#as well as motivation to finally watch/read the vampire chronicles in full

[iolaussharpe-24]

I haven't even watched the Interview With The Vampire TV show... but I still dreamt about that version of Louis, Lestat, and Claudia last night.

I don't interact with these guys except on Tumblr, why are they in my dreams?!

I don't understand, but I'm not complaining because I wrote it down and now it's gonna be a story because my dreams can have plots and that one left me on a cliffhanger after jumpscaring me awake before I ever want to wake up in the morning.

[lykegenia]

Like Glitter And Gold Ch.13

COMPLETE Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Characters/pairings: Nate Sewell x f!Detective Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: Wayhaven has had its ups and downs in the past few  months, and  for Detective Leah Kingston, dealing with vampire serial  killers and mysterious plagues has become something of a routine. Good  thing, too.  The body of a murdered supernatural has just been discovered  in the   alley behind a local bar - and everything, really, just gets  weirder   from there.Between the search for the dead man's killer,  keeping the   Agency at bay, and trying to navigate the new, uncertain  waters of a   relationship with a very suave vampire boyfriend, Leah has  her work cut  out solving the mystery, especially when it beomes clear  she's hunting  more than just a murderer. Additional tags: murder mystery, fluff, angst

Read on AO3

--

If there’s one thing that can improve a shitty day, it’s a cup of fancy tea and a cinnamon swirl from Haley’s, which is why Leah suspects Tina was so desperate to get her out of the station. Instead of taking their usual corner, they’re eating in the car for better privacy, brushing flakes of pastry into the footwell and aimlessly people-watching as the sun sets behind the buildings of the square. It definitely beats staring at a computer screen – or hiding behind it, as Tina insists she’s been doing.

It’s been three days since official news of the arrest went public, long enough for Bobby to pen a grudging article about the case being solved. Thankfully he’s kept the salacious details to a bare minimum, a run-of-the-mill crime of passion next to the sensational reveal of the Pegasus’ lost treasure, which for him has the added bonus of inspiring reams of editorials and interviews with the bigwigs of the town.

He's welcome to the attention. There’s a lot missing from the bare-bones report she had to write for station records, everything from a fudged motive to the significance of the murder weapon, and Bobby’s flaunting creates an easy smokescreen to excuse the lack of detail. The Captain’s only thoughts when she emailed him the final forms were grief for the whisky, salvaged from the lakebed only to be squirreled away into the mayor’s private collection.

The separate report for the Agency has taken longer as it contains not only the full details of the case but also the measures taken to keep said details contained, with the assurance that none of the town’s residents are any the wiser about the existence of the supernatural. If she’s been more meticulous than strictly necessary, well, it just means she wants to do a thorough job – and it has nothing to do with wanting to avoid Unit Bravo and anywhere she might happen to run into them.

Tina, of course, knows her too well, and traces the line of her thoughts as if they were sketched out in front of her.

“So… what’s Nate’s opinion on all this craziness?”

Leah tears a shard of pastry from her danish. “He’s three hundred years old, he’s probably seen it all before.”

“Not what I meant,” Tina retorts. “And three hundred? Seriously?” She blows a stunned breath through her cheeks. “I meant about Samantha Harrs being the killer.”

“I don’t know…” She’s been trying not to think about it. “He wasn’t happy. But I’m not happy either – the Agency just sweeps everything under the rug like it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s probably not why he’s upset.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” Tina huffs, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “the murderer you just unmasked killed her partner because she found out he wasn’t human and it sent her postal, and you and Nate are in the middle of some weird disagreement. I don’t know how common it is for humans and supernaturals to be in relationships with each other where the human knows, but it can’t be a great reminder of how everything can go horribly wrong for him.”

Leah can only stare. Could that really be the source of Nate’s strange defensiveness the last time they talked? She’s been so busy trying to sort out her own feelings, the possibility never occurred to her.

“And they made you the detective,” Tina remarks, when the thought finally settles.

