looked, the creature was still right behind him, gliding through the air instead of using its legs to run.

Jean made the split second decision to turn left down the next street and attempt to circle around home. But his plan took a turn for the worst when the next turn happened to be a dead-end alley, not a street, and he turned before realizing the mistake.

The young man skidded to a halt, staring at the brick wall twenty feet in front of him, feeling his heart skip three beats. He’d already run halfway down the alley. He’d run himself into a trap.

As Jean stared numbly at the wall, the shadow creature swept through him like a warm gust of wind. As the shadow passed through him, Jean suddenly felt the chill of the night turn bitter cold, as if the creature had sucked the warmth out of him. Jean shivered as the monster materialized in front of him, blocking the end of the alley. He took a step back, stumbling over his own feet as his eyes remained glued on the shadow that seemed to be growing bigger and bigger by the second, looming over him, its spidery arms stretching closer and closer.

“H-help,” Jean stammered around chattering teeth, backing away slowly. The shadow continued to grow. Jean’s heart hammered in his chest, and his only thought was escape. And the only way to do that would be to make a run for it.

Before he could move, the shadow’s arms shot forward towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders. The hands burned where they touched him, even through his jacket.

“HELP!”

Jean’s voice echoed around him as he wrenched himself away from the creature and made a dash for the street. A rush of panic coursed through him as he tripped and faltered, but his instincts took full control as he pushed towards the safety of a lit street. He felt the monster before he saw it, skeletal fingers wrapping around his wrist, snaking up the sleeve of his jacket with a strength no ghost should have. The shadow’s grip began to constrict. Jean’s skin burned under its touch. He screamed. “HELP!”

A figure rounded the corner at the mouth of the alley, shrouded in shadow from the streetlights beating down on them. A flash of panic stabbed through Jean’s chest at the thought that this was another shadow creature. But the footsteps that echoed as the figure ran towards him confirmed that it wasn’t: this was another solid human being.

The figure ran towards Jean, removing something from a pocket in their jacket. By the time they reached Jean, the young man’s forearm had gone numb and he was starting to see stars from the pain. He saw a flash of light as his hero lunged for the creature’s hand, slicing it with what appeared to be a knife. The shadow screeched, an ear-splitting wail, as its fingers slid away from Jean’s wrist. The young man stumbled forward, reflexively grabbing hold of his injured arm and holding tight, making room for his savior to continue fighting the beast.

The monster hissed, a threatening sound somewhere between a wolf’s growl and the deadly jingle of a rattlesnake. It continued to writhe in the darkness, building itself up to attack. The stranger remained poised for battle, knife in hand. The shadow lunged, missing its target as the stranger stepped to the side, swinging their arm around in a wide loop and plunging the knife into the creature’s neck. The monster howled again, and Jean instinctively covered his ears to block the noise. Why wasn’t anyone else waking up to this?

The fight didn’t take much longer after that, as the stranger pulled what looked like a cell phone from his pocket and flashed a bright light at the shadow monster. The creature gave another wail as it disintegrated, breaking into tiny pieces of ash that fell to the pavement and blew away in the breeze. The stranger kicked the ashes, spreading them around, before turning to Jean.

He was a young man, no older than Jean by the looks of him. The dim alley lighting didn’t expose much, but his hair was clearly very dark and he had a sturdy build. He was breathing hard from the fight, and his eyes turned to Jean with a deadly sort of focus, like the eyes of a hunter assessing its prey. Jean stared back, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. This guy could easily kill him too.

Jean’s wrist started to sting with a vengeance, and the young man collapsed to his knees, cradling his injured arm. It didn’t help that he was still shivering, feeling cold as ice.

He felt the stranger before he saw him, a warm hand squeezing his shoulder. Jean’s eyes looked up to find a face stretched with worry watching him closely.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked. Jean nodded out of impulse. The stranger frowned. “Let me see your arm.”

Jean did as asked. The stranger examined his skin, which has turned red and was starting to swell where the creature had touched him. He didn’t try to touch the wound, which Jean was vaguely thankful for somewhere amidst the confusion and cooling panic swirling in his brain.

“Looks like it didn’t get you too bad.” The stranger smiled, the simple movement lighting up his whole face. The smile reached every part of his face, softening his eyes and brightening his cheeks, his concern melting away like snow in spring. And he had dimples. The stranger Jean had just watched fight a monster like a badass had dimples.

“I haven’t seen a Walker that mean in years,” he said in a casual tone that implied that Jean knew what he was talking about. “Did you take something from it?”

Jean blinked. “Huh?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side, looking Jean over carefully. Something flashed in his eyes and Jean had a feeling that he should run. But his legs felt frozen to the pavement. He wouldn’t be surprised to find that they actually had frozen over; he was still so cold.

As another shiver course through Jean’s body, the stranger’s smile softened sympathetically. “Come on.” The young man grabbed Jean’s shoulder, gentle and reassuring, and helped pull the young man to his feet. His smile was bright enough to rival the street lamps, too bright to belong to someone who’d kill him and dump his body in the alley. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

Jean nodded numbly, allowing the stranger to pull him back towards the street and down the block to Marie’s, a 24-hour diner that Jean always talked about going to, but had never actually visited before. The diner was quaint, one wall taken up by booths and the other filled by a counter complete with old-fashioned upholstered barstools. The space in between was filled with tables in varying sizes, each one complete with a small vase of fake flowers. The walls were lined with photographs of local newspaper headlines, and cheery elevator-esque music played in the background. The diner gave off an aura of home.

Jean shivered again, and the stranger tightened his grip on the young man’s shoulder.

“Table or booth?” the stranger asked.

“Um…” Jean looked around. The diner was surprisingly busy for the late hour, with four other tables filled, one by a group of five. Jean wondered why anyone would willingly be up this late. Then he remembered the feeling of the shadow’s fingers wrapped around his wrist and he shuddered, this time not from cold.

Jean flinched as the stranger squeezed his shoulder again. He knew that his hero was watching him, worrying about him, and something about that made him feel anxiously embarrassed. “A table would probably be best for two.” The stranger pointed to a small table by the back wall, and led Jean forward, arm still around his shoulders. Jean noted how the stranger nodded to one of the guys at the table of five. The stranger was no doubt a regular here, with the way he walked as if he knew this place better than the back of his hand. As if they were at his own house, the stranger ushered Jean into a chair at their chosen table. Jean didn’t fight back, gratefully relieving his shaking legs of the task of standing.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been shaking until he sat down, and noticed his hands were trembling noticeably. Jean hid them in his lap so the stranger wouldn’t notice. Not that he had much dignity left to protect with the guy who’d just saved him from a shadow creature, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to hold onto whatever shreds of dignity remained.

