Chapter 1
Altair lay still in bed.
Koko was sprawled half on top of him, her bare chest against his, heartbeat slow and steady. Her breathing rose and fell in sync with his, but Altair’s mind was miles away.
He should’ve been in the dorm kitchen. He wanted to be. By now, Lovell would be padding downstairs, muttering a gravelly “good morning” to no one in particular before making tea. Never coffee—Lovell hated coffee. It would be black tea, the kind so loaded with sugar it could probably stop a mortal’s heart.
Instead, Altair was here, trapped under Koko and her army of stuffed animals lining the bed like silent guards. Sunlight leaked through the curtains, pale and cold. It made her skin glow. His own, courtesy of being a vampire, just looked… wrong, greyish, sickly.
The image of Lovell floated up, uninvited: fingers curled around a mug, tail flicking idly as steam rose into his face, dark skin glowing golden against the harsh white light of the kitchen’s cheap LEDs. Altair huffed a laugh at himself—only he would find continuity errors in his own daydreams.
The movement woke Koko.
“The fuck you laughing ‘bout, idiot?” she grumbled, voice thick with sleep. She sat up, sheets slipping to her waist.
Altair’s gaze skimmed her—hair tangled, skin flawless in the morning light. Once, the sight would have left him grinning like a fool. Now, the only thing he noticed was the cool patch where her knee pressed against his hip.
“Nothing, Koko. Nothing important.” He reached to smooth her hair, the gesture felt automatic, empty.
Her eyes wandered to the window, like she was already somewhere else. He’d seen the same look at parties, when she leaned into other guys a beat too long. He didn’t even care anymore. It was better like that anyway.
“Get off me,” he said quietly, pushing her off him. He swung his legs off the bed, turning his back to her.
“What, no proper good morning? Not even gonna look at me?” she snapped.
He shrugged, bent to scoop his clothes off the floor. The shirt smelled faintly of her perfume—sharp, artificial flowers— sickening. He stepped into his boxers without looking back.
“Pussy,” she hissed. “At least pretend you liked it last night.”
His mouth twitched—almost a laugh, almost a snarl.
“Fuck you, Koko.”
The door clicked shut behind him. The hallway’s quiet felt more intimate than anything he left behind in that bed.
He took the long way to his room, slowing near the living space. The air smelled of sugar and black tea, exactly as he’d imagined. But Lovell wasn’t there anymore.
Instead, Lovell sat at the table in their shared dorm, laptop open, dreadlock wrapped lazily around his finger. Steam curled from his mug, catching in the light.
“Busy morning?” Altair asked, aiming for casual. His voice landed somewhere between smooth and shaky.
Lovell’s eyes lifted, scanned him once… then again. A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Yeah. Sucks, honestly.”
Altair nodded like that was deeply important.
Lovell’s gaze dipped over him again—hair sticking up, shirt twisted, sweatpants slung over his arm. The smirk came slow.
“Busy night?”
Altair blinked, then looked down. He wore his shirt not only backwards, but inside out as well. Fantastic.
He tugged at the hem, trying to straighten it. As if that could fix anything. “Uh… you could say that.”
Lovell leaned back, chair creaking. “Didn’t your mum teach you how to dress yourself?”
“No, my nanny did, actually—”
Lovell’s brows shot up. “A nanny? Damn. Sorry for breathing the same air as you, Mr. Richy McRichRich!” His laugh sounded suspiciously like a bark. Altair wondered if that was a Lovell thing, or something every werewolf did.
“How many times did I tell you? I’m not—”
“Yeah, yeah. ‘I’m not rich. My parents just invested smartly.’” Lovell’s tail flicked once, deliberate. “Textbook rich-kid line.”
Altair pretended to roll his eyes, but didn’t look away.
“What’re you doing anyway?” Altair wondered, leaning over the back of Lovell’s chair to glance at the laptop.
He could smell faint remains of cheap cologne on Lovell. He probably hadn’t showered last night. There was also a hint of sweat and the scent of someone who’d just woken up. It was a bit off-putting but not necessarily unpleasant, Altair pondered.
“Cross referencing my social studies lecture with my cultural anthropology class.”
Lovell’s answer pulled Altair from his thinking and he forced a smile, pretending he hadn’t just spent more time than any normal being should, smelling Lovell.
“Sounds–“ Lovell seemed weirdly stiff where he was sitting. “Are you good?”
“Hm? What? Yeah, fine.” But his body was tense like a coiled spring, his tail flicked against Altair’s knee once, like a twitch.
Like a– a scared dog, Altair thought to himself.
“If you say so.” He shrugged, taking a step back. The tensions seemed to seep out of Lovell’s body the second the distance between them became safe.
Altair found himself wanting to scowl at the thought of Lovell feeling more relaxed without him around.
“Anyways, I’m going now. Gotta get ready for my early classes,” he excused himself, grabbing a fresh set of clothes as he walked out the door backwards, aiming for the community showers.
“See ya!” Lovell just barely lifted his head as he saw him off, but the momentary sight of his easy-going smile made the knot of anger in Altair’s chest loosen.
He smiled back. “Yeah, definitely.” With one last glance at the werewolf hunched over his laptop in deep thought, he turned around and left.
He was nearly skipping down the hallway, but he didn’t even notice it himself.
Altair was gone for a bit now, but Lovell could still feel himself vibrating with tension. His hand was hovering over his mousepad, but he wasn’t really doing anything. The words on his screen weren’t making any sense to him anyway right now.
It really wasn’t like him to get worked up over someone or something like that, but Altair was just different, unnerving in a way.
He hated this, he hated how out of place he felt when Altair was near, but he couldn’t help it. The constant smell of blood lingering on him was off-putting, but worst of all was his lack of a heartbeat.
No matter how alive he looked, Lovell had never once heard Altair’s heart. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t. Vampires didn’t have a heartbeat, that’s just the way it was, but still, it was weird. Seeing a person so radiant and alive, always smiling, eyes sparkling with… something and yet, not hearing him, his heartbeat, or anything, really.
Lovell’s heightened senses usually allowed him to pick up on stuff mortals weren’t even aware of. Heartbeat, scent, breathing. If the room was quiet enough he could even hear people blinking. Over time– and with his mother’s teachings– Lovell had learned to classify what he sensed, put it in boxes, label it and understand it. He was able to roughly figure out a person’s mood, their feelings and vague intentions.
But with vampires, Altair specifically, he always hit a dead end. The smell of blood always drowned out their scent, they didn’t have a heartbeat and most of them had the uncanny ability to breathe more shallowly than a sleeping person, no matter what was happening. It was like a worse kind of sensory deprivation.
It just made him feel on edge constantly. It wasn’t even anyone’s fault, much less Altair’s. Lovell genuinely liked him. He was a nice guy with a great sense of humour, a good roommate, a trusty senior and one of his best friends. It was just this one tiny thing. One thing neither of them had control over, that made Lovell stiff as a board whenever Altair got too close—whenever he wasn’t ready.
He just hoped the vampire would never notice how nervous Lovell got around him. If he did, Lovell was sure to die of embarrassment.
