And Hell Loves Heaven

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Thank you all for reading. Please enjoy part 2.

Taylor R. Bullet

Present Day

"You're not even listening to me," Clarissa said, poking my shoulder with one of her pointed acrylic nails. Startled, I jumped to the side some, rubbing my shoulder where her miniature dagger tried to stab me.

"Sorry, I just-" I cut myself off, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from sounding like a pathetic, lovesick, pest. Clarissa took a sip of her coffee, swirling the ice and drink around in the cup afterward. We were walking back to our office building from Castello's. It just also happened to be on the same street that-

No.

We're not going there.

It's been almost four weeks.

If he wanted to talk to you, he would have called.

It's over.

But telling myself that however often didn't stop the nagging feeling of wanting to see him, wanting to talk to him. It hurt, the pull, rejecting the instinct-like attraction that it was to go find him. It was unhealthy, and I knew that, yet here I was.

It was the middle of the day; it wasn't like he would even be in this part of the city anyway. I did some research and found out that he worked for JPMorgan-Chase downtown. It was probably some risk analyst job or something similar, but I didn't dig too deep. There was no need, really. I found out where he was during the day, and that was enough to quell my curiosity for that question. Emphasis on that.

"Have you tried to talk to him since?" she asked. I grimaced.

"No. I told you I gave him my card."

"To which he could have drunkenly lost," she countered.

"He wasn't that drunk," I grumbled. She shrugged. Another sip.

"He soberly lost it."

"Or he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Or," she said, pointer finger raised, "He's scared."

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting off the headache I knew I was going to give myself. The same headache I gave myself yesterday by stressing about this. "You're way too optimistic about this," I told her. She smirked.

"No, I'm just playing devil's advocate," she chirped along with the birds fluttering about. Spring had turned into summer unseasonably quickly in the city, but I wasn't complaining. As long as I had my sunglasses, the sun felt pretty good on my skin.

I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment before turning to her as we stopped at a halted crosswalk. "Do you honestly think that I should try and contact him?"

"Yes, I do," she said matter-of-factly.

"Why?" I pestered, wanting to know what was really behind her egging me toward it. She put her hand on her hip and raised a brow offensively as she lowered her sunglasses, staring at me with her piercing gaze.

"Because, Ricard, you've been moping around for the last month, and all you can think about is him. You need actual closure, for better or for worse. It's rather going to work out, or it's not. I don't give a damn if you're immortal, this isn't healthy." When she finished, she looked at me for a second more before sliding her shades back up on her nose. The stern expression on her lips dared me to defy her. I didn't, which was not only a decision for my health but also admitting, begrudgingly, that she was right. Blubbering about wishing I had answers wasn't effective or useful. It's not like I didn't know that in the first place, but it's a sense of fear of being rejected that is enough to blind you from finding out the ultimate truth. It was enough to keep me attached to him for years and years, and it was enough for me to not risk total decimation of hope now.

"And how should I do it? I don't have his number or anything." I asked her, actually hoping she had an answer. The walk signal appeared across the street, and we started to walk across.

"Facebook has Messenger. Just shoot him a message and see if it sticks," she suggested casually. That bit of hope inside me grew some, but so did the fear.

"Oh, shoot, I forgot that," I muttered.

For the rest of the short walk back to the office, my nerves built with every step. Doubt had firmly rooted itself inside my brain, and the thought of being flat out told no by Micah had me wanting to curl into a ball and vanish.

But Clarissa was right.

It needed to be done.

I couldn't just hide away in hopes that he'd eventually contact me, which at this point it was looking like he wouldn't, but that obviously wasn't enough of a deterrent for me to let go. I hadn't let go for ten years. Yeah, I'd gotten back to a sense of normalcy, but that was just drifting through the daily functions with his memory always on my mind. Now that he was here, and I knew he was so close... knew the street that he lived on, knew that he was only a mere city block away, it was tearing me up inside.

When I sat down at my computer and pulled up Facebook in the browser, my hands began shaking as I typed in his name and clicked on his profile. Once his page pulled up, my eyes were once again drawn to the photo of us on graduation day that was still on his featured photo list. Looking at it brought me a little bit of peace knowing that while he may not make the first move to contact me, he still cared.

He still cared.

He had to.

I pressed the message button next to the add friend one, the little message screen opening up in the lower right corner. I think I stared at the stupid cursor blinking in the text field for about five minutes, thinking over every possible horrible outcome my brain could imagine.

R: Hi.

My fucking god I wish I stopped there.

R: It's Richard. R: And you know that because my name and face are attached to this. So that's obvious. R: I miss you. R: I shouldn't have just said that but it's true. R: Look, I know you probably hate me. I get that. I know it. But I can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me insane not hearing from you. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. But please just tell me so I can stop driving myself fucking crazy wondering what you're doing, where you are, if you're thinking of me too.

I wanted to fucking scream looking at the messages that I had sent. Not only were they desperate as hell, but they were also flat out creepy. The regret that filled my gut was almost tangible like I could reach into my body and rip it out of me if I tried hard enough. I slumped back in my chair and smacked my hands to my face, sliding them down slowly as if I was wiping the shame off me.

You are fucking pathetic.

I had fucked a completely perfect thing. We could have been so happy. Right now, we would probably have a home together, maybe work for the same company, begin thinking about starting a family, or have a child already. But I destroyed that all with a single sentence, and now, fate dangled on this man responding to a fucking direct message. I wanted to scream.

Ding.

I froze in my chair. My body felt cold, and my stomach felt empty suddenly. I looked at the screen and went completely pale at the single word reply that lied underneath the disgusting text bubbles I wrote.

M: Wow...

Wow? That was it? That was all he had to say to me when I wrote all of that? Anger started to build as I looked at the stupid word underlying the conversation. Was it creepy? Yes. Was it heartfelt? Yes. But was it genuine? Yes, however-

M: You okay?

I looked at the new message and pursed my lips, tentatively placing my fingers back onto the keyboard.

R: Honestly? No, not really.

It only took him a second to reply.

M: I figured. M: It looked like you panicked a little bit there.

R: It came off creepy rather than endearing... sorry.

M: I mean kind of, but I know you. M: I've also been staring at your phone number for the past four weeks wondering what the fuck to do with it.

My heart stopped.

R: Oh...

M: I don't know what to do about you, Rich.

R: What do you mean?

My body shook as I waited for the inevitable final blow, and I could feel it coming. I watched the minutes tick by and the little typing bubble pop in and out of view. When his message finally appeared, my next breath nearly came out as a gasp.

M: You hurt me. You hurt me so bad that when I think about any of my time at college, I nearly have a panic attack. It's been ten years, and that still happens. Seeing you for the first time outside the coffee shop, so close to my apartment, I didn't know what to do. I was surprised I even talked to you like I did because when I got into my car and started driving away, I started bawling my eyes out. I at least had a couple weeks to accept that you were here in the city before we ran into each other at the bar. But then I got tipsy, and we actually talked. Even though I was a mess that night, it was the best I've felt in a long time. You explained some things I've wanted answers to for years... so, I've been staring at your damn phone number not sure what to do with it.

I was breathless by the time I finished reading his words. My body felt numb, and I didn't know how to even begin a reply. My eyes kept looking over you hurt me, and the guilt I never stopped feeling punched me in the gut. I became so distracted by the feeling that I didn't even realize that he had written something more for a minute more.

M: You said you still loved me.

R: I do.

I sat there, looking at the screen waiting, waiting, and waiting, but nothing came. I wanted to scream and punch the desk. Why did he just stop typing? Did he not want me to love him? If so, why didn't he just tell me? Why was he slowly ripping away the band-aid, making it hurt more, and more, and more?

I became so enraged that my vision started to turn white. I was about to stand up, about to flip my desk or punch the brick wall, but my cellphone started ringing on my desk. It was a number I didn't have in my contacts.

Local.

Probably a possible new client.

Or maybe it was him...

I stood, taking a moment to breathe and try and calm the fuck down. My hands gripped the corner of the desk, restraining myself from full-on ripping a chunk off. Releasing one last long, strangled breath, I reached for my phone, answered, and put it to my ear.

"Richard Miller," I said, probably still too sternly. The other end of the line was quiet. There was some office background noise, but the person wasn't saying anything.