“You didn’t want the paperwork.”

“You should talk to him,” she says. “And not just because you’d be stupid to let someone who looks like that and who’s so clearly into you just walk away.”

It’s easier said than done.

“Sometimes I wonder what he wants.”

“Maybe ask him?”

“And what if I don’t like the answer?” Leah asks. What if it’s the answer she’s afraid of most?

Tina shrugs. “I guess you’ll be moping forever, then.”

Without the energy for a proper reply, Leah turns her attention to the passersby on the street. As much as she wants to protest that the situation is complicated, that she never expected her life to turn in this direction, or even that dealing with a relationship is by far the most stressful thing she’s ever done, the simple heart of the matter is that the path she’s walking is one she can’t see, and it’s terrifying. A conversation is inevitable – not least because she’s scheduled for a debrief at the warehouse in a few hours – but she has no idea what to say. How to explain herself.

--

“Is there anything else you want to add?” Rebecca asks, a few hours later. She’s sitting at the kitchen table in a charcoal grey business suit, prim as ever as she scans the contents of the manilla folder in front of her, like a teacher marking homework for an underperforming student. Adam hasn’t deigned to sit, and instead looms over her right shoulder, arms folded but otherwise at ease.

Leah shakes her head. At some point she’ll have to talk to Verda about the medical report, and hopefully persuade him to keep his silence once the case goes to trial. It won’t be a pleasant conversation, but that’s between them. The Agency has nothing to do with it.

Adam raises an eyebrow at her technically-not-a-lie, but says nothing.

“If that’s all, then it’s getting late.”

As she stands, Rebecca looks up from the file as if surprised her daughter doesn’t want to hang around for a cuppa and a nice chat. “Of course, I’ll need to file your report in any case.” She chews her lip for a second. “Leah? You did good work on this.”

“I did my job,” she replies. “I don’t need praise.”

The discomfort is better in the corridor without Rebecca’s scrutiny on the back of her skull, but now the final barrier has fallen away, the last excuse keeping her from Nate. He must know she’s in the building, but he’s nowhere in sight. It’s telling. Guilt twists deeper in her gut.

As she winds through the warehouse the feeling hardens into worry at what he’ll say when she finally finds him – if he lets her find him at all. A part of her wants him to be on patrol in a deliberately far corner of Wayhaven, avoiding her, because that would be easier; it would feel deserved, and then she could curl herself up and hide away somewhere in the hope that the problem would go away.

But how to make him understand the alarms that wake in her head every time he puts himself forward? It’s mean and it’s ridiculous, but his earnestness chips away at the protective wall she’s built around old scars. Still deep in thought, she nearly collides with Felix in the corridor, his arms full of cat food, and gets a worried, sympathetic look for her trouble.

“Nate’s in the library – he’s, uh, not busy or anything. Just so you know.”

“Thanks, I was looking for him.”

Sure enough, faint scales of classical music echo down the hallway as she approaches the library. The plush carpet has muffled her footsteps, but as she pauses outside the door to steady herself, there’s little chance he hasn’t heard her. And yet, she can detect no audible movement from inside. What if he’s hoping she’ll walk away? Perhaps… Yes. If he doesn’t want to talk, she can pretend she only wandered in to look for a misplaced hoodie, or a notebook, and bid him an impartial good evening – and then hopefully make it to her room before the tightness in her chest can overwhelm her entirely.

The doorknob under her palm is cool brass, its raised decoration pressing smooth bumps into the skin of her palm as she turns it and pushes into the room. Nate is over at the far end with a pile of books balanced on one hand, frowning down at a piece of card in the other as if it’s in a language e doesn’t understand. When she crosses the threshold, he glances up, his surprise feigned but his smile genuine enough, even if there’s more wariness than warmth hidden in its corners.

She doesn’t go closer, greets him instead with a self-conscious little wave. “Hey.”

“Hi… Have you seen Adam and Rebecca?”

“Yeah, I just submitted my report.”