The stranger slid into the seat across from him, a vague smile still playing on his face. In the light, Jean could see him clearer. His hair was dark, cut short and parted in the center and his eyes were a warm brown to match. Freckles dusted his cheeks, adding a boyish quality to his face that was balanced by the dark rings under his eyes. He was wearing blue scrubs under a stylish navy blue jacket. And of course, there were those dimples. Jean couldn’t have thought up a more perfect image for a modern day hero.

But that could be his overly exhausted, adrenaline rushed brain. Or the fact that he’d just been attacked by a shadow monster. Jean was prepared to blame a lot on both of those excuses. He also didn’t want to consider what sort of mess he must look like to this handsome stranger, so he put the thought of his mind by focusing on the events of the evening.

Jean opened his mouth to say something, anything, when the woman from behind the counter appeared at their table. “Welcome, welcome, boys,” she greeted with a warm smile. Her nametag said Rosie. “What are we in for tonight?”

“Just some much needed caffeine and your lovely smile.” The stranger returned her grin, perfectly charming in every way. “You know my shift isn’t complete without visiting you.”

“Oh, you.” Rosie clicked her tongue as she lightly rapped the brunette’s shoulder, earning her a musical chuckle. “How was your shift today, honey?”

“Long, but good,” the stranger replied. “No major cases, which is a blessing and a curse. I’m happy it’s over.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re done and here now. And what about you, darling?” Rosie asked, turning her attention to Jean.

“Oh, I uh… I’ve had a pretty long day,” Jean stammered, finding it much harder to form words than he’d expected.

“Then we’ll see what we can do about that,” Rosie said in response, giving his shoulder a warm squeeze before pulling a pad of paper from her apron and a pen from behind her ear. “What’ll it be, boys?”

“We’ll have two coffees and… what kind of pie do you have in stock?” the stranger asked.

“There’s a whole chocolate silk pie left,” Rosie answered, gesturing to the display case by the counter.

The brunette smiled and tapped the table. “We’ll take it.”

“Coming right up,” the lady said, leaving the two to their conversation.

The stranger smiled after her for a moment before turning back to Jean. “Rosie and I are buds. I work over at St. Rose’s, and come to Marie’s a lot after night shifts…”

“I-I’m sorry, but who are you?” Jean interrupted, keeping his voice low and leaning closer to the stranger so that the rest of the patrons wouldn’t overhear. The brunette blinked at his abrupt question and Jean immediately apologized, “I-I just… I don’t know you and I…”

The young man held up a hand to stop him, smiling softly. “I sincerely apologize for not introducing myself before. That was incredibly rude of me.” He extended his hand across the table. “I’m Marco. Marco Bodt.”

“Jean Kirschtein.” Jean accepted the handshake, then hid his hand in his lap again, as it was still shaking a bit.

“It’s nice to meet you Jean,” Marco said.

“You too,” Jean said awkwardly in response, settling back into his chair. “You said you work at the hospital?”

“Yep. I’m a registered nurse,” Marco answered, unzipping his jacket and proudly showing off his scrubs. “And they love to schedule me for the late shifts. So my alibi for why I was out and about at two in the morning checks out. What are you doing up at this hour?” As the question left his lips, he leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, supporting his chin on his hands. His posture was casual, but his eyes were laser focused on Jean, as if interrogating him.

Jean withered under that gaze. “Writing my dissertation,” he admitted guiltily.

“Outside?”

“Well, I was taking a break…”

Marco’s eyes flashed with interest, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “What’s the dissertation on?”

“Romantic literature,” Jean answered.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Marco replied. “Romantic as in the romantic period, or the cheesy romance novels you buy in airports?”

“The former,” Jean answered with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’d be able to stomach an airport level romance.” Marco laughed. Jean picked at his paper placemat to give his fingers something to do. “But no, um, I’m actually focused on gothic literature. Shelley, Stoker, Radcliffe, du Maurier, and the like.”

“Oh, so the dark side of romanticism,” Marco said, nodding with interest.

“You could say that,” Jean replied.

Rosie returned with the coffee and pie, sliding the pie pan onto the center of the table and pouring each man a cup of coffee before moving away.

“Now what’s with the pie?” Jean asked as Marco set about giving each of them a plate and a fork. “Is this some kind of Harry Potter shit where eating chocolate makes the scary things go away?” He took a small sip of his coffee, finding it unusually satisfying. A rush of warmth coursed through him with just one sip, and it was all he could do not to melt into the feeling. He could feel his toes again.

“First of all, chocolate helps replace the happiness the dementors steal. Get your facts straight. And second, this is nothing like that at all,” Marco replied snippily. “Rosie’s pie happens to be delicious and always a good way to start a first date.”

Jean choked on his coffee. “This is a date?!”

Marco’s cheeks flushed bright red as his hand slipped and he nearly spilled sugar all over the table. “Oh, no! No, that’s not what I meant to say! First meeting! Good for a first meeting! Ah.” He hid his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m such an idiot.”

“No, no it’s okay, really,” Jean said, swallowing hard. “I’m also just…” He gestured to his head. “…a little out of it right now too.”

“Understandable,” Marco said with a solemn nod. Jean nodded back, holding Marco’s gaze. The brunette gave him a small smile before reaching for the pie, cutting it in half and placing one whole half on Jean’s plate.

Jean stared down at the pie in front of him. “There aren’t peanuts in this are there?”

“Nope. Rosie runs a peanut free kitchen unless she’s making peanut butter pie, and that’s on Tuesdays,” Marco answered, filling a forkful with pie. “Are you allergic?” He shoved the pie into his mouth after the question.

“Just a little bit,” Jean answered, reaching for his own fork. He continued to stare at the pie without taking a bite, his mind turning cartwheels as he tried to process everything. Here he was, eating pie with a stranger who’d just saved him from a shadow monster. It all sounded a little too fever-dreamy to be true. “So, are you going to tell me what happened back there, or just try to seduce me with pie and coffee?”

The sarcasm seemed to miss the brunette, whose face simply turned up with the most innocent of expressions. “You’re ready to talk about what happened?” His voice was hard, serious, almost ominous. His casual charm seemed to disappear, replaced by a practiced seriousness that Jean found uncanny. But he had to admit, Marco’s change of pace would’ve been a whole lot more distressing if the brunette didn’t have the smallest drop of whipped cream perched on the tip of his nose.

Still, Jean felt his stomach twist into a knot. “The sooner I know what that thing was, the better.”