"Hello?" I asked after a few more moments.

"Rich," the deep voice said shortly over the line.

"Micah!" I gasped, startled from hearing his voice.

He called me. The man fucking called me! I couldn't tell if I was excited or horrified, but I felt something at the fact that he'd called.

"Yes," he said quickly. "Meet me at Main Street Park tonight. You know where that is?" he asked, his voice strained and low. I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.

"Y-yeah, I know where it is. What time?" I asked, my voice nearly pleading.

"Seven?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

And then the line went dead.

I wasn't sure rather to jump for joy or to pass out from stress. Both seemed like viable options, and the latter seemed like it may happen just because. As I looked at the time on my phone, I groaned seeing that it was only just past two.

By the time that 6:30 had dragged itself around, I was a complete mess. I had left the office around four after finishing up a quarterly report for a client, and hardly restrained myself from going unnaturally fast on my walk... run... home. I had showered, washed every inch of my body, and stressed over what to wear like a high school girl going out on a first date. When I had actually calmed down enough to see straight, I put on a dark blue V-neck t-shirt, dark lighter jeans, and black leather fashion sneakers.

As I drove the short distance over to the park, my body was nearly vibrating from nerves. I didn't know his intentions of wanting to go to the park. I assumed it was to talk, and if that was true, was it for good or bad things? The other question was why he couldn't have just called me and told me? Did it need to be face-to-face? Was it one of those talks? My stomach was doing flips inside of me when I pulled my car behind his car on Plymouth Street. As I took off my seatbelt, I looked up when I saw his door open. He swung his jean-clad legs out of the car and stood, the soft-pink polo clung to his muscular torso, showing off his thick biceps. The air was caught in my breath as I watched him move, every bit as beautiful as I remembered, maybe even more. His hair was a little longer, and not styled professionally like it had been recently. The curls were free, and due to the extra length, they fell over to the right side of his head, showing the clean fade cut on the left side. When he looked at me and flashed a nervous smile, my heart started to pound harder and harder as I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door.

"Hey," I said softly as I closed the door.

"Hey."

It was stupidly obvious we were both nervous. I could sense it and smell it on him. Even if that wasn't a thing, the flickering in both of our voices, and his hands shoved deep into his front pockets were telling. We both stood there, scuffing our feet across the ground looking at each other before I eventually spoke up.

"You look good."

He perked up at that and got a goofy little grin on his face. He wasn't angry. He didn't seem upset. So far, this was going a lot better than anticipated.

"Thanks," he said, eyes cast down, but then he looked back up at me.

"So do you. I, uh..." his words drifted off as he gnawed on his lower lip for a second. "Shall we?" he asked. I smirked shyly and nodded.

We both locked our cars and started our slow-paced walk into the park. Parents were watching their kids on the playground not too far off, and others were just milling about the area. We kept to the right and walked around the park building, almost going underneath Brooklyn Bridge. We didn't speak as the path approached the river. When we got to where the trail split left or right, Micah stopped. I stood next to him.

"When you called after you left, I would watch my phone ring and ring," he said, his voice holding steady, but his eyes looked far away as he gazed out over the water. "Mom told me I should pick up, that maybe you wanted to talk. I thought it would just be another door in my face." I could hear his words start to shake. A moment of silence passed before he continued. "Would I be wrong to say that she was right?"

I immediately shook my head, my mouth opening, but it took a second before any words came forth.

"God, no, Micah, I-" My words caught in my throat as my jaw trembled. "I felt horrible. I wanted to, I tried to, fuck..."

Frustration welled in my gut as I fought back tears from forming in my eyes. It was far too early for that. "I just wanted to know if what I did was right."

Micah nodded slowly, sucking his lips between his teeth for a minute, contemplating in silence. Without a word, he turned and started walking down the path along the water. I followed.

"I could feel you pulling away those last few months," he said as that tired, beaten-up sound came back into his voice. I looked down at my feet as he looked up at the sky. "I thought it was just finals, but how stupid could I be to think that finals were bothering you. This wasn't your first rodeo." He sounded angry with himself, and I looked up at him, my face distraught.

"No, Micah. Do not blame yourself for my failure!" Although my words were soft, they were exasperated and forceful. There was no way in hell that I was going to let this beautiful human take any blame for the hell that I had caused for the two of us. That was non-negotiable. "That is my burden to carry, and mine alone."

"How is that true?" he asked, his eyes scrunching up.

"Because I'm the one that left!"

"And I could have reached out!" he shot back quickly, a bit forcefully, catching the gaze of a mother pushing a stroller as she passed. We both stared down at our feet as we waited for the woman to get some distance away from us. We both stopped walking once we were alone again. "I just never thought you'd be the one to hurt me like that again. Don't blame yourself entirely when we both fucked up," he said on a sigh. When I looked up into his blue eyes, the pain was there right behind the surface, and a crack formed on my heart.

"You're letting me off so easily..." my voice quieter than I expected. He shook his head.

"No, I'm not letting you off the hook. I'm just saying that I am also partially to blame here." He sounded exasperated, and he wiped his face with his hand. "You caused me so much pain, Rich, but I could have ended it if I just picked up the damn phone when you called then, or really ever. That's what I'm telling you."

He turned to face me and grasped my hands, and I involuntarily gasped a little at the unexpected contact. "Tell me if I'm right or wrong here," he said, looking nervous. "If I had answered or called you back at any point in time, would you have tried to get back together with me?"

Breathlessly, I answered, "Yes."

Micah closed his eyes, and his lips started to tremble. Tears that I had been fighting back started to come forward, and I was sure it was the same for him at this point. "You have never been far from my mind, Micah. I hope that you can try to believe that," I said, hoping that he would.

He nodded shallowly, although it was more of a rocking of his head. As he opened his eyes, a few tears fell.

"I-" he sucked in a breath. "I can."

We stood there, looking into each other's eyes, the baby blues slowly warming my soul as heat began to mix in with the pain that they held. His lips began to turn upward into a small, easy smile, and his hands let go of mine and started to run their way up my arms. I placed my hands on his waist as he began to move in, leaning down some to meet my height. I shuddered as his face got closer. At the brush of his lips on mine, my eyes fell shut as I pressed further into his serenity. His arms came around me and held me tight as his lips seemed to dance across mine, and the memory of how familiar this is was striking.

2006, September

Santa Clara University

It was dark out at this point. The stars shining over California were dimmed if they were close to the moon, which was out in equal force tonight. It was a cooler night, settling somewhere in the mid-sixties with a slight breeze. He had his black hoodie up, a little bit farther back on his head so that some of his ears showed. It was kind of doofy, but also adorable.

It was date number one of what I hoped would be many, many more. He'd asked me out to see `Flags of Our Fathers' since he knew I liked history, not yet knowing that I had lived through it.

Fought through it.

I hadn't been in Japan, but I knew men that fought and died there. The movie was intense, I couldn't help but tense during some parts, as parallels from how gruesome those times were coming to the forefront of my mind. It was so long ago, yet not at all. Surprisingly, it wasn't even the missions in the Army that were the worst memories, it was when I would go off on my own to hunt.

Those, easily, were my most savage days.

It was the only period of time in my life that I had ever broken my philosophy on hunting. Granted, I guess it could be said that some of these people were hardly even human. It was helpful to have Micah, the smiling, adorable laughing, cute, handsome son-of-a-gun sitting next to me with his hand on my thigh the entire time. If there was anything that could relax me, his hand on me was going to be my new number one fix.

At this point though, I was just glad that the popcorn that I had consumed in front of him to seem normal had stayed down as long as it had. I hadn't drank in a while and my stomach was more volatile. With any luck, the small amount that it was would just stay down, and I'd maybe just feel like garbage tomorrow for a bit.

We were holding hands loosely, our fingers together at the knuckles as our hands swung freely between us while we walked. A warm, bubbly feeling had been building in my body the whole evening. It wasn't that there were any nerves, hell, this was what I wanted, had been wanting since I first saw him on move-in day. We'd been friends practically since I said hello to him, and now... tonight was just like any other time that we'd hung out, except his hand was touching mine. Those eyes looked into my eyes with a bit of a sparkle that had only been seen when he thought I wasn't looking, and he called me cute when I opened my dorm room door when he came to pick me up. The whole evening seemed so perfect, maybe, just because of how unremarkable it had been. Everything felt so normal, so natural, and I loved every single second of it, of him. I sighed, humming happily.

