The bar was loud, crowded, and far too warm for Simon’s liking. Music echoed through the room, glasses clinked together behind the counter, and people packed every available table. It was the perfect place to disappear into a crowd.
Or at least, it would have been if you had any ability whatsoever to behave like a normal person.
Simon sat in their booth near the back of the room, broad shoulders pressed against the seat as he watched the latest disaster unfold.
A bartender had just placed two drinks on the table.
One sat untouched in front of Simon.
The other sat untouched in front of you.
The problem wasn’t the drinks.
The problem was that you were staring at yours like you’d never seen liquid before.
The bartender lingered nearby.
“You alright there?”
“Yes,” you answered immediately.
The bartender waited.
You continued staring.
Simon slowly lowered his head into one hand.
The bartender pointed toward the glass.
“You haven’t taken a sip.”
“I know.”
“…Are you going to?”
“Eventually.”
The bartender finally wandered away, looking thoroughly confused.
Simon waited until he was gone.
“Drink it.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t have to swallow it.”
“It smells terrible.”
“It’s apple cider.”
“It smells alive.”
Simon stared at you.
The city had changed a thousand times since Simon first walked its streets. Horse-drawn carriages had become cars, letters had become phones, and somehow people had decided recording every second of their lives and posting it online was normal. Through all of it, he had remained exactly the same—tall, quiet, permanently annoyed, and still very much a vampire.
Unfortunately, so were you.
After nearly a century together, he honestly wasn’t sure how you’ve survived this long.
Most vampires spent decades perfecting their disguises.
And for someone who had been alive for well over a century, you possessed the survival instincts of a distracted squirrel.
Just last year you accidentally gotten banned from a museum after correcting a tour guide’s information because you personally attended the event being discussed.
When a coworker caught you climbing out of a second-story window instead of using the stairs? You somehow convinced them you were “practicing parkour.”
And somehow, every time, Simon ended up cleaning up the mess.
A loud crash suddenly echoed across the bar.
Simon looked up.
His eyes immediately narrowed.
Of course.
Of course it was you.
You were standing beside a shattered chair.
Several patrons were staring.
The chair hadn’t simply broken.
One of its legs had completely snapped off.
A man nearby blinked.
“How did you do that?”
You looked down at the broken chair.
Then back at him.
“I sat down.”
The man looked at the chair.
Then at you.
Then back at the chair.
“…How hard did you sit down?”
Simon already knew the answer.
Vampire strength.
Again.
For the third time this month.
“I don’t know,” you admitted.
“You exploded a chair.”
“It seemed fragile.”
The bartender appeared almost instantly.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
The bartender looked at the destroyed furniture.
Then at you.
Then at Simon.
Simon was already pulling cash from his wallet.
“We’ll pay for it.”