Marco nodded, taking a long sip of his coffee before turning his dark eyes back to Jean. His gaze was sharp, focused despite the purple rings hanging under them. He dropped his voice lower so that the other patrons couldn’t hear him. “The thing that attacked you is called a Walker. Walkers are a breed of Phantom that can take a physical shape. They can also move and become solid as they please. They can’t, however, be in direct light, so they’re a nocturnal breed and try to stay in even the darkest places at night. And they usually live in less populated areas. Walkers are hoarders, and they like to keep their stashes well hidden. Cities don’t really lend themselves to the space needed for a properly fortified stash, so you don’t see many Walkers around here. Usually.” The young man paused, taking another sip of his coffee. “We’ve already had four sightings this month.”

Jean nodded numbly, absorbing the information. He took it piece by piece, stopping to ask: “Earlier, you asked me if I stole something from that thing tonight. What did you mean by that?”

“Yes. Walkers are hoarders and the thing they hate most in the world is having something taken from them,” Marco explained with a nod of his head. “You probably accidentally stepped on a pile of leaves or something and either disrupted a growing pile or displaced something the Walker wanted for its stash, and so it came after you.”

“So it was… after me?”

“Yes.”

“And it was a…?”

“Walker. Which is a breed of Phantom.”

“A breed of Phantom?”

“Uh-hm.” Marco nodded again. “There are different species of paranormal creatures, and different breeds within those species. Just like regular plants and animals.” He held up his fingers as he counted: “You have your broad categories of phantoms, ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, fey, and merfolk. And then there are divisions within all of those, as well as half-breeds and hybrids that just add even more to the equation and…”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you trying to tell me that werewolves and vampires are real?” Jean interrupted, leaning so far across the table that he was hardly sitting in his seat anymore.

“Yes,” Marco answered plainly, leaning closer too, so close that they’re noses were almost touching. “And why are you questioning me? You were just attacked by a shadow monster. You know I’m not making this up.” Jean felt a weight start to form in the pit of his stomach. “You’re also researching works by some of the only people in the world who encountered the creatures of the night.”

“What?”

“You didn’t think Bram Stoker invented the vampire out of thin air, did you?”

“Of course not. Myths about vampires had been around for centuries before Dracula, but that doesn’t mean they’re true!” Jean hissed, keeping his voice low. The panic was starting to come back as he processed this new information. Any other day, he might’ve dismissed it as crazy man’s gibberish. But Marco sure didn’t look crazy, tired maybe, but not insane. And there was no denying that the thing that had attacked him hadn’t been a hallucination. The throbbing pain in his wrist was enough to prove that.

Monsters were real. The books Jean was researching may not have been fiction at all.

Marco smiled knowingly, as if he could see the gears turning in Jean’s head. “It doesn’t mean they’re false either.”

The cool certainty in his voice frustrated Jean beyond belief. He stared hard at the brunette sitting across from him, trying to learn something, anything, about him by just looking. Marco just stared back, infuriatingly unreadable. He was watching Jean too, trying to size him up as well. Jean only hoped he was as mysterious to Marco as Marco was to him. Something told him he wasn’t.

Without warning, Jean gave up, hanging his head in his hands. He scrubbed at his eyes. “This has to be a dream.”

“You’re right.” Jean glanced up. Marco was smiling again, something he appeared to do a lot. “This is a dream, Jean.” He pulled what looked like a lighter form his pocket and held it between them on the table. “And you’re going to wake up in three… two… one.” Marco snapped the lighter’s ignition.

And Jean opened his eyes, staring at a blank, white ceiling. He blinked, turning to the side, seeing a familiar room. His room. The blinds were blocking most of the light from entering the room, and everything looked calm and normal. Jean took a deep breath and let his eyes slip closed again. It really was just a dream then.

That had to have been the most vivid dream he’d had in years.

Jean had just gotten comfortable again when a soft knock sounded on his door.

“Jean? Are you up?” a cheerful voice asked, soft and gentle. That would be Connie’s girlfriend, Sasha. It had taken all of two mornings for the three of them to work out that Sasha had way more tact when it came to dealing with Jean in the mornings and should therefore be the one to make sure he was up when he needed to be. And it was safer for all of them that way. “It’s almost one in the afternoon.”

“Y-yeah, I’m up,” the young man replied. He pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes. The start of a headache was gathering in his temples, but he’d have to worry about that later. He stumbled out of bed to the door, pulling it open and squinting in the bright light of the hallway. “What?”

Sasha’s eyes went wide when she saw him. “Please tell me you actually slept last night,” she said in the tone of an exasperated mother. She actually sounded just like Jean’s own mother, looked like her too with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed into a thin line.

“Of course I slept,” Jean snapped back, even though he felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

“Then why are you still wearing your clothes from yesterday?” Sasha asked. Jean looked down. He hadn’t realized that he was still fully dressed in his sweater and jeans that he had in fact worn the day before.

“Huh. I must’ve just collapsed into bed without changing,” he muttered, staring back into his room, pushing his fingers through his hair.

“What’s on your arm?”

Forehead wrinkling, Jean looked at his offending arm. His heart skipped a beat. Long, red welts covered his forearm, stretching up his skin like fat, angry worms. The sight of them stopped Jean cold, the image of inky black fingers sinking into his skin flashing before his eyes.

All of the pieces from his dream the night before began to flood his brain. No, not dreams, memories. Going out to take a walk. Getting attacked by the shadow monster. The stranger saving him. Drinking coffee with the stranger and eating pie at three in the morning. Everything came back, clear as day. Everything except the name of that freckled stranger…

“Jean?”

Sasha’s voice snapped him back to reality. Jean blinked up at her, noting the worry in her eyes, and immediately felt like he was guilty on trial. He couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d think he was nuts. But how was he supposed to lie about this?

“I… I don’t remember,” Jean stammered. Sasha frowned. She didn’t believe him. Jean didn’t even believe himself. “I went out for a walk last night and… I don’t know. Maybe… maybe it’s an allergic reaction to something?”

Sasha reached forward and gently took Jean’s wrist in her hands. Jean tried his best not to wince as she carefully ran her fingers over the welts, examining them.

“We should take you to the hospital,” she suggested. “If it is an allergic reaction, then we need to have it checked out…”

“No…”

“And if it’s a burn or a bite of some sort, then it’s too serious for me to treat here,” Sasha finished as if he hadn’t spoken. “Go get changed. I’ll get Connie and we’ll all go together.” She gestured for Jean to do as she said before moving off down the hall, calling Connie’s name as she went. Jean groaned, turning back into his room and resisting the urge to slam his door. He didn’t have time to go to the hospital today. He had to write his outline and try to repress the memories of last night. Which would be increasingly difficult, he realized, as he worked through his notes on vampires and werewolves and ghosts… creatures that were supposedly real. Yay.

~

The hospital was relatively busy when Jean’s roommates dragged him in. The receptionist told them that they could squeeze him in if it was only a minor injury, (which Jean insisted it was,) and promised that they could at least see a nurse about it in a few minutes. That’s how the three of them found themselves in a small examination room ten minutes later, waiting for a medical professional to arrive.

