fic: Observations (2005)
This is a sort of sequel to Fallen to Metamorphosis
Observations
Fallen to Metamorphosis sequel
The night sky sparkled with stars as Ian walked languidly down the middle of a deserted street. Despite the cold winter air, he wore only a pair of dark jeans and a chocolate sweater. The colors didn’t really suit him, though. With his pale skin and dark hair and eyes, he would’ve looked better in black or dark blue; in fact, the warm colors he wore now only made his pale skin stand out more.
“Pale” was really an understatement. Ian’s skin was as white as the clean snow that covered the lawns on either side of him. He was the white of a dead, blood-starved body; a body that hadn’t seen the sun for years. He was pale because he was a vampire.
He stopped abruptly and turned his head. Nothing: it was nothing but a drowsy dog peering at him from behind a frosted window. Ian resumed walking: a tall, lean specter cutting through the night, his goal an auburn-haired boy eating in a restaurant only a few more blocks away.
Benji. The name danced like a feather on the wind in Ian’s mind, accompanied by a clear picture of the boy, with his unkempt curls always falling just short of his warm brown eyes. Benji had been like so many other people that Ian had fed on--found dead and dull, lost to a world of expectation and desires denied, that one tiny spark of hope sharp in the heart but concealed in the mind. He was also like the others in that he had his own qualities that set him apart from all the rest.
Ian smiled to himself as he stood just outside the restaurant. Sure, he had taken Benji’s lifeblood; he had taken it until Benji stood at the brink of death, whether the boy knew it or not. But he hadn’t killed him; he had done the exact opposite: given him life. Benji had been so concerned with the mundane that he couldn’t see himself or his own desires; Ian had used all of his vampiric persuasion, much like a hypnotist would, to push all of that aside so that the little spark of hope could grow in his mind, allowing Benji to live--really live. Ian had discovered long ago that this, exchanging life for lifeblood, was far more pleasant and rewarding than just outright killing someone.
However, Benji had surprised Ian. On his own, Benji had fallen in love with Ian; or as was Ian’s favorite way to put it, Benji had “fallen to” him. Ian’s vampiric nature yearned to consume it all--the blood, the love, the life. He had almost taken it, too, when Benji had offered himself to him, but he had regained his senses long enough to leave Benji alive.
Now, Ian only watched from afar, like an angel would observe its charge: detached, yet full of unconditional love and care, bestowing an occasional gift to make his benevolent presence known.
Ian walked into the restaurant and seated himself at the small bar near the lobby. From there, he could see Benji eating with a small group of friends. There was Mikey: a cute, petite girl with curly brown hair that was an ever-active bundle of life--she had been friends with Benji since they were children, but she had faded in his mind when he had turned his attention to the mundane. After Ian had left his mark with Benji, though, they had rekindled the friendship.
There were other friends, too, but none as close to Benji as Mikey was. Then, of course, there was Jesse, a transfer student from somewhere in the South: a handsome, robust boy with soft brown hair. Ian envied him. Jesse sat so confidently close to Benji that the bond between the two of them almost tangible. Respectfully, Ian never watched the two alone together, but he knew that things had transpired between them that would be impossible for Ian to attain with anyone.
The envy Ian felt was nothing, really, only his constant longing for life, the dull throb beating in his heart and through his veins. Something he would always be close to, but never able to fully attain.
Ian absently dipped his fingers in the water that had been set before him, and traced patterns with it on the bar. Nothing, nothing, nothing, that’s what his existence would be without people like Benji. Always, he should maintain his distance, but Benji had insisted that they be closer. Closer, closer, and so close that he had nearly killed the boy. Love--love to consume it all, the burning passion of the blood--but he was wrought with guilt.
Ian stared at the object of his attention. He could remember the texture of his hair and the contours of his face so vividly, and the life he had stirred in him. So beautiful. He wanted to feel those curls again in his hand.
“Sir?” A voice cut through his reverie. “Are you all right?”
Ian’s eyes flicked over to the bartender, a red-haired woman that most would consider beautiful. “I’m sorry, dear. I get lost in my thoughts so easily, I’m sure you understand.” He gave her a winning smile.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale,” she insisted.
Ian shrugged. “I’m fine.” His dark gaze returned to Benji and his friends.
“She’s right,” came another, familiar voice beside him. “You are pale. Perhaps you should get something to drink?”