"Whatchya thinking about?" he asked casually. I blushed, chuckling, embarrassed.

"Honestly?" I asked, looking up at him, smiling. "You." And I watched as the red rose on his cheeks as well.

"Oh?" he smirked. "What about me?"

I looked down at our feet, walking in tune with each other. His bright red Puma's, recently a staple of his closet, and my black Nikes. "Just how normal this seems. You and me," I said, clarifying. He sighed happily.

"It does. And to think I was nervous asking you out," he chuckled. I smiled, closing our hands together, and looking ahead.

"You shouldn't have been," I told him.

"Yeah..." he said longingly, remembering. "But isn't everyone nervous if they're going to ask out their crush?"

He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.

"Okay, that's fair, I'll give you that one," I said, staying quiet for a moment after, my words quiet. "But I'm glad that you did." We both looked at each other then, a happy glimmer in his eyes that I knew I shared.

"Me too."

We were quiet on the way back to my dorm, our hands never breaking apart as we walked. Both of us just fell into this comfortable silence, where just enjoying each other's company and presence was more than enough to keep us satisfied. When we approached the main entrance of my building, we stopped in front of the door, and he released my hand from his. Neither of us said anything in those first few moments, both of us awkwardly chuckling here and there as our eyes went from each other to the ground.

"I'll be a loser and say I had a really good time with you tonight, Rich," he said, stepping closer to me. I looked up at him, my heartbeat starting to rise. I could hear his as well.

"I did too," I said back, my voice low. He smiled and slowly closed the distance between us, his hands snaking their way around my waist. Where his hands touched, they left a trail of fire burning across my skin. I had a feeling I knew what was coming, and I was nearly dying for the opportunity.

"I would really like to kiss my handsome date goodnight if that would be okay with him?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot. I rolled my eyes and chuckled silently. "I'd like that a lot if you did," I said as our heads began to drift closer. I wrapped my arms around his waist as well, pulling our bodies as close together as I could as his lips plastered themselves to mine. I don't think either of us anticipated the immediate intensity that the connection would bring, but it was as if the moment our lips met, a bomb exploded, leaving both of us hot with need. His hands gripped my back, pulling me closer as our lips moved across each other, the taste of him on my tongue every bit as sweet and delicious as I could have ever dreamed he would be. I bared down on the hunger in my soul, but it wasn't too hard with the devilish passion forcing its way forward, driving my mind hazy when he nibbled on my bottom lip just a little.

When we eventually broke apart, we were both out of breath, and both of our jaws were slack from it. We both stood there, still wrapped up in each other's embraces, our bodies shuddering as we breathed. His hand came up from my side to cup my face, and I leaned into the gentle touch, closing my eyes for a second to cherish the feeling. My eyes opened again as he said the words...

Present Day

"Dear God, Richard. You're so beautiful it hurts." His voice was a hoarse whisper that dug me out of my delusion.

"Wha-" my eyes fluttered open. His one hand was in my hair, and the other was holding my side. He was looking at me no longer with the pain and tiredness that he had before, but with hope, and God if I was lucky, lust. "Hi," I muttered awkwardly, smiling. His mouth widened into a gorgeous toothy grin that had my heart melting as if my entire being wasn't already in a puddle from that kiss. He started laughing.

"Hi."

"Hi," I said again. We slowly drifted apart from each other, but one pair of our hands found their way together. We both looked into each other's eyes for a second, warmth and happiness directed right at me, solely, for me. I wasn't sure who took the first step, but we started back into a slow, lazy pace down the path. It wasn't exactly a peaceful silence. There was still a bit of tension in the air of things that needed to be said and asked, but both of us were just too damn giddy about the kiss to do anything else but bask in it.

By the time that we made it around the loop and were once again by the entrance of the park, I mustered up a bit of courage and turned to face him.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked him carefully, hopefully. His smile faltered slightly as his lips parted some.

"I don't want to say restart, because that would insinuate erasing all of our history, but, Richy, I..." his words fell off as he shook his head, his face looking like he was almost in disbelief for being in the situation. "I want us to be us again."

The smile that broke out on my face couldn't have been helped in the slightest. "I want that too." And with that, our arms came around each other in a tight embrace, my face burying into the crook of his thick, muscular neck.

"This might be asking for too much..." he started. "But please come home with me. I don't want to be without you tonight." He sounded so desperate in the moment, like I would refuse such a simple request from him. I didn't speak, but nodded my face into his neck, holding him a little tighter. His body shuddered, and his breathing hitched a little bit. He may have been crying, but I honestly couldn't tell for sure.

When we finally let go of each other, I realized there were a few onlookers whose eyes were trained on us without shame, but I couldn't have cared any less than I did at that moment.

I had my Micah back.

He was mine. And for the first time since I got on that plane to the east coast all those years ago, the world seemed right again.

I parked my car behind Micah's as we pulled up to his building. It was a brownstone like mine, however, this was one that had been turned into apartments. There were two entrance doors, and the two ends rounded out in a hexagonal shape instead of a traditional blocked-off corner. Large windows with thick, carved, wooden frames were neatly placed up to the third floor, where the squared design took the place of a rounded top.

My nerves, while elated and excited, had my body nearly shaking in anticipation. I wanted to know which window was his. Where he had been looking out from the past several months, and what his view of the world had been. It had taken so long to get to this point, to get back to some form of normalcy, if it could even be considered that after so many years.

I got out of the car and watched through the tinted windows of Micah's as he organized a few things in his car. When he seemed satisfied, he popped the door open, and my eyes were locked to his figure as he stood up straight. We both looked at each other with shy, lazy smiles, a blush forming on his cheeks as I felt the temperature of my skin rise.

"Which window is yours?" I asked, breaking the silence. He turned and pointed.

"Second story, left. That's my living room," he said, lowering his hand back down. His hand looked as if it was about to reach for mine, but he changed directions and moved it back to his side.

"Uh, shall we go in?" he asked awkwardly. I nodded. As he led the way, I took a deep, calming breath before I started to follow.

As I walked up the stairs of the front stoop, he was putting a key in the front door to unlock it. He pushed it open and we both walked through, going up the immediate staircase off to the right of the entry.

The walls had a pale dark brownish-gray color with a small metallic line design in them. Along with the dark wood floors that seemed original, were maintained, but could stand to have been re-sanded and finished. The ceiling being bright seemed to be the only light colored thing in the space, with even the railing being painted black.

His apartment, however, was the complete opposite. The space that started in the kitchen was open and bright, with a soft blue color on the living area walls where the window curtains were pulled open. The floors inside the apartment, in contrast with the ones in the hall, had a glossy overcoat, making them shine when Micah flicked on the recessed ceiling lights. The kitchen was simple, with it just being on the one wall, and flowed nicely out to the living space where a couch and TV set sat on top of a square gray rug.

The space, while filled, was pretty spartan, like he had just moved in. The only item that wasn't for him were a couple of dog bowls and a bag of food. Before I could even ask, the patter of paws sounded from the hallway to the left of the room, and a happy little Pitbull, black as night, came trotting around the corner. Her mouth was open in a smile and her tongue was flopping out lazily to the side.

"Hi, baby!" he said all excitedly, in a chirping high-pitched dog voice. He patted his thighs and the happy dog jumped up onto him, her paws going up around his waist, seeming to give him a hug as he started to scratch behind her floppy ears.

"This is Pearl," he said, laughing softly as he continued to pet her. She was nuzzling her head into his stomach, looking absolutely adorable. I reached out and started to stroke her back. Her head, instead of turning around, looked back as far as she could bend it, almost upside-down, to look at me with that same cute smile as before.

"Hi, pretty girl!" I cooed, scratching under her chin while Micah rubbed her sides.

"She always needs about ten minutes of attention when I get home. Doesn't matter if it's from a day at work, or a quick trip to the store," he explained as Pearl put her head back into his stomach.