“So you really don’t remember how it happened?” Sasha asked again, sitting in one of the extra chairs in the room. Jean, who’d been forced to sit on the examination table, shook his head.

“I really wish I did,” he said, lying through his teeth. Sasha and Connie exchanged a nervous glance. Jean looked down at the floor.

“Why did you take a walk at 2 a.m.?” Connie asked.

“I needed the air,” Jean answered, honestly this time. “I sat in my room for most of the day, and the outline was stressing me out and…” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jean, don’t beat yourself up about it,” Sasha said in reply. “It’s probably good that you went outside. I was starting to worry that you’d died in your room from a lack of sunlight. Which I guess you didn’t get last night, but still…”

“I guessed you’d turned into a vampire,” Connie volunteered with a cheeky smile, meant to make Jean laugh. But the comment only cause the fair-haired man’s chest to tighten uncomfortably, flashing back to his conversation at Marie’s. “You didn’t think Bram Stoker invented the vampire out of thin air, did you?”

“Jean? Are you okay?”

Hazel eyes snapped back into focus, finding both Sasha and Connie staring at him in concern.

“What?”

“You just got really pale,” Sasha explained. “Is it your arm?”

Jean looked down at his injury, nodding too fast. “Y-yeah. But I’m okay.”

Connie looked ready to say something when the door swung open.

“Hello folks, sorry for the wait,” a cheerful voice said as a nurse in blue scrubs waltzed into the room. Jean felt his heart rate increase at the sight of the familiar man. There was no mistaking that smile, and Jean couldn’t stop himself from gaping in astonishment.

“M-Marco?”

“Jean?!” the brunette asked, his face scrunching curiously. “What a coincidence. We run into each other in the super market and now here you are. Wow, small world.” Jean’s face wrinkled with confusion as the nurse turned a smile towards Connie and Sasha. “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Marco.”

“Connie, and this is my girlfriend Sasha,” Connie introduced himself, shaking Marco’s hand before Sasha did the same. “We’re Jean’s roommates.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re all here. Or, not glad, but it’s always nice to see smiling faces. What brings you in today?” Marco asked, moving to the sink to wash his hands before pulling on a pair of protective gloves.

“Jean did something to his arm. He thinks it’s an allergic reaction,” Sasha said, pointing to Jean’s wrist. The young man faltered a moment, still caught off guard by Marco’s strange introduction, before showing the nurse his arm, and Marco pretended to inspect it as if he hadn’t seen it before.

“What happened, Jean?” Marco asked, poking at one of the welts. Jean winced and Marco stopped poking.

“I don’t know,” Jean admitted nervously. “I just… went out for a walk last night and work up with it like this.”

Marco clicked his tongue. “Well, it could be an allergic reaction I guess. Do you remember encountering any animals?”

“No,” Jean shook his head, avoiding his roommates’ gaze. He hated lying to them but feared their reactions to the truth even more. Heck, he could still hardly believe the truth of it.

Marco hummed, his lips quirking to the side. “Well, it doesn’t really look like any sort of bite or scratch, so you should be okay when it comes to animals. I could run a blood test, to be safe, but it’s most likely that whatever caused this reaction is long gone at this point. It was most likely a contact reaction. Did you pass any strange plants or surfaces last night?”

Jean shook his head. “Not that I know of…”

Marco hummed again, staring directly into Jean’s eyes for a moment before Jean couldn’t handle the intensity of this gaze and looked away. “Maybe you stuck your hand in the oven by accident?”

“What?!” Jean sputtered.

Marco gave a short chuckle. “I’m kidding. It looks like a severe skin reaction to something. As I said, I could run some blood tests, but I think the swelling should go down if you just ice it and cover it was whatever you use to treat burns. Sometimes butter helps on these kinds of things too.”

“Butter?” Connie asked.

Marco shrugged. “That was one of my mom’s old tricks. Not something they teach us in medical school.” Connie nodded approvingly. “So I’ll just bandage Jean’s arm up real quick and then you three can be on your way. If you want, you two can head out now and Jean and I will join you in a moment.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Sasha nodded, standing from her chair. She extended her hand. “Thank you so much for this.”

Marco accepted the handshake. “It was my pleasure.”

With that, Connie and Sasha disappeared into the hallway, leaving Jean alone with his hero.

“So you don’t remember last night?” Marco asked as soon as the door clicked shut. He was still smiling, but his eyes had gone dark with the seriousness Jean remembered from their conversation.

“I remember all of it, but how was I supposed to explain that to them?” Jean said quickly, gesturing to the door. “They’d think I was going crazy.”

“Maybe you are,” Marco suggested with a impish grin.

“Shut up,” Jean snapped half-heartedly. “I don’t need that from you, you’re the reason I’m in this mess anyway.” Marco frowned, but Jean cut off whatever he was about to say. “What did you do to me last night anyway?”

“Just a simple magic trick is all,” Marco replied, shrugging casually. “And a magician never reveals his secrets.”

“What?”

“It was just a little spell so you’d think it was all a dream. I forgot to treat your hand, though, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Spell?!” Jean exclaimed.

Marco flushed. “Yeah. I promise I’m not magic, but I really can’t tell you much more than that.” Jean stared at him, mouth hanging open. Marco licked his lip nervously. “Cross my heart, that’s the weirdest trick I have up my sleeve.”

Jean took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “Okay,” he said, collecting himself. “Why didn’t you just erase it all from my memory?”

“Because I’m bad at using memory spells and didn’t want to screw up and cause you to forget all your dissertation research,” Marco admitted. “Speaking of, we better get you discharged and home so you can work on that outline.”

“How did…?”

“I took you home last night, Jean. I saw the bulletin board.”

“Oh.” Of course Marco had been in his room. Jean found himself hoping that it had been clean enough for a visitor. He knew in his heart that it wasn’t and he hoped Marco wasn’t judging him for it right now. Then Jean mentally smacked himself for thinking that Marco cared at all about his room. This guy fought monsters in his spare time, it wasn’t like he had time to think about someone like Jean whom he’d saved from a monster and then bought a cup of coffee and then carried home…

Suddenly, Jean felt very confused and conflicted, and he really just wanted to curl up on the floor and sleep for years and maybe cry.

“Jean?” Marco’s concerned voice broke through his thoughts. “Everything okay?”

“There’s just so much,” Jean said, hating how much it sounded like whine. Marco frowned in sympathy and Jean only slightly hated him for it.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” the nurse said, moving closer and placing a warm, reassuring hand on Jean’s shoulder. “A paranormal encounter in itself is enough to scare you stiff. But then to bear the knowledge of the paranormal world beyond that encounter is just… overwhelming to say the least. But you’re not alone in this, Jean. You know where to find me if you ever want to talk.”