“Good.” He nods, brittle. “It’s good that everything’s wrapped up.”

“For now.”

A shrug, and another silence falls between them, sharp enough that she fights the urge to tug her sleeves down over her hands, to shrink away from the inevitable blow.

“Look,” she starts, and rolls her lips together. “I just wanted to say, it was awful, what Samantha did. I – Tina said –” no, Tina’s not supposed to know “– it’s occurred to me that this case might have seemed a little… close to home, because Russell was a supernatural, and stuff. But doing what she did, I – the way she reacted wasn’t right.”

He sets the books on the shelf when her voice falters, turning towards her like a compass, but her courage falters and her gaze stays riveted on the pattern of flamingos on his socks.

“And… in case it was a concern, I just needed you to know I would never – I mean I couldn’t –” She shakes her head, waves off the unfinished sentence. “It doesn’t matter. Ignore me. I’ll get out of your way.”

She’s barely reached for the door when a hand catches her arm, light as a cobweb.

“Leah…” Nate breathes. “Stop. Did you really think I feared you capable of murder?”

She shrugs, doesn’t dare look at his face. “I don’t know? You were upset, I don’t know what to think, and in case you’ve missed the newsflash, I’m really bad at this.”

“At what?”

“This,” she replies, gesturing between them. “Being a normal person. Not fucking things up. Relationships are something other people get to have – I’m just the one who clears up the mess when they go wrong.”

A gentle finger curls under her chin and tips her head upwards, but she still refuses to meet his eyes. That way lies the ruin of the last fine thread of her control.

“You haven’t fucked things up,” he tells her gently, brushing the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.

The gesture is what finally lifts her gaze to his face, every muscle tensed against her body’s urge to tremble. He looks pained.

“Whatever I have said to make you think so,” he says, “I wish you’d tell me.”

“You don’t get it.” She jerks her head away from his touch. “I don’t get to have things like you. You’re so… so nice. So interested in me. The way you look at me sometimes, it feels like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop – wondering what you really want from me. It’s stupid but I can’t help it and it’s exhausting. I thought I could handle it and that I’d get over myself so you wouldn’t have to deal with it, but then Samantha turned out to be the murderer, and there was the picture in the paper, and then –”

The rest of the words are swallowed by the cashmere softness of his jumper as he wraps her in a hug. Stunned, it’s all she can do to breathe in his scent, to register the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear or the thread of fingers into her hair.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs after a long moment of silence.

“What?” She tries to push away. “No. I’m apologising. I’m the one who –”

“I thought I was being obvious,” he interrupts, though he loosens his hold. “It didn’t occur to me that my actions might be read as insincere.”

“Probably because a normal person can fucking read.”

Nate sighs. “It seems unfair to argue for normalcy in someone as extraordinary as you.”

She should have known he wouldn’t take her seriously. Annoyance hisses between her teeth as she tries to disentangle herself again, but he only lets her get to arms’ length before he catches her once more.

“Leah, stop. You’re right.” He turns a palm upwards against her cheek. “I’ve been so consumed by my own feelings that I didn’t take the time to make sure of yours. I wish you’d asked,” he adds, but quiet enough for it to not feel like an accusation.

“Nobody likes someone who’s clingy,” she snaps, her gaze once again drifting to the sofa, the rows of books that line the walls, anywhere but him.

“That’s not what I think of you,” he says, as if he can see right through to the wellspring of bitterness she’s buried deep. “You are brave, and driven, and one of the most intelligent people I have ever met. I hope you believe me.”

And just like that, he’s disarmed her.

“Well when you come right out and say it…” she grumbles, with another inelegant shrug.

“I think I’ll keep saying it,” he replies, with a crinkle of amusement in his smile. “Until you stop doubting it.”

She snorts. “Not sure it works like that. Ugh, I’m sorry. I want to be better, I just…”

With a hum, he draws her back into an embrace, tension easing out of him when this time she returns the gesture. “It’s alright… And I’m truly sorry, too, for failing to see how much you were struggling with this. We’ll work it out.”

