surprise, surprise
feyxmitsuki:
suki doesn’t let out a breath at the boy’s answer, she has far too much practice at holding reactions like that back, but she’s relieved regardless. the man was a good asset and she would have been disappointed in him, disappointed and angry that he turned out like every other man she’s had the pleasure of ending. he’d always been decent to her, asked her if she was doing okay and checking in on her during days when the rain was so bad it was up to her ankles, past her designer pumps. he was sweet and honestly she’d be a bit hurt if it had come down to it.
the boy in front of her, whose name she has yet to catch, looks anxious and she can’t tell if it’s the thirst or her presence, perhaps a bit of both. she’d think his incomplete way of talking cute if she weren’t concerned he was gonna lose it to his hunger.
there are less students outside, the chill seeping down into sweaters and jackets preventing anyone from loitering about. she’s familiar enough with the campus to know some less-known spots so she leads him off down the side of another campus building.
there’s no other way to solve the kid’s problem so suki reaches into the purse at her side as they come to a stop. “here,” she says simply, holding out a tightly sealed cranberry juice bottle. she doesn’t always carry spare blood around, not wanting to chance spillage in her purses, but she wasn’t sure if kangho would still be in his office today so it was a precaution to disappointment. “it’ll help a bit, at least until you get home– I assume you have an arrangement at home?”
she surveys the surrounding building after handing off the bottle, keeping a loot out for wandering eyes, but there’s nothing to see for now. “I am not a professor here,” she starts, pauses and considers her words. “I’m not his wife either, but you don’t have to worry about him disappearing. We have something of an agreement.” a moment passes and suki looks back over. “are you doing any better?”
he follows her outside, in spite of his better judgment, and in spite of his instinctive reluctance to greet the outdoors; he is always wary of leaving buildings after his classes, especially as winter peaks and then dwindles, always leaving the chance for sunlight to still be lingering between the clouds, threatening the ironically paper skin of an immortal.
she seems kind, but she is still a stranger, and he has already learned by now that the more centuries a stranger has lived through, the less humanity they have taken with them along the way.
the fresh, crisp air is a welcome reprieve from the circulated air of the university’s hallways. there are less warm bodies out here, and the space is not enclosed. he breathes freely, takes a deep, heady breath of winter air in through his nose, lets it out through his mouth in a modest puff of undead air. he smells the pavement, the bricks of the buildings nearby, the remnants of the sun on manicured patches of grass, the lingering threat of falling moisture in the air. there is still the faint seasoning of human, of blood and beating heart, but it is not nearly as overwhelming, as intoxicating, as it was indoors.
he doesn’t eye the bottle warily long enough, nearly dropping his textbook in his eagerness to accept it, to unscrew the lid. he drinks from it with all the fervor of a starving child, gulps it down, feels stray drops pooling in the corners of his mouth as the lukewarm liquid slides heavily down his throat. already the ache behind his fangs begins to dwindle, his own fake heartbeat less loud in his ears. he grips the bottle tighter, as if it’s squirming, stubborn prey that might try to bolt away from him at any moment. it is only seconds before he’s emptied the contents of the bottle entirely. then he replaces the lid as he comes to, humanity reappearing behind his eyes, sheepishness casting a shadow over them as he hands the vessel back to its owner.
“i’m sorry,” he utters shamefully without making eye contact, reaching up to wipe the corners of his mouth with the pad of his thumb, “i didn’t mean to finish it all.”
she was speaking to him while he drank, but he can’t remember what she said, realizing only too late that he certainly wasn’t listening.
“i’m sorry,” he apologizes again, but this time less guilty and more tentatively, respectfully curious, in response to the snippets of her solo conversation that he can remember, “who are you?”