"She's cute as hell, Micah," I told him, walking into the space a little more, peering down the hall that had three doors in it, two on one side, one on the other. The kitchen had stainless steel appliances and what looked like light quartz countertops paired with dark wood cabinets. But again, besides the basic small things like a coffee maker, blender, and a toaster, there was nothing personal sitting around anywhere, which, for someone who has lived here for several months, it seemed weird.

"It's not a huge space, but I like it," he said, Pearl now sitting loyally by his side, his hand resting lovingly on her head. "Bedroom is down the hall on the right, and bathroom and laundry are on the left. Have everything Miss Pearl and I need." Pearl's tail began to wag at the mention of her name.

"How old is she?" I asked as I walked back over to them, kneeling down to pet her.

"She'll be three in August. Got her when she was nothing more than the size of my hand. God, she was so freaking small," he said, sounding slightly amazed by it. A lightbulb seemed to go off over his head as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pearl began licking my forearm as I rubbed her. After he tapped his screen a few times, he turned his phone to me, and my heart nearly exploded. It was a photo of Micah holding what looked like nothing more than a little black ball nestled up in his arms. Obviously, it was Pearl as a puppy.

"Oh my God!" I gasped excitedly, ogling the photo. Micah was in a light blue t-shirt, and they were standing in-front of a silver Audi that was a few model years older, maybe his car before his current one.

"Mom took that," he said, a bit of sentiment coming into his voice as he pulled the phone back, looking at the photo himself. "Pearl loved grandma. Always gave her food from the table, which turned into a bad, yet adorable, begging habit."

I chuckled at that. "But how can you say no to such a cute face?" I asked in my own dog voice.

"Simple," he started. "You don't."

I stood up, and we watched as Pearl trotted over to the couch, hopped up on it and curled into a ball on the cushion.

"You ever get any pets?" he asked, breaking the silence. I shook my head.

"No, I've contemplated it, but never pulled the trigger. Would just get too sad over time," I said, looking over at the dog still.

Another bout of silence followed before he sighed.

"What made you message me today?" he asked.

Fear spiked in me suddenly, but it dissipated nearly as quickly as I looked over at him. There was no malice in his tone, nor was there any anger on his face. He looked curious, and pitiful maybe? I wasn't quite sure, but everything seemed calm. I think it was obvious that there were more questions to be asked, more answers to be given, and I would be the one to tell him everything he wanted to know.

I moved to the kitchen counter and leaned back up against it, sighing. His eyes followed me.

"I was afraid to. I was going to let you contact me first, but I guess I got impatient and just wanted an answer," I admitted. My lips tightened, and I looked at him, waiting for him to respond. He grabbed his elbow and leaned his hip against the island counter side.

"I'm glad that you did. I still didn't..." his words trailed off and he shrugged.

"Didn't what?" I urged him on. His eyes fell heavy and got darker...

"Didn't have the courage to confront you. It's... it's the same feeling that kept me from picking up the phone back then. Betrayal runs deep, Rich," he said solemnly, scrunching his lips before biting the bottom one. "Even with you standing here right now."

"You're afraid that I'm going to hurt you again," I said knowingly, my words flat. When our eyes locked, I could see that I was right, the fractured pain right on the surface. I moved off the counter and took a few steps up to him, placing my hand on his wrist, rubbing my thumb across his skin. "We're not going to be exactly as we were, and I'm not going to pretend that we will ever be. It's a different time," he took a deep breath in, and I watched as his chest filled and decompressed slowly.

"We're both different people than we were back then, too," he spoke softly.

"And I'm not going to ask you to heal in a day. I'm not going to ask you to act like it didn't happen," I told him, my eyes rising to his baby blues. A strand of brown curls fell into them. His eyes glanced to the side for a moment, before they came back to mine, shimmering with hesitation.

"What is it?" I asked carefully, a sense of worry dripping in. A wave of sadness washed over his face as his free hand reached up and grabbed at the collar of his polo. Pulling it down slowly, revealing more of his olive skin, I started to see the organized pinhole scars that would have formed an upside-down trapezoid.

My bite mark.

"It never went away," he whispered. "I thought one day it would disappear, but it has been a constant reminder of what was."

My hand raised slowly up to his neck, and as my fingertips barely glided just above his skin, a nearly magnetic connection pulled my hand to where the bite marks were forever scared into his skin. His eyes watched me carefully as I traced the marks with my fingers, glazing over the skin at a glacial pace, taking in everything that I could through touch and sight.

"You were my donor," I whispered longingly. "And back then I didn't think things would end. A vampire's mark-"

"Neither did I," he said, cutting me off. He swallowed hard, his voice and lips trembling. His eyes were closed now, hiding the brilliant color beneath their lids.

"I don't plan to lose that opportunity again with you, Micah."

My hands moved up to his cheeks and caressed his face. His came around my waist, the large mitts he now possessed easily holding me firmly in place.

"I don't think I could handle that pain twice," he gasped.

"I won't let that happen."

Seemingly out of nowhere, tears were streaming down both of our faces as our lips collided in a soft sob of a kiss.

We had needed each other in that moment, that moment of pure vulnerability and weakness. His fingers curled into my skin, a welcome squeeze on my body. The aggressive press of our mouths on each other was desperate and harsh, the force putting pressure back on my teeth.

We didn't move, but just stayed glued together, until he broke away, rolling our foreheads together, his hand locking in my hair, gripping, and then letting go. Slowly, it came down to caress my face like both of mine were to his.

"I've missed you so much." The words rushed past his lips in a breathy mess.

"As I have with you," I said, my words just as sloppy, but lower, quieter. We stood there holding each other for a short time, but it wasn't long until a wet nose and a silky, furry body was wedging her way between our legs, forcing a space open. With a mix of a sob and a laugh, Micah reached down to pet Pearl's head, the dog leaning up into the touch and closing her eyes.

"Hi, baby girl," he garbled, still stroking the peaceful animal's head. After another moment, Micah looked back at me, his hand cupping my cheek. Much like Pearl had, I leaned into his touch.

"I want to see your eyes," he said softly, sincerely, his face endearing. That sentence sent me reeling, remembering the first time that he said that to me.

2006, November

Somewhere Along Interstate 5 South

I couldn't lie. I felt like absolute garbage. I've never, not in my entire life, been motion sick. But being in Micah's Toyota Camry, rolling down the interstate after a half a week of vomiting my brains out in secret in Micah's back yard after eating regular food? I could eat regular food in small quantities as long as I fed the same day, but this? It had destroyed whatever resolve my body had.

I'd kept a good face the entire time, but last night had been arguably the worst. Micah had found me, woken up by my wheezing. He had also seen the other night's piles out in the brush and had questioned what the hell had been going on. Why had I been vomiting everything back up? Why did I not tell him? Was I okay? Food poisoning? Was I a vegan or something? The upside to looking and feeling like death then was that I was able to fend off a majority of the questions. We agreed to not tell his mother, to avoid her thinking that she had poisoned me with her cooking, and just go with that I had fallen ill that night in general. Even though this was only the second time that I had been around his mother, she was a sweet, loving woman whom I did not want to disappoint.

I'd met Micah's mother once before when she drove down to campus to bring him some things and to catch up with her son about three weeks ago. Micah also thought it would be a good time to introduce his mother to his new boyfriend and ask about bringing me to the `family' holiday since it would be just the two of them.

Ever since that first date, my heart fluttered at the term, when he'd call me babe or something else cute and disgusting. While I hadn't dated many people in my past, I've had serious committed relations, however deeply private they were given the views and laws of the time. Besides how I felt for Micah, Andrew Hanover was probably the most strongly that I had felt for anyone.

It was 1912, and back then, I had considered it love. Perhaps it was, but in a different fashion, in a different way. He was my barber that I had been going to for a little over a year. We'd chatted while I was in the chair, gotten to know each other and had a comradery that, at the time, was unparalleled to others I had known. Eventually, we'd had drinks one evening after we were both off work, which ended in a walk in Prospect Park... which ended with me kissing him, and him kissing me back.

The romance had been private and secretive. If anyone found out, both of us would have been ruined. I had the luxury of being able to restart, but him, being found out as a queer would have ostracized him in that city. Yes, of course he technically could have restarted somewhere else, the lack of communication technology making that relatively simple, but he wasn't rich. He lived okay, but nothing was terribly fancy. He couldn't just pick everything up and go nearly as easily as I could.