“Is there a seminar I can attend?”

A deep chuckle rumbles against her cheek, chased by the brief press of a kiss to the top of her head. Leah, unable to remember ever receiving such a fond gesture, burrows deeper into his chest and tries to steady her breathing, to push away the conviction that he deserves better.

“I have something for you,” he says after a while.

Muffled against the soft scratch of what is probably actually cashmere, she grins. “That sounds like a Mason line.”

“I should hope I have a little more subtlety,” he teases. “And it’s two things, really. They’re in the kitchen.”

Despite not wanting to move, she lets him take her hand to lead the way. The corridors are empty, perhaps because the other vampires have picked up on the uneasy mood and decided not to get caught in any crossfire, but it’s nice to have the quiet, and Nate’s warm hand secure in hers even after she spilled all her fears to him. Every so often as they walk he glances to her, swinging their hands like they ought to be skipping through a field of wildflowers.

When they get to the kitchen, he leaves her at the island and crosses to one of the upper cupboards. A cacophony of sweet and savoury odours pours out from the rows of small, uniform jars that fill the shelves.

“Nice hiding place,” she comments.

He grins. “I like to think so.”

He takes down a small, oblong package and hands it to her. The plain brown paper comes away easily to reveal a simple A5 picture frame, already mounted with a photo.

She bites her lip. “This is the picture Bobby took.”

Even a second time, the vulnerability on display constricts unpleasantly in her chest, a curl of shame for how easily she got caught. And yet, something about this particular version of the image is off – its edges are crisper than they should be, with a gloss from high-quality photo stock.

“You didn’t cut this out of the paper.”

“No…” Nate has the grace to look abashed. “I went to see Bobby and asked him for the master copy, as well as any others he’d made.”

“And he just gave them to you?”

He ducks his shoulders in a brief shrug. “He might have needed a little persuasion. I also might have suggested that it would be better for his health if he refrained from running any more such speculative articles in the future.”

“You threatened him?” she checks. Leaving aside the fact that she’s pretty sure using pheromones on civilians is against some sort of Agency code, revealing anything supernatural to Bobby in particular feels like poking a leopard with a short stick. “Does Adam know?”

“No, Adam doesn’t know.” Another shrug. “I meant what I said the other day – he shouldn’t have done what he did.”

Underneath his concern, the ever-present gentleness he tries so hard to project, his voice is betrayed by a note of anger that rings like cold steel, the predator he could become if he ever let himself loose. Leah has to look away, unused to the idea of such an effort on her behalf.

“Why give it to me?” she asks.

Nate has stepped closer, one reverent hand playing with the stray wisps of hair around her face. “Because Bobby Marks’ photography skills far exceed his manners,” he says, “and it reminds me of a beautiful day spent in your company. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the best way to avoid being hurt is to take an enemy’s weapons from them and turn them to a different purpose.”

With a heavy sigh, Leah considers the photo again. “Pretty and wise. How do you cope?”

He chuckles. Soft fingers trace the line of her jaw as he leans in, and with a nervous swallow her gaze drops to his mouth. Even after only three days – hardly an eternity – getting to kiss him again is like the prospect of rain in a desert, her heart a seed bursting into flower at the merest drop of water as she presses close and wraps her arms around his neck.

“I almost forgot the other thing,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Do we really need it?”

“I want to share it with you.”

This time, he reaches into one of the bottom cupboards to pull out a pair of cut-crystal tumblers, and then into another for a dark, scuffed bottle, which he presents to her with all the pomp of a waiter in a fancy restaurant delivering the wine list. The label is faded, crinkled into the rough texture paper gets when it’s been soaked and then left to dry, and instead of a modern plastic film around the neck, the stopper is held in place with a thick daub of bluish wax.

“Don’t tell me that’s from the Pegasus?” Her hand stretches out of its own accord, riveted by this small, insanely valuable piece of Wayhaven’s history.