Ian didn’t turn to the short blond boy sliding into the seat beside him. “Why must they be so beautiful and yet so unattainable?” Ian sighed.
“He saw you, you know. It won’t be pretty if you don’t leave soon. Your instincts will get the best of you if you’re too close.” Ian shrugged and lowered his eyes to the glass of water. His companion sighed in response. “They’re alive, and we’re not, that’s why.”
Ian glared at his water. “That was a rhetorical question, you know.”
“So it was,” murmured his companion.
A silence fell between the two, and Ian’s eyes strayed again to Benji. The blond beside him was right: his instincts would get the best of him. Already Ian’s veins burned in remembrance of Benji’s blood flowing through him, warming his every cell.
“Ian,” came the velvet voice beside him. Ian’s face was turned by a gentle hand. “You are perfectly pitiful.” Green eyes held Ian captive from behind golden lashes. Such sorrow held in those eyes and told in that voice.
Ian narrowed his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Abrem,” he grumbled, though there was no bite to the words. “’Ian, the blood, my God, she won’t stop bleeding!’ ‘Ian, you can’t leave.’ My favorite, even, ‘Ian, where did I put my shoes?’” Ian smiled at him. “Precious child; you never change.”
Abrem returned the smile and took Ian’s hand. “Neither do you. We’re in a state of Purgatory, don’t you think? Caught between life and death, heaven and hell, and still the same as we were one hundred, even two hundred years ago. But come, I know a couple of girls that are more than willing to share our company and their blood. No strings or love attached, and no obstacles between the blood and us, save their skin.” The whole of this was spoken in a whisper.
Ian curled his fingers in Abrem’s hand. “Maybe.” His head snapped around as he heard Benji’s voice near him.
“Ian?” Benji glanced from Ian to Abrem and back again to Ian.
Ian tilted his head to the side, his eyes glazing over. He imagined the hot blood, full of love for him, flowing through the boy’s veins. He could hear the moist thud of Benji’s heartbeat as it blocked out all other sound. He reached out his hand--the one not held by Abrem--and pulled Benji close by the front of his shirt. “Hmm...”
Abrem’s eyes moved frantically between Ian and Benji. Benji seemed oblivious to Ian’s sudden loss of reason as he looked up into his eyes. “Ian,” Benji continued, “I wanted to say thank you. I wish-“
Abrem cut him off. “He’s not listening.”
Benji looked at Abrem. “What?”
Abrem pried Ian’s hand from the boy’s shirt. “I said he’s not listening,” he grumbled as Ian struggled to grab Benji’s shirt again. “All he hears,” Abrem glared at him, “is the beating of your bloody little heart.”
Bejin stared at him, puzzled, but jumped back as Ian lunged for him.
Abrem pulled Ian back roughly. “Forget he even exists, or your death won’t be pleasant.” Abrem dragged Ian from the restaurant, leaving Benji to fend for himself. In a nearby alley, he slammed the taller, dark-haired vampire against the wall.
Ian blinked several times and focused on the short blond in front of him. Moments passed as Abrem’s glare burned through him, and he finally lowered his eyes.
“I thought what happened with that woman had taught you not to be so close and open.” Ian winced and mumbled something incoherent; Abrem swore in response. The blond crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to Ian.
Ian stared up at the star-specked sky, reflecting on Abrem’s subtle accusation. Years ago he had met a woman, loved her, fed on her, everything. Then he had taken her life, stopped her very heart from beating, and this because he had wanted them to be as one. It was only after that he realized that she was dead and he would never see her again. All his damn own fault, and now it was a forceful reminder to keep his distance.
Overwhelming pain, yes, and Abrem, his sole and constant companion from the beginning, never once left him. Not even when Ian’s misery made him unbearable.
Ian rolled his head to look at the lovely vampire smoldering with anger beside him. “I’m sorry, Abrem.”
The green eyes softened, but Abrem didn’t look at him. “Don’t apologize. You only hurt yourself.” He uncrossed his arms and turned to Ian. “Those girls are still waiting.” He grinned. When Ian only offered a weak smile, Abrem wrapped his arms around him. “Let it go. We both know it’s no good dwelling on something we can’t have.” Abrem looked up to see the dark-haired vampire nodding.
“Let’s go then,” Ian said softly. He buried the image of Benji deep in his mind and focused on what was now, and well within his reach: Abrem, as he led him out of the alley and down the still-deserted street.
