《Subway》Sextant

3、weight "Do I

　　(H:" Erk… Did I squish you flat?")

　　V: Pain? The concept is almost laughable. My body doesn’t work like his—doesn’t bruise, doesn’t ache, doesn’t feel in the ways that matter. And yet, here he is, blinking up at me with those sleep-soft eyes, worrying about something as human as discomfort.

　　"No," I want to say. "You could stab me in the ribs, and I wouldn’t flinch."

　　But that would require explanations. And explanations lead to questions. And questions lead to him knowing.

　　So instead, I just shake my head. "You're fine."

　　He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. "Still, kinda rude of me to just… use you as a pillow."

　　Rude? If only he knew the things I’ve done—the things I am. Rudeness is the least of his sins.

　　But he’s waiting for a response, so I force a shrug. "You weigh less than a coat."

　　It’s true. He’s slight, barely there—the kind of human that makes my instincts bristle with something dangerously close to protection. Which is absurd. I don’t protect. I hunt. I feed. I survive.

　　Yet here I am, calculating the exact pressure of his body against mine like it’s something to memorize.

　　He grins, crooked and unguarded. "Guess that’s what happens when you skip breakfast."

　　Breakfast. The word is so normal, so mortal, it sends a sharp pang through me. I can’t remember the last time I ate something that wasn’t blood. Can’t remember the last time I sat across from someone and shared a meal instead of being the meal.

　　The train slows again, and he glances at the station map. "Oh—this is me."

　　Good. This should be a relief. An escape. But as he stands, something in me rebels.

　　Ask his name.

　　The thought comes unbidden, vicious in its simplicity. Ask. Just ask.

　　But I don’t.

　　He adjusts his bag, hesitates. "Uh… thanks. For not shoving me onto the floor."

　　I could say "Anytime." I could say "Don’t mention it."

　　What comes out is: "You’d be surprised how often this happens."

　　What.

　　His laugh is startled, bright. "Do I look like a serial napper or something?"

　　You look like a dream I shouldn’t be having.

　　But I just raise an eyebrow. "Maybe."

　　The doors open. He steps out, still smiling, and for one reckless second, I consider following. Not to hunt. Not to feed. Just to… see.

　　Then the chime sounds, the doors slide shut, and he’s gone.

　　The space where he leaned against me is already cooling.

　　Idiot.

　　I close my eyes. Next time, I tell myself, I’ll move away first.

　　But we both know I’m lying.

　　---

　　# H: (from the platform, waving) “See you around, cold-windows guy!”

　　V: (not waving back, not breathing) "...Unlikely."

　　(Liars, both of us.)