“One of the salvage team owed me a favour,” he explains, and sets the bottle on the counter. “The mayor has agreed that a portion of the proceeds will go to Stanley Harris to make up for his great-grandfather’s treatment after the wreck, and the rest is going to fund various social projects around town.”

“No doubt with a healthy commission left aside for himself – Walter Greene must be thrilled.” She probably shouldn’t relish as much as she does the fact that, after fronting so much money for Russell’s diving equipment, the local crime boss won’t be seeing a penny from the proceeds. Even this single bottle is more than he’ll ever get to tuck away into his private stores.

And Nate is actually going to open it.

“You know,” she ventures, “that’ll probably be wasted on me. I’m not exactly a connoisseur.”

He offers her a smile. “The important part is not the whisky, it’s being able to share it with such excellent company.”

He even sweeps her hand up to kiss her knuckles. With lines like that, and those rich, doe-brown eyes drinking her in like she’s starlight, it’s hard not to sympathise with all those heroines of Victorian literature who had to keep piles of cushions within fainting distance. Strangely, it doesn’t bother her as much as it might have done a week ago. The talk they shared in the library has cleared the air enough to allow her the moment free of suspicion, easy and relaxed as he breaks the wax seal and pulls the cork with a faint pop. A rich, peaty aroma rises up from the dram of amber liquid he pours for each of them. She doesn’t say it, but philistine that she is, it hardly seems worth a hundred years of fuss.

“To successfully solving your case,” he says, raising his glass.

“To… clearing the air.”

The glasses clink with a pure, brilliant note. To her uneducated human nose, the smell of the whisky doesn’t impart any great epiphany on closer inspection, and if her face flushes with warmth it likely has more to do with Nate’s amusement at her caution than any particular effect of the alcohol. She takes a sip. At first, the taste is almost pleasant, mellow and smoky. And then the burning starts. She coughs, forcing it down, while Nate’s bites his lips together to keep from laughing at her grimace.

“Yeah, no,” she gasps. “I am not a fan of that.”

Rubbing a soothing line between her shoulder blades, he murmurs something she doesn’t catch and feathers a kiss against her hair.

“Are you alright?”

“I just choked on my whole salary.” Another cough. “I told you it would be wasted on me.”

“I wouldn’t call that performance a waste,” he teases.

“Ha ha. Aren’t you going to try it?”

One elegant eyebrow lifts, his gaze fixed on her as he sniffs, sips, savours the feel of it on his tongue. There’s rapture in his expression, a groan that falls from his lips in the brief instant his eyes slip closed. Her mouth goes dry.

“So, uh, is it good?” she asks, trying to ignore the flush of heat to her face.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, the bastard. His eyes open lazily, his smile lengthened into an easy smirk just shy of breaking into a full grin.

“It has some pleasant notes.”

Her weight shifts; her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ in there.”

A hum. He takes her hand again and turns so that she’s between him and the counter – not trapped, but pinned all the same as he searches her face.

“I merely had a thought about what would make it sweeter.”

“Oh?” He’s close enough now that she can taste it on his breath.

“Mhmm. May I show you?”

[depressed-sock]

A heartbeat away part 1

M!detective/ Mason

The Wayhaven Chronicles

Finally got the motivation to write a bit. This might end up being a small series, it depends on if I can keep my motivation to write lol

Tw: blood, violence, nightmare

...

It starts as a dream. A soft nothing that won’t be important or fantastic enough to remember when he finally wakes. Not until the dream begins to change at least. A feeling of something other crawling its way in and through. Rotting away any sense of safety until he's left staring at the woods that surround him.

The area dimly lit by a full moon that casts more shadows against the trees than there should be in reality. All of them sitting in waiting. Even as a heavy fog drifts low, clinging to whatever it can touch. His body shivers against it, ice clinging to his eyelashes. His attempts to blink it away, but fails miserably as they instead try to glue his eyelids shut.

