text: All was quiet, save for the footsteps. Just the rhythmic tap of shoes on concrete. These particular shoes were handcrafted by their owner, made of shining black leather, and the man wearing them was rather proud of them. They looked just like the pair he wore ten years ago, and that pair looked like the pair from ten years before, and so on backwards for over 200 years. Yes, Abraham Weston was proud of his shoes. This is not to say Abraham was not proud of all his clothes, but he was particularly fond of the shoes. He gazed down at them as he walked leisurely along the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his coat. When he looked up, he saw his destination in the distance. A large, elegant home on the very end of a cul-de-sac. Deep maroon with white shutters, and the liveliest little garden out front. As he approached the house, Abraham looked up at the sky. In this part of town, he could see the stars so well. The moon was nearly full-- just one day shy. He thought of his good friend, Eleanor. Tomorrow would be hard for her. Perhaps he would see her tonight? Abraham pulled his watch from his pocket and saw it was 11:59 P.M. The house was still over half a mile down the road, and he was due to arrive at midnight. He had to pick up the pace. With a sigh, Abraham moved to a brisk stride. At least, it was what he considered a brisk stride. He arrived at the door of the house. He looked at his watch again, just as the hands moved. Midnight, on the dot. Abraham grinned, putting his watch back into his pocket, and knocked on the door. He was almost immediately greeted by a familiar face. “Abraham.” “Oliver.” Abraham looked up at Oliver and they exchanged smiles. Oliver’s teeth were strikingly white, and his skin nearly matched. His porcelain complexion was only made to look paler by his shock of black hair. Abraham’s eyes lingered on the other man’s lips as they drifted down to his cheekbones and jawline, both worrisomely sharp. His golden eyes shone underneath his sculpted brows, surveying Abraham’s features. “Are you going to come in?” Oliver asked, an eyebrow raising. “Well, I can’t come in until you invite me.” “Please, you know you’re always welcome here, my friend.” Abraham shook his head, though he still smiled. He entered Oliver’s home, brushing past him as he did. Abraham made his way to the dining room, where he found another set of familiar faces around the table. Eleanor, short, stout, blonde, and beaming; Isaac, thin and mousy; and Mary, serene and adorned in her usual white gown. Each of their heads turned towards Abraham. Greetings filled the room as Abraham found a seat amongst the rest. “Abraham,” Isaac said, “I see not much has changed with you. All these years, and still the same pair of oxfords.” “Consistency is key,” Abraham replied, chuckling. “Just ask Mary and her dress.” “I would change if I could,” Mary murmured. Her eyes danced around the room as she hovered just above the seat of her chair. “Don’t you get bored of them?” Eleanor chimed in. “You should spice it up!” “Don’t listen to them,” Oliver said as he entered. “I’ve always loved them.” The conversation shifted to Oliver, and it did not stop there. Chatter and laughter surrounded the friends, eager to see each other once more. “Eleanor, you know, I was thinking of you as I was coming here,” Abraham said. “I was unsure as to whether you would be here, seeing as tomorrow is your big day.” “Big day, right.” Eleanor giggled. “Well, that’s exactly why I *am* here. Might as well enjoy myself while I still have some control, you know?” “And before you have to spend a week inside recovering,” Isaac muttered. “That too,” Eleanor said. “Post-transformation, I’m a real sorry sight.” “I think you’re still lovely then,” Mary said, eyes drifting around the room. “You’ve never seen me after I’ve turned!” “No, *you’ve* never seen *me* after you’ve turned.” Mary’s already translucent body faded and disappeared momentarily. Everyone laughed, save Eleanor, who blushed deeply. “Folks,” Oliver said, “may I interest you in a glass of my finest sanguine wines?” Abraham nodded politely, and Eleanor exclaimed that she would love some. Isaac rolled his eyes. “Oliver Price, in literal centuries, you’re the most pretentious man I’ve ever met. Just call it blood.” Oliver simply smiled in response, then stood and walked to the kitchen. When he returned, he held a labelless wine bottle, filled to the neck with thick red liquid and corked. He set it on the table, left the room again, and returned with four glasses. “Mary, I would have offered you a glass, but...” “Understandable. Blood was never my sort of drink, anyway.” Mary focused her eyes on Oliver as she spoke, and he shivered ever so slightly. He sat down, looked to Abraham, and gestured to the bottle. Abraham picked it up and effortlessly plucked the cork from the bottle before pouring each glass full. Isaac sniffed the contents of his glass. “This is--” “Yes, animal blood. I would never neglect your dietary habits.” Oliver sipped from his glass, and Isaac managed a small smile before doing the same. “It’s blood of the Tahiti rail, actually. This was gifted to me by an old friend of mine from over in Tahiti. He’s been collecting it for centuries-- it’s always been one of his drinks of choice-- and once they went extinct it became very valuable. He gave me this bottle some time ago... My 200th birthday, I believe. