4、Reencounter Like ...
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(Two months later, V spotted H. On the subway. H seems… kinda didn’t recognize V?)
V: *Two months.*
Sixty days of pretending I didn’t memorize the exact cadence of his breathing. Sixty nights of telling myself I wouldn’t *look* for him, even as I took the same damn train at the same damn time, like some lovestruck ghoul.
And now—*there he is.*
Slouched in a seat, earbuds in, humming off-key to something I’ll never hear. He’s wearing a ridiculous sweater, the kind that looks like it’s been chewed by moths. His hair is messier. There’s a coffee stain on his jeans.
*He’s perfect.*
And he doesn’t remember me.
Of course he doesn’t. Why would he? To him, I was just a stranger’s shoulder to nap on. A blip. A *nothing*.
But *I* remember. I remember the way his warmth seeped into me, the way his pulse fluttered under thin skin. I remember wanting to sink my teeth into him—and then, inexplicably, wanting *not* to.
He glances up. Our eyes meet.
*Look away. Now.*
I don’t.
His brow furrows. A flicker of recognition? No—just polite confusion. He gives me a half-smile, the kind reserved for vaguely familiar faces. *Do I know you from somewhere?*
*Yes,* I think, *you slept on me like I was furniture.*
But he’ll never say it aloud. Humans are like that—they forget the monsters they’ve brushed against. They have to.
The train lurches. His coffee sloshes, and he curses, fumbling to catch the lid. A drop lands on his wrist.
*Red.*
My vision tunnels. It’s just a *splash*, barely a speck, but suddenly all I can think about is how easy it would be to lean over and *lick it off—*
His sleeve drags over it. Gone.
I dig my nails into my palm hard enough to draw undead blood. *Control. Control. CONTROL.*
He yawns, stretches, and—*oh hell*—his collar pulls aside. There’s a freckle just below his jawline. I *know* that freckle. I’ve mapped it in my nightmares.
The train slows. His stop.
This time, he doesn’t look at me as he stands. Just shoulders his bag and shuffles toward the doors.
*Let him go.*
But then—his earbud falls out. Dangles. He doesn’t notice.
A choice:
1. *Say nothing. Watch him leave.*
2. *Reach out. Hand it back.*
I stand so fast the old woman next to me gasps.
“You dropped this.” My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.
He turns. Blinks. Takes the earbud with fingers that *radiate* heat. “Oh! Thanks, man.”
*Man. Again with the ‘man.’*
I should leave it at that. But then his gaze sharpens. “Wait… have we met?”
*Yes.* *No.* *In another life.*
“Maybe,” I say.
He grins. “Cold-windows guy?”
*He remembers.*
Something in my chest *cracks*.
“Huh,” he says, tilting his head. “Guess I *do* see you around.”
The doors open. He steps out—then pauses. Looks back.
*Don’t say it don’t say it don’t—*
“Next time,” he calls, “I’ll try not to drool on you.”
Then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I stand there, staring at empty space.
*Next time.*
Like it’s inevitable.
Like *I* am.
The doors close. The train moves.
And for the first time in centuries, I *smile.*
---
**H:** (already texting someone, fading into the distance) *"weird hot goth dude alert lol"*
**V:** (still smiling, fangs carefully hidden) *"You have no idea."*
作者有话说
第4章 Reencounter