The nurse reached behind him towards the counter and grabbed a roll of bandages. “Also, your arm should be better within 24 hours. Just go home and rub a little butter on it, and the redness and swelling should disappear. I know that sounds crazy, but butter is a natural salve for phantom stings. I can’t tell you why, but I know it works. I’ll still wrap your arm up now, though, for appearances sake.” Jean watched the brunette carefully wrap the bandages around his forearm, the Walker’s marks hidden beneath the gauze. He let Marco’s words sink in. But the more he thought about it, the more questions he had, and the more questions he had, the more frustrated he became.

Jean groaned. “I feel like this is the start to one of those cheesy, gag-me-with-a-spoon variety of young adult fantasy series,” he grumbled as Marco secured the end of the bandage to his arm.

“Oh, please, Jean. You’re going for a PhD in English. You know we’re both way too old to be the protagonists of any young adult series,” Marco quipped back as he moved to the sink to wash his hands. “The cap on that is seventeen at the most, and we’re both at least eight years older than that…”

“Doesn’t mean that isn’t how this feels,” Jean griped, standing up from the table and massaging his wrist.

Marco smiled at him over his shoulder. “Can’t argue with you there.”

~

And thus began the strangest month of Jean Kirschtein’s life.

It started with him successfully finishing his outline and not hating it. That was probably one of the strangest things he’d ever experienced, actually liking a paper he’d submitted, even though it was just an outline. But that set the bar pretty low for the rest of the month’s happenings.

The night after he’d submitted his outline, Jean thought he saw glowing green eyes watching him from the alley across the street. He chalked it up to a reflection from a streetlight.

That Thursday, one of his fellow doctoral students came in with a rather large Band-Aid on his neck. The rumor mill said it was a really bad hickey. But Jean happened to run into him in the bathroom, changing the bandage out, and saw that it was no normal bruise underneath. Instead, it was two puncture wounds. The guy caught Jean staring and simply smiled.

“Rough night,” he said. Jean nodded and proceeded to walk right out of the bathroom, trying to dispel both the image and the knowledge that came with it from his mind.

He ran into Marco at a coffee shop the next day, and ended up spending his time talking to the nurse instead of working on his paper. He told him about the eyes and the vampire’s boyfriend. Marco, in turn, told him a little more about the world unseen. Jean asked how he knew all of this. Marco simply told him again that a magician can never reveal his secrets.

Two nights later, Jean stayed at the library late to work on his dissertation, and at 1 am, thought he saw a woman walk through a bookcase. He watched her walk through three more after that and decided it was time to go home.

The following Monday, he found a trail of sparkling dust on the porch of the apartment. That night, Jean heard something slam against his window. He pulled open the blinds to investigate, and came face to face with what could only be described as a fairy: a tiny human looking thing, glowing blue and shedding glitter from two large butterfly wings. The fairy gave a yelp at the sight of Jean and disappeared into the night. Well, that explained the dust on the porch.

He saw more glowing eyes throughout the week as he walked home late at night from the library. He jumped every time he thought he saw something move, and ran home more times than he was proud of at the sight of shadows moving. He never did find out if those shadows were actually Walkers or just harmless shadows. He didn’t care to go back and investigate.

That Friday was the start of the full moon, and although he doubted it, Jean kept on the look out for werewolves at night. But his search proved fruitless. No werewolf found it necessary to pass right by his window or lurk anywhere on his walk home.

His search for a werewolf was rewarded, however, by the return of the fairy. The apartment’s radiators were uncontrollable and made the apartment unbearably hot. Jean had his window thrown open to get some fresh air, and the little blue sprite came dashing in through a hole in the screen. It was apparent that her visit was an accident, as it was characterized by a lot of crashing and tiny apologies, her voice sounding like little bells with each tearful “I’m so sorry!” as she continued to bounce around the room like a pinball. Jean assured her that it was okay after the initial panic subsided. He finally caught her between his hands, ending her flight. The fairy thanked him, and apologized for peeping in his window so often. Jean told her it was okay, and helped her out through the window, telling her that she was welcome back if she promised to learn how to use the brakes. He turned back to a room absolutely covered in glitter, and still hadn’t been able to clean it all out.

The following Tuesday, Jean went to the library to write. He ended up researching paranormal activity instead after spotting the lady walking through the bookshelf for the third time, (the second came during his werewolf spotting nights.) That was how he ran into Marco again.

“What’re you looking at?”

Jean jumped, a frightened squeak escaping his throat, earning him a stern ‘shhh’ from the librarian nearby. He whirled around and glared at the grinning brunette behind him. He almost didn’t recognize him at first, as it was the first time he was seeing Marco in clothes other than scrubs, but those dimples and freckles were unmistakable.

“For your paper?” Marco asked, cocking his head to the side innocently as his eyes roved over the screen, which was currently devoted to a website on vampire mating patterns.

Jean hesitated. “Yeah, for my paper.”

“Liar.”

Jean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see things everywhere, Marco.”

“Like what?” the brunette asked, taking a seat at the computer next to him, sitting to the side of the chair so that he could face Jean.

“I see eyes and shadows following me everywhere…”

“Well that could be stress from the Walker attack, or just your imagination having its way with you after reading all this creepy stuff all day,” Marco reasoned.

Jean leveled him a glare. “I saw a guy who’d recently let a vampire suck his blood.”

“Or he and his significant other just like to have a very specific kind of fun,” Marco pointed out. Jean visibly cringed. The brunette shrugged. “Just saying. There are some strange people out there. Besides, you already told me about him. You haven’t seen another vampire hickey have you?”

“Okay, first, never say that again…”

“What? Vampire hickey?”

“Stop that,” Jean hissed, earning him a cheeky grin from his companion. “And second, I haven’t seen another one. But I did have a lovely meeting with a fairy who absolutely trashed my room with glitter.”

Marco stifled a laugh. “Oh no, really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed as Marco continued to fight back giggles. “It’s not funny, Marco! My room is still a shimmering mess and I’ve been sneezing fairy dust for a week!”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s not funny but…” Marco choked on a suppressed laugh. “A fairy attack? Really, Jean?” As the brunette continued to laugh, Jean smacked his shoulder.

“Stop laughing,” he said in a hushed rebuke. “Why am I seeing all of these things?”

“Because you took something from a Walker.” Jean glanced up curiously as Marco’s laughing ceased. Although the brunette was still smiling, a steely seriousness had taken over his eyes. “You took something that belonged to a paranormal being, so now you have the ability to see the paranormal beings.”

“So they’ve always been there?” Jean asked incredulously.

“Um-hm.”