It was enough back then, for us, for me, to meet late at night, sneaking into each other's homes when others weren't around. But there was always a tension, a fear, always checking over our shoulders to make sure we weren't being watched.

In private though, our time together was wonderful, passionate, sacred, and that's what made it worth it. We'd been together for a few years, sneaking and loving about the city, but when the first war started in Europe in 1914, he had growing concerns. He had joined the army in 1915. As much as it is clear as day now, I hate to admit that we had grown apart in the times that he was away at training. Our times together had shrunk to only a few times a year as he was shipped across the country for military matters. By the time the United States had entered the war in 1917, his last time with me was strained and brief.

1917, April

Richard's Old Home in the Bronx

"So you're leaving," I said, staring out the window of my parlor room. I was trying to fight back the tears that were forming. I hadn't seen him in six months, and he had just shown up at my doorstep out of seemingly nowhere. I had been thrilled at first, but one good look at his anxious brown eyes had sent my heart in a tizzy. I knew then that whatever he had come here for was not good.

"Yes, and I'm sorry," he said, stress building in his tone. I could hear his boots walking up behind me. "I don't have a choice."

I whipped around at that.

"But you do have a choice!" I seethed at first. My body went rigid as I looked at his startled expression. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax even a little.

"You- used... to have a choice," I amended sullenly, looking away from him. Carefully, he walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked up into his face, hardened, but the slightest bit of sadness breaking through the façade.

"I understand why you can't go yourself," he said softly. "You have your business, your clients. They're only going to need more guidance as the world works through these times, but me..." he chewed on his lips for a moment, his eyes boring into mine. "I'm not going to live forever, Richard, I don't have that luxury. You've afforded me many of things in our time together, happiness being one of them that I thought I'd never truly find." His hand slid down to my heart, where it was slowly shattering under the surface.

"But we could never truly be together, Rich. Not in this lifetime. I pray that you will live to see a day where two men like us may share a life together. For me, at least, I can go fight for that day, fight for you."

His voice was earnest, imploring, almost begging me to accept the fact that he was leaving, that this was a noble decision.

"I know," I said, my words taking on the same darkness I felt in my gut. My hand came up and took his hand from my chest and brought it down between us. I didn't let go, and he didn't pull away. There was a moment of silence between us before I spoke. "Where are they shipping you to?"

He sighed.

"France, somewhere there first. We're going to help the French."

My heart sunk. He was going to be sent right to the thick of it then. A shiver of fear shot down my spine. "If I get the chance, I will write to you, Richard," he told me, squeezing my hand some. It did little to comfort me, my entire soul feeling crushed and dusty.

"And I will..." I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to suppress it, but the tear fell from my eye anyway. "And I will look for your letter." My voice broke at the end, and I hated myself for it. For a shining moment, his hardened face had broken as he gently wiped the tear from my cheek.

"I must go now. They'll be coming for me soon," he said quietly, his words dim. I hardly noticed when his lips came to my cheek, his hand caressing my face gently as his warm skin touched mine. When he pulled away, he began to walk backward, still facing me.

"I love you."

What I didn't know at the time, was that when I looked up into his face, looking at the shimmering chestnut brown eyes, that it was the last time that I would ever see them.

"I love you too," I whispered.

2006, November

Somewhere Along Interstate 5 South

There was a difference between then and now, and I couldn't tell why it was this way. Maybe it was the time, or maybe it was the place, or maybe it was both. But the love I had felt for Andrew was different than the love that I held for Micah. With Andrew, everything had felt temporary even though it lasted for years. Every time we were together I knew it could possibly be out last. No, we had never discussed things coming to an end, but sometimes you just know that a relationship that you have isn't going to last forever, even if the feelings that you have for that person are true... you know that somewhere down the line that it will fail. It will crumble, and eventually it will die whether you want it to or not.

For me, in all my years, it was rather through failure or literal death, with the friend or lover succumbing to ailing health. I had watched friends from each era of my life pass, making new ones, and watching the light in their eyes dwindle out eventually too. I had never feared it, and I always knew that it was going to come. I had known it with Andrew, and I knew it now, but now... for the first time...

I feared it.

I feared the loss.

For the first time, this felt like something that didn't have to be temporary, that didn't have to end in heartbreak or death. And now, with the two of us sitting in this car with things sitting so uncertain, I felt it. I felt fear. I felt the gut turning fear more so than the bile in my stomach from an unbalanced diet.

And this was all so avoidable.

That was the worst part. I hadn't thought it through. Micah had never really seen me eat food. I'd had a granola bar he'd offered half of to me, or an apple slice here and there. Nothing that would make me lose my stomach. Romantic dinners were, one, not in a college budget, even though I could afford it. Micah, thankfully, was much more attuned to nights in cuddling watching movies or going doing outdoorsy stuff like hiking and swimming. But this, Thanksgiving, had been a massive oversight in my judgement, having been so caught up in making him happy and being with him and his mother on a holiday... that was solely based around food consumption. How the hell was I going to hunt?

My head was resting on the window, looking at lights of other cars on the interstate in the night. I could sense Micah looking between me and the road, his heart rate elevated nearly since we woke up this morning.

He was worried.

He was confused.

He wanted answers.

Someone may think that I would have more wisdom on what to tell him, how to navigate this mess that I have caused, but I didn't. I knew, too, in the back of my head, that my carelessness was going to lead to him finding out what I really was.

"I'm going to be fine, Micah," I said quietly, my voice sounding weaker than I had imagined it would. It wouldn't help my case.

"I want to take you to the hospital once we're back in Santa Clara," Micah said, sounding worried, but certain. I sighed, sitting up in the seat, my stomach reeling at even the slow movement. I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger.

"No, that won't work," I told him tiredly.

"Why wouldn't that work?" he asked, his tone sounding patronizing. I huffed long and looked over at him, my expression probably looking as exhausted as I felt.

"Because it just won't, Micah. Please-"

"No, you have been vomiting everything you've eaten up for days! I'm not going to let you starve yourself over your pride," he grumbled, full-on angry now. "You won't tell me what's wrong. You won't let me help you! Why? Why won't you let me help?"

"Because you can't!" I growled, my voice sounding demonic, but God I just needed him to shut up and drive. I had an emergency pack of blood hidden in a taped Taco Bell bag in my minifridge. If we could just get back to campus and I could drink that, I'd be fine within minutes.

It was tense and silent in the car for almost a half-hour after that, the car speeding down the interstate towards Santa Clara. He was white knuckled nearly the whole time, eyes dead-set on the road. I could feel his anger, sense his frustration that I felt awful for causing. But what could I do, right now, in the car? While I knew at this point I needed to tell him something, now wasn't the time nor the place.

"I don't fucking understand you, right now! You know that?" he said through gritted teeth, making me feel worse just from guilt at this point. The nausea was at least wearing off slowly but surely since I wasn't poisoning myself with any more food at this point, but as the nausea faded, the hunger I felt grew, making the emergency bag I had in my room even more important.

"Can we just get back to campus and go from there? I'm feeling better. I promise," I said to him. He looked over at me with narrowed, pissed off eyes. After a second, he shook his head in frustration and lifted one hand off the steering wheel lazily, smacking the material on the way back down.

"Just," he pursed his lips for a moment. "Fine. Just. Fine," he huffed out.

"I don't believe you at all," he mumbled the last part. He could be angry. That was fine. As long as we got back to campus before he made some split-second decision, I'd be golden.

The rest of the drive was completed in the same silence as before, the radio turned off, and nothing but the sound of the tires on the road and the soft hum of the engine chugging along filled the quiet.

When we got back to campus a couple hours later, I could tell that Micah was completely fried. He looked exhausted, frayed, and absolutely done. I was pretty close too. Mostly, the hunger I felt was completely ravenous. If Micah wasn't actually angry, and honestly, kind of intimidating like that, the smell of him would have made the close space much more uncomfortable for me in that regard.

As soon as he parked the car and turned the key, he was out of it in a blink of an eye. He popped the trunk and was grabbing our bags once I stepped out of the car. The hunger in my gut was reaching a near painful level as the sickness from the week almost completely gone, and the hunger was taking over.