Observations
Fallen to Metamorphosis sequel
The night sky sparkled with stars as Ian walked languidly down the middle of a deserted street. Despite the cold winter air, he wore only a pair of dark jeans and a chocolate sweater. The colors didn’t really suit him, though. With his pale skin and dark hair and eyes, he would’ve looked better in black or dark blue; in fact, the warm colors he wore now only made his pale skin stand out more.
“Pale” was really an understatement. Ian’s skin was as white as the clean snow that covered the lawns on either side of him. He was the white of a dead, blood-starved body; a body that hadn’t seen the sun for years. He was pale because he was a vampire.
He stopped abruptly and turned his head. Nothing: it was nothing but a drowsy dog peering at him from behind a frosted window. Ian resumed walking: a tall, lean specter cutting through the night, his goal an auburn-haired boy eating in a restaurant only a few more blocks away.
Benji. The name danced like a feather on the wind in Ian’s mind, accompanied by a clear picture of the boy, with his unkempt curls always falling just short of his warm brown eyes. Benji had been like so many other people that Ian had fed on--found dead and dull, lost to a world of expectation and desires denied, that one tiny spark of hope sharp in the heart but concealed in the mind. He was also like the others in that he had his own qualities that set him apart from all the rest.
Ian smiled to himself as he stood just outside the restaurant. Sure, he had taken Benji’s lifeblood; he had taken it until Benji stood at the brink of death, whether the boy knew it or not. But he hadn’t killed him; he had done the exact opposite: given him life. Benji had been so concerned with the mundane that he couldn’t see himself or his own desires; Ian had used all of his vampiric persuasion, much like a hypnotist would, to push all of that aside so that the little spark of hope could grow in his mind, allowing Benji to live--really live. Ian had discovered long ago that this, exchanging life for lifeblood, was far more pleasant and rewarding than just outright killing someone.
However, Benji had surprised Ian. On his own, Benji had fallen in love with Ian; or as was Ian’s favorite way to put it, Benji had “fallen to” him. Ian’s vampiric nature yearned to consume it all--the blood, the love, the life. He had almost taken it, too, when Benji had offered himself to him, but he had regained his senses long enough to leave Benji alive.
Now, Ian only watched from afar, like an angel would observe its charge: detached, yet full of unconditional love and care, bestowing an occasional gift to make his benevolent presence known.
Ian walked into the restaurant and seated himself at the small bar near the lobby. From there, he could see Benji eating with a small group of friends. There was Mikey: a cute, petite girl with curly brown hair that was an ever-active bundle of life--she had been friends with Benji since they were children, but she had faded in his mind when he had turned his attention to the mundane. After Ian had left his mark with Benji, though, they had rekindled the friendship.
There were other friends, too, but none as close to Benji as Mikey was. Then, of course, there was Jesse, a transfer student from somewhere in the South: a handsome, robust boy with soft brown hair. Ian envied him. Jesse sat so confidently close to Benji that the bond between the two of them almost tangible. Respectfully, Ian never watched the two alone together, but he knew that things had transpired between them that would be impossible for Ian to attain with anyone.
The envy Ian felt was nothing, really, only his constant longing for life, the dull throb beating in his heart and through his veins. Something he would always be close to, but never able to fully attain.
Ian absently dipped his fingers in the water that had been set before him, and traced patterns with it on the bar. Nothing, nothing, nothing, that’s what his existence would be without people like Benji. Always, he should maintain his distance, but Benji had insisted that they be closer. Closer, closer, and so close that he had nearly killed the boy. Love--love to consume it all, the burning passion of the blood--but he was wrought with guilt.
Ian stared at the object of his attention. He could remember the texture of his hair and the contours of his face so vividly, and the life he had stirred in him. So beautiful. He wanted to feel those curls again in his hand.
“Sir?” A voice cut through his reverie. “Are you all right?”
Ian’s eyes flicked over to the bartender, a red-haired woman that most would consider beautiful. “I’m sorry, dear. I get lost in my thoughts so easily, I’m sure you understand.” He gave her a winning smile.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale,” she insisted.
Ian shrugged. “I’m fine.” His dark gaze returned to Benji and his friends.
“She’s right,” came another, familiar voice beside him. “You are pale. Perhaps you should get something to drink?”
