《Subway》Sextant

2、temperature somet

　　(H:In his sleepy daze (clueless that it was a V): 'Brr, this window's freezing...')

　　V: Oh, for—

　　He thinks it’s the window he’s complaining about? The absurdity almost makes me laugh—if I still remembered how. The cold he’s feeling isn’t from the glass. It’s me. My skin doesn’t radiate warmth like a living thing’s should. It leeches it. And yet, instead of recoiling, this fool just nestles closer, chasing heat that isn’t there.

　　Idiot.

　　But then—his fingers brush mine. Just barely, a fleeting graze, but it sends a jolt through me like a live wire. His skin is so warm. I could map every vein beneath it blindfolded. I could—

　　No.

　　I clench my hand into a fist. Control. That’s all I am. Control and hunger and the endless, gnawing absence of things I swore I didn’t need anymore.

　　He shifts again, sighing. “Mmm… soft…”

　　Soft?

　　My coat, probably. Some expensive wool blend from a decade when tailoring still mattered. But the way he says it—like it’s a comfort, like I’m a comfort—makes my throat tighten.

　　He’d stop saying that if he knew.

　　If he opened his eyes and saw the fangs I’m carefully keeping sheathed. If he realized how many times I’ve imagined his pulse under my tongue.

　　The train sways, and his hair tickles my jaw. It smells like cheap shampoo and something inexplicably human—sunlight, maybe, or the ghost of sweat from a day lived in motion. I shouldn’t breathe it in. But I do.

　　Pathetic.

　　A century ago, I’d have drained him dry for this kind of carelessness. Two centuries ago, I’d have kept him. Now? Now I’m calculating how much longer until his stop, because if he doesn’t wake up soon, I might actually help him. Might murmur his station name like some kind of… what? Guardian? Friend?

　　The thought is so ludicrous I nearly snarl aloud.

　　Then—his phone buzzes.

　　He jerks awake, blinking dazedly at the screen before his gaze travels up—up—to my face.

　　Here it comes. The scream. The scramble. The fear.

　　But he just rubs his eyes and slurs, “...Sorry, dude.”

　　Dude.

　　I should be insulted. Instead, I’m… relieved.

　　“The windows are cold,” I mutter, because it’s the only safe thing left to say.

　　He laughs, sleepy and bright, and something in my dead chest twists.

　　I am so, so fucked.

作者有话说

　　......
Sir Vampire, has it ever occurred to you that humans might be... blissfully unaware of your species' existence?So what’s this whole emotional performance about?