"Micah, I-"

"Here's your bag," he said curtly, tossing my duffle at me. It smacked my chest as my arms wrapped around it. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

While I could tell he cared about my answer, the doubtful aggression on his face masked his concern almost flawlessly. I could see it in his eyes though, behind the fire, the worry that struck him.

"I'm just extremely hungry," I said truthfully. There was no point in lying about it since the explanation could be vague. He rolled his eyes as he shut the trunk, the strap of his bag thrown around his neck.

"No kidding," he said flatly.

"I have something in my room I'll grab first, give me a few minutes, and then I'll come to your room," I told him. The wind blew softly, knocking his scent right into my nostrils. I had clamped my jaw hard to avoid groining in need. I need to get to my room now!

He looked at me confused.

"Why?" he asked. I was already taking a few steps backward.

"Because, you wanted answers, right?"

He looked at me with dubious frustration. "So, all of a sudden, you're fine to talk?" I was already on the sidewalk in front of the car moving back toward the dorm.

"Yeah, just, give me a few," I rushed.

Before I turned around and started speed walking down the sidewalk, I saw him throw up his arms like he had a million white flags saying that he gave the fuck up. He was pissed, obviously, but me telling him I'm not entirely human in a little while could make this go spectacularly horrific, so...

Once I was out of sight, I sprinted as fast as I could, figuring it was dark enough out that I wouldn't be seen if I stuck to the shadows.

By the time I made it to my room and closed the door, the intensity of the hunger had me nearly tackling my minifridge, flinging the door open and snatching the fast-food bag from the small shelf. Once I had the liter-sized blood-bag in my hand, I sunk my teeth into it and sucked.

As soon as the blood hit my tongue, relief, albeit mostly mental, started to shoot through my body.

My body slumped against the front of the bed frame, my body mimicking the feeling of being drunk off alcohol from the intense feeding frenzy that I had just endured. There was blood dripping from my face and onto my shirt from how sloppy I had been, but I didn't really care. The only downside was that this shirt was just going to have to be trashed, but that was fine. I was fine; finally starting to feel more like myself again as the blood nourished my famished body.

"I know it's stupid, but you weren't answering your phone and I-" Micah's words halted abruptly as he came through my door, as obviously my stupid ass had forgotten to lock it in my frenzy.

The blood packet sat in my lap, empty.

My shirt? Bloody.

My face? Just the same as the shirt.

My fangs? Out and proud.

My brain? In a complete daze.

Micah dropped his phone from his hand as his face became a startling mix of pure shock, confusion, and horror. My head turned in his direction as I lazily tried to wipe some of the blood off my face, coating my forearm with it instead and further smearing it across my cheek.

The door had slowly closed behind Micah as he stood stunned frozen in the room.

"Fuck!" I grumbled, rolling my head to the side away from him, not even wanting to know what he was going to do once the initial shock wore off. I grabbed the blood packet and tossed it toward the trashcan next to my desk, missing it, of course.

"R-r-ri-ch?" his voice trembled with an immense amount of fear.

I looked over at him as I moved to stand, the color was quickly leaving his skin, going pale, while his face turned slightly red and green. Looking away, I stumbled to my desk, leaning on the top. I pulled open the drawer that I kept basic cleaning supplies in and pulled out the container of cleaning wipes.

"Rich," he said. His voice was still shaky but had a little bit more footing than before.

"What?" I asked, turning towards him as I pulled out a couple of the wipes. His eyes seemed locked on me by an invisible tether as I started to remove the blood from my face.

"Your teeth, a-a-a-and you, what is that on you?" he asked, sounding half afraid to know the answer, and the other half honestly curious. It smelt like blood in the room, it was pretty obvious what it was. Given, however, that it wasn't entirely normal for a person to just be consuming blood, there was a reasonable place for doubt, no matter how misplaced it truly was.

"Micah, I really need you to keep calm as best as you can right now, and whatever you do, please don't leave," I said calmly, as I wiped the last bit of blood on me off my arm. I pulled off my shirt then and tossed it into the trash, this time making it into the bin.

"Answer. Me," The words were as quiet as they were punctuated, showing that he was either about to become incredibly angry as I have never seen him before, or he was about to snap and run screaming from the room. I held up my hands in a calming motion for a moment before using my one hand to point at my teeth.

"These are my fangs, and what was on me was blood," I told him carefully, watching his face twitch with emotions of every kind every second that passed. He quickly reached up and ran his hands through his dark curls, stress clearly winning amongst the emotions battling for attention. His head started to shake.

"Richard Miller," he started, slowly backing toward the door. "I need you to explain to me, very, very, carefully, what in the actual fuck is going on right now!" By the end of the sentence, he was yelling and, regrettably, I hissed at him.

"Quiet, you adorable idiot!" my eyes were searing as I stared at him. His eyes went wide and he backed into the door, panic filling his face.

"You, what are you? I don't get how, and I don't want... you just, and I, you-" he started babbling incessantly. "What are you?"

I sighed, relaxing my body as I looked at him, standing there in front of my boyfriend with nothing left to hide.

"A vampire," I said softly, but surely. His jaw twitched some, and I wasn't sure if he was having a stroke or if he was actually a robot and short-circuiting.

"That's not real," he blurted suddenly, but I could hear the mind-blowing doubt in his words. I took a tentative step toward him. He swallowed hard, his heartbeat flying higher than a spaceship.

"I need you to take a deep breath, babe."

"Rich," he squeaked. I took another step. "Please."

"Please, what? And you need to breathe, for real, you're turning purple."

"But your eyes aren't red," he stated, weirdly confidently, and then took a long, nearly gasping breath of air.

"Yes they are," I said calmly.

Another step.

"No they're not. Your eyes are hazel!" he fought. He shook his head then in a short angle range. "And those fangs can't be real. They're fake for sure."

But he didn't sound sure.

His confidence faded as I took another step toward him, standing directly in front of him now.

"Why don't you touch one and tell me that they're fake," I told him. His eyes, while still wide with fear, also grew a spark of defiance as his hand reached up quickly toward my mouth, but then he faltered, pausing.

"Don't touch the tip or you'll cut yourself," I warned him. His pupils flared at that and sweat started to bead on his forehead. His hand slowly started moving toward my lips now, and I moved them to reveal the top left fang. Once his thumb and index finger latched on, his heart rate plummeted, slowing down as if all the adrenaline in his body disappeared all at once.

"This is a dream," he whispered, his fingers trying to wiggle the tooth free lightly. He paused again, his brows knitting together and his mouth slightly agape. Realization and curiosity took over as his thumb moved glacially down the sharp tooth, and stopped once he reached the sharp point, barely touching it.

"We got in a car accident, and we're both passed out somewhere on the freeway." He pressed the pad of his thumb up gently against the fine razor-sharp point. The instant the skin broke, the sweet, sweet taste of his blood had me lurching, and him gasping as his other hand grabbed his wrist, looking between me and his now bead of blood that was forming on his thumb.

I couldn't help but run my tongue over the tooth where a minuscule amount of his blood still sat, even the tiny amount enveloped my taste buds with his unique, rich flavor.

"My god!" I groaned.

I bit my lips together and sucked in a breath through my nose. Trapped in my own euphoria, I opened my eyes when I heard a sturdy thump. Micah was on the floor now, back against the door, his expression completely blank. This snapped me out of my trance as for some reason, him being emotionless worried me more than if he was screaming out of fear.

"Micah? Micah are you with me?" I asked him gently, taking a few steps toward forward and kneeled in front of him. I looked at him as his eyes seemed to stare straight past me. When I reached out to place my hand on his one outstretched leg, his whole body tensed at my touch. His eyes shifted and looked at me like he was looking into an abyss.

"Please tell me what you are thinking?" I asked him carefully, fear building in my tone. It took him several moments to speak.

"I'm not dead yet," he said, almost as if it was a question. I frowned.

"Edward didn't kill Bella in that stupid vampire book series you're obsessed with, right?" I asked, him, thinking of the only thing that could possibly relate to this right now, as shitty as it was. His face stretched for a slip second before going back to normal, and then his brows knitted like he was thinking.