He’s very much aware of the fact that he's still asleep. But it does not stop the sudden rise of panic in his chest as glowing eyes begin to dot the woods around him. His breathing grows ragged, coming out as hot puffs of steaming air. The area falls into a quiet pause before a crack of thunder forces the shadows move as one. He runs. Following the invisible path laid out before him.

The shadows chase him, unseen claws slashing into his bare back. Leaving him too distracted to step carefully, bare feet catching on a root he hadn’t seen in his rush. He falls to the ground, hands digging painfully into the broken brush beneath him and he can feel a wave of foreign anger bubbling in his gut.

Until the moment finally comes. Something spearing through his chest, pinning him in a kneeled position against the forest floor. The metallic glint catches his eye and leaves him with only the ability to watch as his blood drips down the metal that protrudes from his chest. His blood steaming against the cold air until it too eventually freezes over. He can still feel the pain searing through him as his eye’s finally snap open.

It takes a moment to ground himself, breaths coming out in short gasps as he tries to focus on the room around him. The plain white wall to his right catching his eye as dark shadows suddenly scatter from it and into darker corners of the room. Leaving him alone to stare at where they had gathered.

Eyes, shadows, claws, pain, cold. His mind runs through the main details but doesn’t bother to hold in the rest of the dream. Mostly because he already knows this one by heart. It’s a familiar nightmare, one of many he’s had and one of many he will have. Just an echo of a life long gone before his own ever started.

Just an echo... Unlike the thing he can still sense taking up residence in his room.

His first thought is to ignore it. To try and go back to what little bit of sleep awaits him. It's all just another part of his usual nighttime routine. But something at the back of his mind is screaming at him that the presence feels off. That it’s not one of his usual guests.

So he forces himself to wake further, eyelids still heavy and wanting for sleep. His hazy gaze staring at the wall for some kind of answer that he knows is there. Before finally realizing exactly what’s wrong. It doesn't match the memory of the one in his home.

Right… Of course, it doesn’t. He didn’t want to drive back so late at night so he stayed at the warehouse with the rest of the team. Sleeping in a room made for him but not 'made' for him.

Hell. He knew he should have done a check but the last time he stayed nothing seemed off, so he’d just assumed there were no extra guests. Or that if there truly were any, the agency would have dealt with it.

This is what he gets for letting his guard down.

With a sigh, he finally gives in to the feeling creeping up his spine. Turning to lie on his back, glaring up at the ceiling. At the shadow who watches back.

He'd like to say he was going to just ignore it and pretend he doesn’t see it. Try and get some kind of sleep before he truly has to get up for the day. It’d be stupid for him to just leave it though. Eventually, it’d realize he could sense it and then he’d have to try and dodge it whenever the team was around. Which would lead to more questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

"So I'm guessing this is where you either talk my ear off or try to make my life hell." He flinches as his voice cracks through the air like a whip rather than the whisper it was intended to be.

It tilts its head to the side in response, eyes temporarily blinking in and out of existence. A hand stretches forward from it, hovering inches above his face until he can just barely make out gnarled skin that clings tight to bony fingers.

"I can't help you." His voice holds steady even as it reaches further down, hand brushing against the faint scars on his neck. Skin freezing beneath its touch. He’s sure it can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Maybe this is something he should have been prepared for or at least something he should be used to by now.

But his life has never gotten easier knowing what the touch of death feels like.

The knock comes suddenly. A soft rap against the door that has the shadow snapping its hand back, retreating in a panic as he scrambles out of his covers. His hand blindly fumbling on his bedside table for his glasses. Whipping them immediately to his eyes once he finds them. Trying his best to catch a clearer glimpse of the spirit only to find it gone by the time his glasses sit crooked on his nose.

"Nolan, are you okay?" Nat's concerned voice comes through the door.

He takes a deep breath, rubbing the palms of his hands against his eyes before fixing his glasses firmly into place. "I'm fine." He mumbles before throwing his blankets fully off and getting up to cross the room. He opens the door, leaning heavily against it, and gives her a tired shrug, "Just a bad dream."

