Dominic's POV:
I finally win the fucking war with the mayhem that dork left behind. Smoke's out. Sirens are silent. The cursed pan? Fallen soldier. May it rest in greasy peace.
But something's off.
Too quiet.
The siren's dead, yeah—but him? That Bat never shut up. Even in his sleep, he mumbled like he was starring in his own sitcom.
Now? Nothing.
No tripping over the rug. No humming off-key Taylor Swift. No dramatic gasps over TikToks he wasn't even watching.
Did he… run away?
I mean—I wanted him gone. Swore I'd toss him out myself.
But now my chest feels like someone's kicked a football through it. Hard.
Fuck.
I'm not good at this introspection crap, but—after the wolfbite madness? The isolation? The fucked-up hunger I can't explain?
He's the only one who talks to me. Not at me. Not about my abs or the mystery of why I vanished from the team. He didn't care about the football hero or the muscle god. He just…
Talked and flirted sometimes!
Kept talking. Until I didn't feel like a monster anymore.
FUCK I'M LOSING IT.
But where is he? That idiot can kill himself with a spoon.
"BAT!!" I yell, storming through the apartment. "BAT! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
Not his real name. But it stuck. Like a nickname for an annoying mosquito that bit you and stayed.
And then—
There. Curled up at the edge of the couch, like a shadow made of rejection and regret.
Is he… crying?
I didn't even know vampires could do that. Don't they, like, turn misty or drink a sadder person? And do they have body fluids to cry? New thing noted!
But he's curled in on himself, hiding his face, trembling. Not smiling. Not pouting.
Shit.
---
Lean's POV:
I fucked up.
I really fucked up.
I made him cry. The guy who saved my undead ass, and nursed me like a nurse!!
I didn't mean to. I just wanted to make him dinner.
But instead, I lit his kitchen on fire, made him almost cry, and now I'm curled up like a dead spider on his couch.
Why didn't he punch me?
I deserved that punch. That pan was a war crime. I would've punched me!
He's so mad. I can feel it. He's strangling that sink like it owes him money.
I just—couldn't look at him. So I came here. To die in shame.
And now he's calling my name again.
Oh no.
Oh fuck.
Is this it? The Punchening? The Grumpy Knight's final swing?
Nobody ever hit me before. Not even when I stole blood bags from the hospital vending machine. Because maybe I had a pretty innocent eyes and face!
But maybe I deserve it.
Except now he's in front of me. And he's staring at me like I'm made of cracked porcelain. And I am very scared and I can and will pee in my pants if he comes any near!
---
Dominic's POV:
Yup.
Sobbing.
Ugly, baby-lamb sobbing.
What the hell do I even do with that?
He looks… horrifying. His face is pale like a week-old corpse. Eyes leaking. Nose leaking. Mouth? Leaking. Why is everything leaking?!
Is this normal? Should I put him in rice?
I flop down beside him and awkwardly poke his arm. Cold. Like "ice sculpture of Elsa" cold.
"Hey. Bat. Don't cry." I grumble. "I hate when grown-ups cry. It's weird. I wasn't going to punch you, okay? I was just scaring you a little. And I am going to stuff gralic in your mouth if you don't."
He peeks up at me like a kicked puppy. And whispers—
"I'm sorry."
Goddammit.
I sigh. "It's okay. Just don't break my kitchen next time, alright?"
And then.
HE POUNCES.
Face first into my chest.
I freeze. My arms go straight to my sides like I've been tased.
And then—I feel it.
Nose goo. Eye goo. Vampire sadness fluids soaking through my shirt like holy punishment.
He starts babbling. It's... incomprehensible. Sounded like:
> "I didn't Mont to puss ye! I only wan to help! Ples don't sty mad om meh—"
Is this a toddler? Is this my life?
But I speak fluent Dumbass now. I translate:
> I didn't mean to piss you off! I only wanted to help! Please don't stay mad at me!
I snap. I slap a hand over his mouth before he leaks more language.
"Are you gonna let me fucking speak!?"
---
Lean's POV:
His hand's on my mouth.
He's close. Real close.
His heartbeat's strong under my ear. Angry, confused, loud.
My whole face is a mess and I'm pretty sure I snotted on his collarbone.
But he hasn't shoved me off.
He hasn't told me to leave.
He's here.
And he's staying.
For now.
I nod under his palm. Silent. Barely breathing.
What's he going to say?