"But that isn't real. This can't be real," he said, disbelief radiating from him. But suddenly, it was like some weird lightbulb had popped on. "So that's why you think they're stupid," he mumbled, sounding suddenly, very, annoyed. I leaned back some, my face falling.

"Really? That's where your brain goes to right now?" I asked patronizingly. He looked up, looking bold.

"You're the one that brought it up," he scoffed.

"Is this a joke to you?" I asked, holding my hand out in question.

"No!" he shouted, startling me, and then he receded back into himself. Then, much softer, "No, no it's not."

I sighed.

"But yeah, I don't like them partially because it's not really realistic. Diamond skin? Really?" I asked, rolling my eyes. He did chuckle a little at that.

We both looked at the floor for a second, letting the moment settle around us before we continued. I got up and moved to the closet, grabbing a random white t-shirt off a hanger and throwing it on.

"Can I sit on your bed?" I heard him ask from behind me. I turned around.

"How many times have you done that without asking?" I almost laughed. He shrugged, looking awkward.

"I know, I just..." he looked at his feet. "I don't know if I should be screaming, passing out, or what. Nothing makes sense to me right now, Rich."

"That's fair. I don't want you to do either of those, preferably though. I'd like to talk to you about this, maybe explain everything a little bit?" I offered, moving to the bed myself. After a second, he sat down next to me with his hands in his lap.

"You're going to hate me," he said sheepishly. "But I have to ask this first."

I raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What?"

He bit his bottom lip, looking nervous.

"So, you're, you know, not going to kill me in a few minut-"

I shut him up, moving in to kiss him with lightning-fast pace. He gasped and moved back a little, but quickly fell in-line with my movements. It was just lips, my fangs were still out, I didn't want to accidentally bite him.

"No," I murmured softly after breaking the kiss, placing my forehead on his. "There was only ever one span of time in my life that I killed, and that was almost seventy years ago."

"Okay," he whispered. I pecked his lips again and moved back.

"Next question," I said once we were both situated. His eyes looked into mine for a moment, and I felt like I knew what he was going to ask.

"You said your eyes were red?" he asked, and then he started leaning in, staring intently at my eyes. When the realization struck, I wanted to laugh at the look of betrayal.

"You're wearing colored contacts!" he bellowed, and that did get me to chuckle a little bit at the pout he started to give. "I don't know how I never noticed that before. I mean, it's subtle, but you can see the contact."

"Yeah, hazel and brown we're really the only colors that covered the red once plastic contacts became a thing in the 1950s. Before that they were glass." I shuddered at the memory. "They were uncomfortable, but the glass wasn't nearly as opaque when dyed." I watched his face fall as I spoke, his whole-body language sobering as the words soaked in.

"Before 1950?" he asked. "How... how old are you, Rich? Your birthday is July 12th... of?"

I nodded slowly and intertwined one of his hands with mine, looking into his eyes.

"Of 1715. I'm 291 years old, Micah."

While he wasn't freaking out, overall, he looked extremely overwhelmed at that knowledge, and leaned back some, using his free hand as support. He didn't try to remove his hand from mine, so that was at least a step in the right direction.

"I was born in New York in 1715 when she was still under British rule," I told him gently. Rubbing my thumb over the top of his hand. "Lived on the east coast for most of my life, until I moved out here after World War Two."

His eyes bored into mine like a drill tunneling into the earth. He looked stricken with thoughts, but the wall he had put up, rather intentionally or not, blocked any form of emotion from breaking through.

I waited, for what rather could have been five seconds or five minutes, it wouldn't have mattered, but we'd seemed to have reached a critical mass for him on things that he could mentally absorb without having a complete meltdown.

"I want to see your eyes," he whispered suddenly. I nodded my agreement. I was nervous, but if this was what would appease him...

"Of course," I said.

I stood from the bed and moved over the to my desk, pulling out one of the drawers with my bathroom supplies. I grabbed my contact case buried at the bottom of my shower caddie under soap and shampoo, placing it onto the desk. I twisted the cap off the two sides and looked over at Micah.

"Okay," I said, and brought my fingers up to my one eyes, holding the lid open as my other hand removed the plastic sheath. I heard Micah gasp sharply once my fingers were out of the way of the first eye.

We locked eyes for a moment, his lips parted slightly in awe as he stared. The second contact was removed just as quickly, and then I stood before him, eyes ablaze by the bloodthirsty red, my mouth open some to showcase the spiked teeth. I could hear his heart rate accelerating as his eyes seemed locked to my face. He seemed frozen on the bed where he sat, making no intention to move. But while his exterior was silent, hearing his heart, seeing the strain in his muscles, smelling the fear, I could tell that he was screaming on the inside.

"Micah, please..."

Don't run away.

Please don't leave.

I wanted to beg him to be calm. I'd fall down on my knees for him to not leave. We'd only been together for such a short amount of time, and while our inseparability may have seemed suffocating to some or to a few of our friends, he had become a needed presence in my life, and I in his. I didn't want him to go. I didn't want to think of that pain. Imagining it now though, as I watched his body react to me, to everything that he had witnessed since walking into this room, it seemed fully plausible to fall into this imaginary void that seemed all too close to reality. I felt the tears in my eyes start to well.

"Please..." it came on a shuttering wheeze, making it breathy and desperate.

Something shifted in him, his body starting to come alive again. Slowly, tentatively, he shifted on the bed, using his hands to push himself up to standing. His eyes never left mine as he moved, the curiosity growing as he came to stand toe-to-toe with me.

The intensity that rolled off him in waves had the hairs on my skin standing up straight, fear and electricity seeming to jolt down my spine.

The hunter becoming the hunted, I suppose.

I wanted him to say or do anything, but he just continued to stand there and study me, observe, and look. Then, seemingly at once, his whole body softened, and his face shifted into a relaxed curiosity as a hesitant hand came up to my neck. I reached up to wrap my fingers gently around his forearm.

"They're fitting, you know?" he said. "The red, its..." he paused, nibbling on his bottom lip like he was embarrassed about something.

"What?" I asked, chucking, slightly nervous.

"It's beautiful, Rich," He finished quietly. My hand slid down his arm to his shoulder, slowly moving down to the small of his back, pulling him in close to me, confident enough that he had calmed down enough. His hand moved to my shoulder and the other came around to my waist. "Although, the fangs give me a bit of the creeps." He admitted guiltily. I rolled my eyes and retracted them.

"Better?" I asked, moving my other hand behind his neck, starting to pull him in a little closer. His breathing hitched.

"We still have a lot to talk about," he said, trying to sound serious while holding his nerves together. I smiled softly and nodded.

"I know. And I'll tell you..." our lips were grazing each other. "Everything."

Present Day

Micah's Apartment

"I don't have any, uh..." I looked around at the kitchen counters like I was going to find anything that I would need. Micah pointed nodded in the direction of the hallway.

"I have an extra contact case in the bathroom in the second drawer on the left under the sink. There's solution in there too," he told me.

I said okay and made my way to the bathroom, pulling out the denoted drawer and placing the little case on the sink's flat rim. I could hear him and the dog moving out in the living room, along with some sweet giggling coming from him. It made me smile at myself in the mirror, a warm feeling building in my chest.

I was in Micah's space, invited by him into his home, met his dog... I braced myself on the sink as I was lost in the flurry of thought. It had taken so long to get to this very moment, to get back with the human who I foolishly left out of my own fear of commitment, fear of eventually losing him. I was finally back here where things actually felt like they belonged.

Arguably, I would rather have him in my home, a place where we could live and be happy, be a family. But even being here with him, hearing him playing with Pearl in the other room, it felt like home.

It felt like us.

I took out the contacts, spraying a little solution into the dish before closing them up and putting the container back in the drawer. I took a look at myself in the mirror, the red a little bit darker from the slight hunger I had, but nothing that seemed anymore devilish than needed be. All I could hope was that he would still see me for how he had in the past, for how he saw me in the park, in his living room moments ago.

I knew he would.

In fact, it was almost a guarantee.

Still, the human mind, even mine, old and immortal, still had that troublesome nagging feeling that something would turn out in the worst possible fashion. It was enough to cause hesitation leaving the bathroom, to cause hesitation in finding out what he would perceive me as. I knew that we had barriers to overcome and I wasn't going to pretend that he was just going to forget the pain that I had caused the both of us. He wouldn't live as long me, even if he chose to be with me and be my donor again.