“They’re just invisible?”

“To most people, yes,” Marco said with a nod. “Paranormal beings can choose if they want to be seen by someone without the sight, and once they’ve chosen you, you can see them forever. Otherwise, you can only obtain the sight through your bloodline or by taking something that belongs to a paranormal being.”

“And if I give the thing I stole back?” Jean questioned.

“You’ll still see them.”

Jean deflated. “Why?”

“Paranormal sight is a gift you can’t return,” Marco replied with a small laugh.

“Some gift,” Jean scoffed, slumping back in his chair.

“It really is, though,” Marco insisted. “Maybe one day you can join the team.”

Jean narrowed his eyes. “Team?” he asked.

“Yeah, team,” Marco repeated, nodding as if it were obvious. “I can’t just fight off Walkers because I’m naturally a badass. I’ve been trained by a teacher, and continue to improve my skills by working with a team. Really Jean? You think I could be a nurse and a ghost hunter all by myself?” Jean shrugged.

“Is that what you are then? A ghost hunter?” he asked, arching one eyebrow skeptically.

“Hm…” Marco’s lips quirked to the side as he chose his next words carefully. “My specialty is ghosts, but that doesn’t really encompass all that I do. And ‘hunter’ isn’t the right term either. I’m more of a… paranormal specialist,” he answered, nodding approvingly at his word choice.

“Sounds fun,” Jean commented dryly.

“Oh, you should see us play Monopoly,” Marco said in reply. Jean spared him a laugh. “Well, I should let you get back to your paper…”

“Wait,” Jean said, his mouth moving before his brain could catch up. Marco paused, one eyebrow arching up, prompting Jean to go on. “When can I see you again?”

Marco blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question, and Jean felt his face catch fire. But his humiliation dissolved when Marco’s smile returned full force. “Stop by the hospital sometime,” Marco joked. “Better yet, get yourself admitted, and then we’ll have all the time in the world to talk.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jean replied, rolling his eyes. “How about something more realistic? Like coffee next Friday?”

“Are you sure you want to ask a paranormal specialist out for coffee?” Marco questioned wryly.

“Well, you could be a great primary source for my dissertation,” Jean pointed out. “And we’ve already had two not-dates at coffee shops before this, so I think it’s time we finally make one a date.”

Marco’s smile faltered for a moment, from reluctance or disbelief, Jean wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both. But he knew he’d won when Marco heaved a sigh. “I work on Friday. How about coffee on Saturday?”

Jean nodded. “It’s a date.”

Marco smiled. “It’s a date.”

~

Jean wasn’t sure how Connie and Sasha always convinced him to join them for karaoke night down at the Underground, but somehow they always did. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Jean really did enjoy the atmosphere in the bar. Here he was, surrounded by good friends, good music, and good drinks. The only thing that could have made it better was if karaoke wasn’t involved. And maybe a date too, but that was something Jean refused to bring up around two of the happiest couples he knew.

He clapped loudly as Connie and Franz finished their rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now and took a sweeping bow. He had yet to be pushed onto the stage to sing, and was perfectly fine with that. His friends were enjoying themselves, and he loved watching them have fun. But he knew his bliss wasn’t going to last as Connie and Franz returned to the table, and Hannah turned her attention towards Jean.

“The girl at table five’s been eyeing you up all evening,” the red head said, nodding almost imperceptibly towards the woman in question. Jean shifted his eyes to see what she meant. Sure enough, a young woman was sitting at table five, staring over her date’s shoulder at Jean. She had shoulder length, softly curled hair that looked jet black and pale skin that appeared nearly translucent under the dance floor’s multicolored lights. Her top was black and covered in sequins, glittering in the lights. Her red lips curled into a smile when their eyes met.

Of course Hannah had to wait until it was four against one to convince Jean to try to get a date. It would’ve been bad enough if it was just Sasha and Hannah, but now that Franz and Connie were in the mix, (and all four of them had now seen the girl in question,) Jean knew he was in for a long night.

“Look at her,” Connie said, clearly impressed. “She’s got great fashion sense.”

“And you seem to be ignoring the fact that she’s gorgeous,” Hannah pointed out, flicking Connie’s head.

The shorter man shrugged. “What can I say? I’m weak for sequins.”

“He’s not lying,” Sasha added.

“Beside the point. Jean, are you gonna make a move?” Franz asked, nudging Jean’s shoulder overdramatically.

“I don’t know…”

“Yeah, he can’t cheat on the cute nurse,” Sasha pointed out. Jean gave her a sharp look as the others at the table oooed softly. “What, you want to tell me you’re not interested in him? He’s all you ever talk about.”

“I do not,” Jean defended quickly.

Sasha gave him a look before launching into what she must’ve thought was a spot-on impression of him: “I ran into Marco at the library today. I saw Marco at the coffee shop today. I ran into Marco at the grocery store, he was buying apples, did you know he prefers green apples over red? Marco and I ran into each other at the coffee shop again but he couldn’t stay and talk this time because of work. Marco’s an angel descended from heaven to judge all of us. Marco’s the best. Blah, blah, blah.”

Jean’s heart began to hammer in his chest at the thought of Marco, or maybe because he was getting called out for talking about Marco a lot, or maybe even because of the reality that he really did talk about Marco a lot. And he only talked about him all the time because he was on his mind all the time. And he was only now starting to realize what that meant. And that was something he was not prepared to think about two drinks in while out with friends. “I do not…”

“You totally do,” Connie interjected, earning him a sharp glare from Jean. The young man just shrugged. “You act like he’s Superman or something, but you don’t even have his number.”

“You don’t have his number?” Hannah exclaimed, leaning across the table.

“N-no,” Jean stammered, sinking back into his seat. “There’s just… never been a good time…”

“Never in the fifty times you’ve seen him?”

“It’s only been five times,” Jean argued. Sasha grinned. Jean cursed.

“Why don’t you go practice your flirting on that girl over there?” Franz suggested. “Just keep it casual, nothing meant. Maybe you’ll figure out a smooth way to ask for a number.”

“No, I’m not doing that.”

“It’s not like you’re being dishonest about it, and she’s clearly here with someone else too,” Hannah pointed out. “Come on, Jean! It’ll be fun! You know how much fun it is to flirt with people.”

Jean sighed, looking around the table for some sort of help. He found none. He knew he was cornered, especially because he usually enjoyed these kinds of challenges. Harmless flirting was fun, and one of the things he considered himself a master at. But knowing that he had a real potential relationship on the line… something felt different. Yet he couldn’t get out of the dare now. Heaving another overdramatic sigh, he stood from the table.

“I’ll go get the next round of drinks, and if she follows me up there, I’ll try my hand at flirting,” he said as if he were being forced to do a chore he hated.