She looks at him with a frown, her eyebrows pinched in concern as she takes in the deep bags under his eyes. "Are you sure you're ok? It looks like you haven't been sleeping at all."

"I'm fine Nat,” his voice softens, “Just have had a bunch of late shifts at the police station recently.”

“Of course.” she nods her head in understanding, hands fidgeting restlessly like she wants to say more. She seems to weigh her words before finally deciding to softly ask, “Was it about Murphy?”

“No. Not this time at least,” he shrugs again looking away from her and down the hall. Like he’s afraid someone else might be listening. A sense of paranoia he’s never fully gotten rid of from his relationship with Bobby.

He shakes his head before focusing back on her, “But honestly nightmares are just a…” He pauses as he tries to find the words, “Well they’re just a usual occurrence for me. Even before the whole Murphy fiasco. It’s nothing to worry about.”

She hesitates a moment. Studying him before giving in with a sigh, "Well if you need help with anything you know we'll do our best to help, right?"

"Yes, I’m aware." He smiles softly, "But what I really need right now is coffee."

"You're not going to try and go back to sleep?"

"Couldn't even if I wanted to." He sighs, as he closes the door behind him and begins to walk towards the kitchen. Nat keeping pace with him even though he feels like he’s moving in slow motion.

He’s not going to be able to sleep here again without doing a thorough check-in with the unaccounted for guest that’s roaming around. Should have done a check of the room. Hell, he should have checked the whole warehouse. He knows better. But he’s gotten too complacent by expecting everything to be like his apartment. The safety of it rotting away his built up defenses.

At least, this was a wake-up call with a safety net. If he needs too, really needs to, he can tell the team what the issue is. Of course, that’s a last resort only. Especially considering how past experiences have gone when he’s tried to tell someone he cares about. In his head he knows it’d be different with them, they’re vampires after all. Can’t get much more into the supernatural than being a supernatural.

The main issue would end up being them informing Rebecca about it.

The cold air of the hallway sends a chill down his spine and he finds himself stuffing his hands into his sweatpants pockets, hunching forward slightly as he tries to ignore the growing anxiety building beneath his skin. Rebecca finding out is absolutely the last thing he needs in his life.

Nat watches him, her pace steady as she walks beside him. Looking more and more like she wants to say something else but instead, she forces herself to focus on the hallway ahead of them. He knows she can probably tell that there's something more off with him than he's letting on.

Mercifully she doesn't bring it up.

And it’s not long before they’re sitting across the table from one another, a warm cup of coffee in his hand while she sips on her tea. The whole place feeling unnaturally quiet with the others all asleep.

“Seems like everyone decided to try and get some sleep tonight. So what are you doing up?” he asks to fill the silence.

“I was going to do some reading in the library,” she hums, “I have a couple of series I’m catching up on.”

“You have something you’re not caught up on? With all the time you’ve had?” He smirks as she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know if you noticed but we’ve been a little busy recently,” she laughs, her fingers tapping gently against her cup.

“Maybe I’ll head that way with you then. I still need to take an actual crack at the library considering all we did last time was research.”

She gives him an unimpressed look, “Right, research.”

“Hey!” he barks out a laugh, “I definitely did research before I got…” he tilts his head to the side with a smirk, “distracted.” Not as distracted as he would have preferred but something he and Mason definitely made up for later.

She groans in complaint, setting her cup down to allow her to massage her temples, “I swear you’re just as bad as him.”

“Thank you.” His smirk turns into a wide grin.

“That was definitely not a compliment.”

“Oh I know.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he takes another sip of coffee.

Nat responding back with a roll of her eyes and immediately hiding her own smile behind her cup. Their soft chatter soon feeling the space and drawing the other in one by one.

Having someone to hang around after a nightmare... It’s nicer than he remembers and something he didn’t realize exactly how much he’s missed.