Based on the unhinged nonsense Oxford University has been posting for April Fool's Day I'm now convinced that Matthew de Clermont would be the only one refusing to participate while he develops a stress headache over the utter ridiculousness he has to put up with, including but not limited to:
-An ad for a class taught by Dr. Foola Day designed to teach you how to defend yourself from dark magic responsible for the impulse to doom scroll
-Bilbo Baggins' hobbit hole spawning on the grounds of Exeter College
-A professor explaining the correct way to eat a KitKat bar
-The Bodleian Libraries offering to download knowledge directly into your brain if you no longer have time to read anymore
-A shark falling out of the sky and crashing into the roof of Keble College
Marcus probably calls him up at one point claiming they found genetic evidence of the existence of werewolves and at that point he just loses it and refuses to talk to anyone for the rest of the day 😭
Matthew Clairmont had lived for centuries. He had survived wars, tracked bloodlines across continents, hunted monsters that walked in human skin — some of them wearing faces kinder than his own. And in all that time, he had prided himself on his discipline. His restraint.
But tonight, as he walked the dark streets of Oxford alone, he felt nothing like himself.
Your voice still echoed in his mind. That strange, light laugh. The flick of your sarcasm. The way you met his stare without flinching — not because you were fearless, but because you were… curious.
Most people looked at him and saw danger. You looked at him like he was a particularly complicated painting — one you hadn’t decided whether you liked yet.
And then there was the other thing.
The power.
It had been faint, barely a whisper — the softest brush of something just beneath your skin. Most vampires wouldn’t have sensed it at all. But he had. Because his instincts weren’t just tuned to danger.
They were tuned to magic.
And yours had stirred the moment you touched him.
She has no power, Diana had said once, almost carelessly. Matthew believed her at the time. Diana wasn’t prone to being wrong — especially not about her family. But now he wasn’t so sure.
Because the flicker he’d felt… it wasn’t imagined.
It was ancient.
Hidden.
Bound.
He turned the corner toward All Souls, boots silent against the stone. The gates loomed ahead, wrought iron twisted like old vines. For once, he didn’t go inside.
Instead, he stopped beneath the archway and leaned against the cold wall, tipping his head back to stare at the night sky.
The stars were dim here. Too much light pollution. Too much noise.
And still, all he could think about was you.
How he’d almost smiled — genuinely smiled — at something you said.
How he’d asked you to dinner without meaning to.
How your magic had recognized him in some way that defied explanation.
His hands curled slowly into fists at his sides.
A mate.
The word whispered like a breath in his mind.
He hadn’t dared to think it in centuries. It was the sort of legend even vampires spoke of carefully — something too rare, too dangerous. A mate wasn’t just a partner. A mate was a pull. A mirror. A tether.
To bond with a mate meant surrender. And Matthew… did not surrender.
And yet…
He had offered to walk you home.
He had watched your every movement like his body needed to.
He had asked you out.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He could still smell you. Not your perfume — something underneath. Ozone and paint. Magic and heartbeat.
He told himself the strange tension in his chest would ease by the time he reached All Souls. That the silence of the tower, the dusty air of his personal archives, or the scent of aged parchment would settle the storm building inside him.
But he didn’t go to the tower.
Instead, he turned west.
By the time he reached the house Marcus was renting just outside of town, the sky had darkened and the wind had picked up. Leaves skittered along the pavement like whispers. He could hear the low thrum of music playing inside — something with a bass line too loud and lyrics too fast — and the flicker of television light flashing across the curtains.
He knocked once, sharply.
It took Marcus exactly three seconds to fling the door open, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair damp like he’d just showered. He was holding a bowl of popcorn and a video game controller. The scent of werewolf blood and microwave pizza was thick in the air.
“Wow,” Marcus said, blinking. “You look like a man who just realized emotions exist.”
Matthew stepped past him into the living room. “We need to talk.”
Marcus raised both eyebrows, closed the door, and flopped back onto the couch. “I’m listening, dad.”
Matthew ignored the tone. “It’s about Diana’s sister.”
That got his attention.
“Oh, her,” Marcus said, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “The one with the tattoos and the paint under her nails. You finally met her, huh?”
Matthew didn’t answer.
Which was all the answer Marcus needed.
He sat up a little straighter. “Wait. Wait. Are you—no. No way. You’ve got that face.”
“What face?” Matthew snapped, pacing.
“That face where you’re trying not to feel feelings and failing spectacularly. Holy shit.” Marcus grinned. “You’ve got a crush.”
“It’s not a crush,” Matthew said darkly.
Marcus leaned forward like a gossiping teen. “Oh my God, is it worse? Are you—don’t say it. Don’t say the word.”
Matthew stopped pacing.
“I felt her magic.”
Marcus blinked. “Wait, what? Diana said she doesn’t have any.”
“She’s wrong,” Matthew said, voice quiet now, almost reverent. “It’s there. It’s buried, but it’s there. And when she touched me…”
He trailed off.
Marcus stared.
“No. No, Matthew. You are not telling me you’ve finally found your—your forever girl—and she’s been living a powerless life painting self-portraits and drinking flat whites?”
Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”
“I love this for you,” Marcus said with a grin. “Like, genuinely. You’ve been brooding for three centuries, and now you meet this sarcastic little art goblin and suddenly you’re asking her to dinner? You hate dinner.”
“I don’t hate dinner,” Matthew muttered.
“You hate social interaction.” Marcus tossed another piece of popcorn into the air. “Okay, so what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know.” Matthew sat down for the first time, his hands still tense. “She doesn’t know about her magic. Diana doesn’t either. It was locked somehow — sealed before it could even surface. That kind of suppression leaves scars.”
“Can you break it?”
“I don’t want to,” Matthew said. “Not yet. It’s not my place.”
Marcus gave him a sidelong look. “But you think the bond is real.”
Matthew didn’t answer for a long time.
Then, softly, like it tasted strange in his mouth, “Yes.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Marcus nudged the bowl toward him. “Popcorn?”
Matthew glared.
Marcus shrugged. “Hey, you’re gonna need fuel for the emotional crisis coming your way when she finds out you’re basically her supernatural soulmate.”
Matthew stood. “I need air.”
As he moved toward the door, Marcus called out, “You’re gonna fall so hard, man. Just wait until she starts drawing you without realizing it. You’re doomed.”
Matthew paused at the threshold, one hand on the frame.
“She’s kind,” he said, voice low. “Funny. Bright.”
Marcus tilted his head.
“She makes me forget I’m supposed to be careful,” Matthew added.
Then he was gone, the door swinging closed behind him like a heartbeat.
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