“And if you succeed at getting her number, you have to promise to get Marco’s next time you see him,” Sasha added.

Jean rolled his eyes, hoping they couldn’t see him blush under the dance lights. “Fine. Deal. I hate you all.”

He walked away to confident cheers. Jean shook his head, heart pounding in his chest as he weaved his way from the dance floor to the bar. The group loved this game, setting the single person on a mission to flirt with a stranger. They’d done it to Mina last month, and Thomas the month before. Sadly, neither of them could make it tonight to help Jean out from the pressure of the game, and they probably wouldn’t have been much help with the promise of a real guy on the line. Still, Jean had to admit he was nervous to try to flirt with this girl. It felt like cheating somehow, even though he certainly wasn’t dating the cute nurse from St. Rose’s.

He’d been standing by the bar for less than a minute when he heard her voice.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Jean’s lips easily melted into a casual smile as he turned around, meeting the gaze of the woman from table five. Show time.

“Hi,” he greeted casually. “I was hoping you’d follow me here. If not, I was going to come up with an excuse to come visit you.”

“Then consider yourself outmaneuvered,” the woman said, her blue eyes glittering in the bar’s lights. It looked like her irises were made of crystal. Jean had never seen such alluring eyes before. He gestured for her to join him at the bar, which she gladly accepted.

“My name’s Jean,” the young man greeted, extending a hand.

The woman accepted his hand. “Mirela.”

“Well that’s not a name you hear everyday. It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, it’s Romanian,” the woman said. “And your name’s not all that common either. Is it…French?”

Jean nodded. “Indeed it is. It’s a family name.” Mirela smiled, settling in against the bar. “So tell me about yourself. Who are you here with?”

“My cousin and her friends,” the woman answered, tracing a water line left behind on the bar from someone’s drink. Jean watched her finger, entranced by her nail, glittering gold under the lights. “She’s trying to set me up with this guy, Brad. He’s okay, but he’s… just so negative.”

“Mmm, pessimists are just the worst aren’t they?” Jean said, shaking his head. “Almost makes me wish I wasn’t one.”

“Me too.” Mirela smiled up at him, her red lips looking smooth as butter. She really was beautiful, Jean had to give her that. “Keep going. Give me some fast facts. Occupation? Favorite food? Blood type? High school mascot?”

“Well, that’s an odd array of get to know you questions,” Jean laughed, hands finding his hips.

Mirela shrugged. “I like to keep it interesting.”

Jean shook his head. “I’m a doctoral student, I love omelets, I’m O positive, and my high school mascot was an eagle. Your turn.”

“Let’s see,” Mirela sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling as she gathered her answers. “I’m a dental assistant, I’m partial to strawberries, I’m A negative, and our mascot was a bear.”

“Fierce,” Jean commented with a nod of satisfaction. Mirela giggled, pinching his cheek humorously. Jean batted her hand away, but held on tight to it after she let go of his face.

But something wasn’t quite right. Her fingers were too cold in his. Something about the lack of warmth raised an alarm in Jean’s brain, whether guilt because of Marco or something darker he didn’t want to acknowledge he couldn’t tell. All Jean knew was that he wanted to get away now.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but you’re not exactly what I’m looking for romantically,” Jean said, oozing on the charm in his smile as he started to push down on the brakes of this endeavor. He dropped her hand and Mirela stared after it as if it didn’t belong to her. “Though it has been so nice chatting with you. It’s rare to meet someone who asks interesting questions.”

Mirela pouted at him, her piercing blue eyes flashing in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?” She inched closer to him, and Jean felt unable to move away without seeming incredibly rude.

“I um…” He shoved his hands in his pockets to get them out of the way. “I’m actually already kind of sort of seeing someone, and my friends put me up to trying my hand at flirting with you before my date with him. I’m sorry for leading you on.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Mirela sighed, still pouting her lips. “What I came over here to ask you would have been much less awkward if you were in love with me.” Jean paused, eyebrows furrowing as the woman’s lips curled into a coy smile. “What I want from you, albeit just as intimate as sex, is a little more… vital.” She traced her finger down the side of his neck, her nail dragging against his skin. A shiver ran down Jean’s spine. “If you know what I mean.” Her hand paused on his chest, cold as stone.

“W-what…?” Jean stammered. His heart was starting to pound against his ribcage, and the hairs on the back of his neck refused to stand down.

Mirela ran her tongue over her teeth, her right canine sharpening into a pointed fang right before his eyes. Jean’s eyes widened, his heartbeat racing through the roof.

“I promise it doesn’t hurt,” she said as if offering him a date. Jean blinked, the words stolen from his tongue. A vampire was flirting with him. His friends had convinced him to flirt with a vampire. He was standing at a bar with a vampire who was touching his chest and asking him to let her drink his blood. A vampire. A real vampire.

What the hell?

Mirela giggled, coy and sultry as can be as she raised her eyes to meet Jean’s. “Your heart’s beating so fast.” She raised herself up on her toes so that her lips just brushed his ear. “You have no idea how hot that is.” Jean shivered as her voice played like music in his ear. Her hand was still pressed to his chest like a weight, holding him down and keeping him from running away.

Jean glanced around. No one was watching them. His friends had all turned back to the stage where Hannah and Franz were up next for karaoke. No one would think anything of him leaving on the arm of this woman. No one would know that this wasn’t a woman at all but an ancient monster looking for her next meal. Which meant that no one would find his body when the inevitable happened.

“I… I really can’t…” Jean stammered, doing his best to avoid her eyes.

“Come on, I promise I won’t drain you. You’re too pretty to drain,” the vampire purred, running her hands down from Jean’s neck to his chest, sending shivers down the young man’s spine. “Just a little taste, that’s all. And O positive is so rare, and so sweet, I don’t think I can let you leave without a bite…”

Jean’s gaze returned to the woman’s piercing blue eyes, watching him with the focus of a predator. And in that moment, Jean only had one idea. And it wasn’t a great one. But it was the only way out that he could think of, and he had to take it.

Without a word, Jean reached for the bowl of peanuts on the bar and popped one into his mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. As soon as the peanut was down, Jean felt his throat begin to tighten. He stepped away from Mirela, grasping at his throat, giving an over exaggerated gasp and falling to his knees. He heard the vampire calling his name, felt her cold fingers on his back as his chest tightened and he coughed to try to get more air into his lungs. He heard other voices now, calling out in alarm. People began to gather, and Mirela’s cold hands disappeared.

He didn’t know if it would keep the vampire away, but he knew that he at least had the attention of the whole bar now. And they wouldn’t let anyone take him away unless they were a certified medical professional.