Granted, maybe by the time that he passes, I'd be ready to leave this world with him.

Or would be join me in eternity?

That was something that I had never considered.

"Micah?" I asked as I walked out into the room. His back was to me, Pearl having jumped up onto him, her front paws up on his chest. He was scratching her head. When he turned around, he gasped once he saw me, becoming still as his eyes locked to mine.

He swallowed hard.

Tension.

It built in the room like the Los Angeles smog. My chest started to tighten as the seconds passed. I lost track quickly of just how long we stood there. Everything seemed frozen as I waited for him to say what he felt.

What he wanted.

It was only a matter of time, but it felt like a lifetime away.

"It's been so long," he said quietly.

Pearl hopped down from him and came around his side, sitting down loyally next to him.

"Seeing eyes like those..." his words drifted off as he shook his head with a smile. It wasn't like he had said anything extremely profound, but I started to choke up just seeing the man smile like that.

Quirky and shy.

It's something so small that I missed so much.

"I guess I could say the same thing," I said, talking a casual step toward him. "And you were never even afraid of them."

He shook his head again, tucking his head before looking back up. "They always suited you better than the gray, I have to say."

I could feel the flush coming to my face after that. I took another step, swinging my one foot in front of the other, shoving my fingers into my pockets.

"You've told me that before," I said bashfully. I guess it was my turn to be shy. "You should still be mad at me."

He shrugged, patting Pearl's head for a moment before she trotted off down the hall, probably to the bedroom. This time, he took a few steps toward me, almost closing the distance between the two of our bodies. When our eyes me, they shimmered with a determination, longing, and fear.

"Never said I wasn't, but I had while to figure out the raw emotion. We still have shit to talk through..."

He glanced at the ground before looking back at me.

"Things to figure out. I want to know what the hell you've been doing the last ten years, how you've been, what friends you have, and when the hell you decided to age? Somehow? I still don't fully understand how you do that, even after so long, but," he took a shallow breath, huffing some.

"I want to relearn who Richard Miller is. Get back inside that ancient head of yours," he chuckled then, smirking. "We might as well pretend that I just found out you were a vampire again."

I bit my lip, embarrassed for a moment.

"This was much more how I intended to tell you originally." A casual conversation, maybe after a relaxing date night, ease into the topic, get all the information out. Then, when I showed him my eyes, casually saunter out into the room again...

"Oh, you mean me catching you post-feeding frenzy wasn't planned?" he retorted playfully. Our bodies came together in a loose embrace then, hands at each other's waists, foreheads together.

"Not even the slightest," I closed my eyes, thinking back on the memory. "It must have looked so bad."

We both sighed happily, laughing a little at that. The memory, if a bit horrific, was at least somewhat funny at this point.

"I don't know about you, but I'm pretty spent," he said softly between us. "Want to recline back on the couch and watch a movie for a bit?"

I nodded my head, and he moved back from me.

"I'll grab us some sweats and stuff. My clothes might be a little big on you but-"

"I'd love nothing more," I said, cutting off his ramble. He smiled as his hands moved up my sides, resting on my shoulder for a moment. Micah moved away then, going down the hall. From his bedroom, he called out.

"You can put your shoes and clothes wherever, doesn't matter to me."

I toed off my shoes and started walking down the hall. When I turned into his bedroom, my steps faltered at the sight of a nearly nude, mature, muscular, Micah.

He was bent over at the waist in nothing more than some tight gray briefs as he looked through the bottom drawer of a dresser. His backside filled the fabric garment completely, stretching it, the elastic riding a bit high on the cheeks bent over like that. His legs were hairy, and so was his back, leading me to believe that the front of him also donned a healthy helping of fur. The muscles rippled under his perfect olive skin, the striation in his back, arms, and legs nearly causing me to drool at the perfect sight.

Hunger grew in me, even though I had eaten healthily yesterday.

"Holy fuck."

My eyes went wide with shock and embarrassment as I heard my words in my ears, rather than just in my mind. Micah flew upright and spun around, revealing just about everything I thought his body would be now and so much more. He wasn't flat abs and chiseled muscle, but his core looked strong and toned, and his chest was puffy and defined. The hair from the back only grew much denser on his front, an even darker path flowing from the middle of his chest, straight down into the front of his underwear.

My mouth felt dry and tacky at the same time as I continued to stare, my fangs threatening to come down, unable to bring my eyes away from him. I didn't dare look below the elastic band, giving myself at least a little bit of false decency.

I'd seen the man naked, made love to him a countless number of times, but that was back then. He was a completely different person now, a whole new mind and body to explore... eventually.

"Oh, hey. I was going to bring, uhm..." he said, heat rising in his cheeks. My brain misfired.

"I, uh, thought that, oh uhm, I just..." I swear my eye twitched. "Fuck, sorry." I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"Rich, hold on, you're fine," he said quickly. I halted where I stood, and a pair of sweats and a plain white t-shirt hit the side of my body. I fumbled with them for a second before I got a grip on the clothing. When I looked at him, he had his arms crossed under his chest, smiling wildly at me. The stance only proved to pump up his chest even more than it already was. He raised a waiting brow at me, and my eyes dropped to the clothes.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, you just got a free show," he said sarcastically, and then he winked. "Continuing to, I might add." Drawing the attention back to that he was still only wearing the briefs. Again, I had to restrain my eyes.

"And I'm trying to be respectful," I said meekly. He barked out a laugh.

"Rich, shit, I'm just trying to..." he paused, the jovial look on his face fading as his head tilted some. He took a few slow steps toward me, frowning.

"You're hungry," he said, knowingly, a bit of fear in his voice that seemed unintended. I knew I felt it in my throat, the dryness, but I wasn't aware that my face showed it as well.

"I wasn't until a few moments ago," I admitted.

"It kind of came on like a truck. It's fine though. I can handle it," I said, trying to assure him.

"Just a sudden urge." I laughed nervously at my own words. "Haven't felt that kind of pull since-" my words cut as I focused in on the beautiful man before me.

"Since you."

I was breathless.

It was not even a second later that our lips were connected, my hands dropping the clothes to the floor and finding purchase on the warm skin of his back and the curls of his hair. His grabbed at the fabric of my shirt seeming to want to rip it off my skin. His lips opened, and his tongue licked at mine. It was too easy to open for him, to let him in, to taste him. It wasn't until I felt his tongue drag under one of my fangs that I realized they had come down. Before I could do anything about it, the sweet, sweet taste of his blood had hit my taste buds, and from there, everything turned gray and hazy.

"Whoah..." his voice sounded distant, like he was in the other room or something, talking through a wall. I could hear his heartbeat and the sloshing sound of blood being pumped through his veins. The smell was in the air now, filling my nostrils and swarming all of my senses, drowning in his smell, in his taste!

"Rich... Richard!"

I could vaguely hear him calling out to me as a thud shook my body. A wall. We were against the wall now, and his neck, it was bent over, stretching, showcasing the beautiful veins coursing through right under the skin. So beautiful, perfect. And my mark, it was there, taunting me, showing me what once was mine. Where I laid claim. I wanted to claim it again. I wanted what was mine!

"Pearl, it's fine, it's..."

Take what's yours.

Reclaim it!

His head shifted, and his eyes came into view, the baby blues coming right into my vision. It distracted me just long enough.

"Richy, snap out of it!" he yelled, and he sounded... scared?

That wasn't right.

There was a dog barking. My hand was gripping something soft and curly tightly, and the other was gripping something else. My eyes were shooting around, looking at what in the world had just happened.

I had pinned him against the wall with my body, my hand gripping his hair, and the other pinning his one wrist to the wall. He had his free hand wrapped around my bicep, but not tightly. His face was painted with shock and his eyes were wide open. Mortification quickly started to settle in as I realized how quickly and easily I had lost my control. I nearly jumped back from him, my body trembling as I walk backward, nearly yelling my apologies over the dog barking.

"I'm so sorry! I can't, I don't know how I, I'm sorry, s-so so sorr-whoa!"

"Richard, watch-" he called out to me at the same that I tripped over the something fuzzy. The room blurred as I fell backward, and I heard a loud thunk.

Darkness.