Ian didn’t turn to the short blond boy sliding into the seat beside him. “Why must they be so beautiful and yet so unattainable?” Ian sighed.
“He saw you, you know. It won’t be pretty if you don’t leave soon. Your instincts will get the best of you if you’re too close.” Ian shrugged and lowered his eyes to the glass of water. His companion sighed in response. “They’re alive, and we’re not, that’s why.”
Ian glared at his water. “That was a rhetorical question, you know.”
“So it was,” murmured his companion.
A silence fell between the two, and Ian’s eyes strayed again to Benji. The blond beside him was right: his instincts would get the best of him. Already Ian’s veins burned in remembrance of Benji’s blood flowing through him, warming his every cell.
“Ian,” came the velvet voice beside him. Ian’s face was turned by a gentle hand. “You are perfectly pitiful.” Green eyes held Ian captive from behind golden lashes. Such sorrow held in those eyes and told in that voice.
Ian narrowed his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Abrem,” he grumbled, though there was no bite to the words. “’Ian, the blood, my God, she won’t stop bleeding!’ ‘Ian, you can’t leave.’ My favorite, even, ‘Ian, where did I put my shoes?’” Ian smiled at him. “Precious child; you never change.”
Abrem returned the smile and took Ian’s hand. “Neither do you. We’re in a state of Purgatory, don’t you think? Caught between life and death, heaven and hell, and still the same as we were one hundred, even two hundred years ago. But come, I know a couple of girls that are more than willing to share our company and their blood. No strings or love attached, and no obstacles between the blood and us, save their skin.” The whole of this was spoken in a whisper.
Ian curled his fingers in Abrem’s hand. “Maybe.” His head snapped around as he heard Benji’s voice near him.
“Ian?” Benji glanced from Ian to Abrem and back again to Ian.
Ian tilted his head to the side, his eyes glazing over. He imagined the hot blood, full of love for him, flowing through the boy’s veins. He could hear the moist thud of Benji’s heartbeat as it blocked out all other sound. He reached out his hand--the one not held by Abrem--and pulled Benji close by the front of his shirt. “Hmm...”
Abrem’s eyes moved frantically between Ian and Benji. Benji seemed oblivious to Ian’s sudden loss of reason as he looked up into his eyes. “Ian,” Benji continued, “I wanted to say thank you. I wish-“
Abrem cut him off. “He’s not listening.”
Benji looked at Abrem. “What?”
Abrem pried Ian’s hand from the boy’s shirt. “I said he’s not listening,” he grumbled as Ian struggled to grab Benji’s shirt again. “All he hears,” Abrem glared at him, “is the beating of your bloody little heart.”
Bejin stared at him, puzzled, but jumped back as Ian lunged for him.
Abrem pulled Ian back roughly. “Forget he even exists, or your death won’t be pleasant.” Abrem dragged Ian from the restaurant, leaving Benji to fend for himself. In a nearby alley, he slammed the taller, dark-haired vampire against the wall.
Ian blinked several times and focused on the short blond in front of him. Moments passed as Abrem’s glare burned through him, and he finally lowered his eyes.
“I thought what happened with that woman had taught you not to be so close and open.” Ian winced and mumbled something incoherent; Abrem swore in response. The blond crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to Ian.
Ian stared up at the star-specked sky, reflecting on Abrem’s subtle accusation. Years ago he had met a woman, loved her, fed on her, everything. Then he had taken her life, stopped her very heart from beating, and this because he had wanted them to be as one. It was only after that he realized that she was dead and he would never see her again. All his damn own fault, and now it was a forceful reminder to keep his distance.
Overwhelming pain, yes, and Abrem, his sole and constant companion from the beginning, never once left him. Not even when Ian’s misery made him unbearable.
Ian rolled his head to look at the lovely vampire smoldering with anger beside him. “I’m sorry, Abrem.”
The green eyes softened, but Abrem didn’t look at him. “Don’t apologize. You only hurt yourself.” He uncrossed his arms and turned to Ian. “Those girls are still waiting.” He grinned. When Ian only offered a weak smile, Abrem wrapped his arms around him. “Let it go. We both know it’s no good dwelling on something we can’t have.” Abrem looked up to see the dark-haired vampire nodding.
“Let’s go then,” Ian said softly. He buried the image of Benji deep in his mind and focused on what was now, and well within his reach: Abrem, as he led him out of the alley and down the still-deserted street.