Jean wanted to spare a wink for his vampire, catch a glimpse of the frustration on her face. But he hardly had time to think of that as he desperately gasped for air, the edges of his vision blurring dizzily until it seemed like he was looking through drinking straws. Maybe this had been a stupid idea. Scratch that, it was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. But if Jean was going to die, he was going to go on his own terms. And he’d take choking to death over being someone’s dinner any day.

~

Jean woke up to the sound of a robotic, measured beeping. Peeling his eyes open, the young man saw an unfamiliar white ceiling. He blinked, turning his head towards the source of the noise. A heart-rate monitor sat to his left, and upon further inspection, Jean discovered that the machine was monitoring him. Two tubes had been hooked up to his arm, one for the heart monitor and the other connecting to a bag of clear fluid that had to be some kind of medicine for… whatever he was in the hospital for. This was a hospital. He was in the hospital.

Jean blinked again, licking his lips and moving his head to the other side. He was met with the sight of a handsome yet tired-looking nurse in green scrubs clutching his clipboard so hard his knuckles had gone white.

The ghost of a smile peaked on the brunette’s lips as their eyes met. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Marco greeted, his voice soft and quiet, as if Jean were a child.

“Did I die?” Jean rasped, his voice coming out just above a whisper.

“Almost,” Marco replied with a half-hearted chuckle. Jean’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to recall the memories of the night before. “You accidentally ingested peanuts at the Underground last night and went into anaphylactic shock. The bartender called 911, and they wheeled you in around 1 a.m. Your throat was so swollen, I don’t think a needle could’ve gotten through there.”

The memories of the night before suddenly coalesced in front of Jean’s eyes. Karaoke with Connie and Sasha. The dare. The vampire woman, and… his “genius” escape plan.

“Not an accident,” Jean groaned to himself, processing the memories. He squeezed his temples, careful not to upset the tubes in his arm.

“What?” Marco asked, his dark eyebrows wrinkling together curiously.

Jean shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t an accident.”

The relieved sparkle in Marco’s eyes faded into a scolding glare in a moment. “It wasn’t an accident?”

Jean shook his head again. “No, I ate the peanut on purpose.”

“Jean.” It was Marco’s turn to squeeze his temples, nearly dropping his clipboard as he took a deep breath through his nose. His eyes remained closed as he asked: “Please tell me you didn’t force yourself to have an allergic reaction to see me.”

“What the hell, Marco? No! No. I swear to God, no!” Jean exclaimed, sitting up suddenly to confront his accusation. Marco opened his eyes to address him. “That was a joke. A joke you made. I would never stage an injury just because I wanted to see you. And if I ever did, I would stage a much less painful one. I wouldn’t trigger anaphylaxis for you. You’re not that cute.” His outburst ripped at his throat, and Jean coughed, grabbing for his neck. Marco handed him a cup of water from the table, and Jean swallowed slowly as he eased himself back against his pillow.

Marco shook his head as he addressed his clipboard again, all the anger seeming to flush out of him in the embarrassed blush blooming beneath his freckles. “Glad to know I’m not worth dying for.” He glanced up at the machines, made a few notes, and finally rested his gaze back on Jean. “So, if not for me, then why’d you do it?”

Jean bit his lip. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“I highly doubt that,” Marco replied, his expression flat. Jean nodded, remembering whom exactly he was talking to.

“A vampire was trying to seduce me, so I ate a peanut to get away from her,” Jean explained, feeling his face turn red. “I just… no one was watching us and it probably didn’t look all that suspicious anyway. I didn’t even know she was a vampire until it was too late and I panicked and… I knew that a 911 call would get me out with the attention necessary to get her out of the picture.”

“Wow. That was… incredibly stupid,” Marco said with a dry laugh. “You could’ve died.”

“I know. I knew it was stupid as I was doing it but I just… panicked,” Jean admitted guiltily, fidgeting uncomfortably under Marco’s gaze. He didn’t like that look of disappointment in those brown eyes.

“I never pegged you for an idiot, Mr. Doctoral Student,” the brunette said shortly. Jean looked him in the eye again, not sure if Marco was joking or not. And his expression gave little away. All Jean could tell was that Marco was exhausted, and he instantly felt that he was responsible for it.

“I’m book smart, but an idiot in every other area apparently,” Jean said in reply.

“Fair enough.” Marco scanned the machines hooked up to Jean’s arm again. “The good news is that your gamble worked. The vampire’s gone and they got you here just in time. Your signs are looking good, and we should have you up and out by tomorrow morning. Just in time for a date.”

The monitor next to Jean gave an erratic beep, higher than the rest. Marco jumped, staring intently at the monitor as Jean stared in amazement at the brunette. “O-our date?” he asked.

“No, my date with another guy I saved from a Walker,” Marco said sarcastically. “Of course our date!” He smiled, the first real smile since Jean had woken up. “I’ve been looking forward to it since our last one in Marie’s a month ago.”

Jean was smiling before he could stop himself. “Then why haven’t you ever asked for my number?”

Marco shrugged. “Honestly? I thought you were just talking to me out of a hero complex. I didn’t know you were interested until the library and I kind of panicked about getting your number. I had a feeling we’d… meet again before Saturday somehow. I’ve had a feeling before each time we’ve met.”

Jean cocked his head to the side against his pillow. “What kind of feeling?” he asked.

“Just… an odd feeling,” Marco said, falling gracefully into the chair next to Jean’s bed. “A feeling that something big was about to happen.”

“Is that how you found me that night?” Jean asked. Marco nodded. “And every time since?” Another nod. “Wow. Talk about star-crossed lovers.”

Marco gave him a small chuckle. “This is our cheesy, young adult fantasy series, isn’t it?” He pushed himself up from the chair with a pained groan, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’m sorry to cut things short, but I can feel myself falling asleep and it’s against company policy to sleep in the hospital rooms. So I’m gonna head home, sleep for a couple of hours, then meet you back here to pick you up for our date around noon, okay? If you’re not feeling up to it then, we can reschedule for Sunday.”

Jean smiled. “It’s a deal. Be safe walking home.”

“I will,” Marco promised with a gentle smile, moving towards the door.

“Don’t let the monsters bite,” Jean called after him, earning him a musical laugh from the brunette.

“Don’t worry. They know better than to bite me.”

“And why is that?” Jean asked.

Marco smiled at him over his shoulder. “You should know by now, Jean. A magician never reveals his secrets.” The man in the bed shook his head. “You should also check out the bottom of that cup before you completely rip it to shreds.”

Jean’s forehead wrinkled as he looked down at his paper cup, which he had been tearing apart to keep his hands busy. As Marco disappeared through the doorway, he turned the cup over. A phone number was written on it in black pen with a smiley face drawn next to it. The smiley had freckles.

And thus began the greatest adventure of Jean Kirschtein’s life.