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Now, what’s more special than having all your dearest friends together on a beautiful night like this?” Abraham took a sip and grimaced. He much preferred human blood, and thought to himself that he could never be like Isaac. “How fascinating. It’s delicious,” he lied. “Oh, I love birds!” Eleanor exclaimed. “So tasty-- and they’re bite size! I love the way they crunch. Although, I could do without the feathers in my teeth.” “Yes, I imagine that’s unpleasant.” Abraham shook his head and took another sip of blood. He continued talking with his friends, catching up on how they’d been since they’d last been together and on plans for their upcoming days. The group laughed and chatted, drank and told stories. He felt at home here. He felt understood. As the night went on, his friends began to leave one by one. Eleanor was the first to go. After all, tomorrow was going to be busy, and she wanted to rest up. Despite the wretchedness she knew would soon envelope her, she said her goodbyes cheerfully and departed with a smile. “She’s so sweet,” Isaac mused. “I’m going to miss her.” “She’s not that old,” Mary said. “We have time.” “Of course we have time,” Isaac responded, “but not enough.” “We have all the time in the world, old friend,” Oliver said. “Eleanor doesn’t.” Isaac stared at the table as he spoke. He chewed his lip, his fangs poking tiny holes into them. He sighed, and the holes had already closed. “Perhaps she’ll become a ghost,” Abraham offered. “You should hope not,” Mary said. “Do you want her to suffer?” “Oh, right. Tricky business, becoming a ghost. Not too often pleasant.” Abraham glanced at Mary, whose face flickered for a moment, becoming mangled and bloody. Red stains flashed on her gown and her arm hung to her shoulder by merely a thread. Only a flash, though, and Mary returned to her normal self. “Never pleasant,” she said. The group sat there for a moment in silence, each lost in their own head. Mary broke the silence. “I think I’ll go.” Isaac, Abraham, and Oliver said goodbye and she wordlessly floated away, out of the house. “I should probably go, too.” Isaac rose from his seat and emptied what remained in his glass in one swig. “Getting home before sunrise, all that.” “Right. Goodbye, Isaac,” Abraham said. “Take care,” Oliver said, nodding at his friend. “I’ll see you soon,” Isaac said, and showed himself to the door. Only Abraham and Oliver remained. They sat quietly, both with empty glasses in hand. Abraham gazed into the glass, and Oliver gazed at Abraham. “How about now that Isaac has gone, we enjoy the good stuff?” Oliver asked. “Human?” Abraham had a hint of excitement in his voice. “Of course. Freshly drained, just last night.” “I’d be delighted.” With that, Oliver made his way to the kitchen and came back with another bottle. He popped the cork out and filled both their glasses. Abraham took a large sip and sighed in delight. “I’ll never understand Isaac. This is far too delicious to give up.” “He still hasn’t quite embraced the monster, I suppose,” Oliver said. “Well, neither have I,” Abraham said. “I don’t think we’re monsters at all. I never have. There’s nothing monstrous about survival.” Oliver smiled wryly. “I understand completely.” “I know.” The two men sat in silence once more. Abraham studied the room around him, taking in the elegance. A cabinet full of beautiful china stood against one wall. A deep blue Victorian wallpaper covered the room, and the cherry hardwood floors shone. The very table they sat at was vintage and beautiful; Abraham had sit here many times over the past century, and yet he was astonished every time. He noted for what must have been the millionth how beautiful everything in the room was. He looked over to Oliver and their eyes locked. Yes, he noted how beautiful everything in the room was. “You know, I do understand how Isaac mourns.” Oliver sipped his glass and closed his eyes. “How so?” Abraham kept his eyes trained on the man across from him the whole time. “It’s terribly difficult not to feel empty sometimes, when you know the people you care about will be gone one day. We’ll stick around, and dear Eleanor... Well, and every year gets faster, doesn’t it?” “I don’t know,” Abraham whispered. “Sometimes it feels so slow to me. Like nothing ever changes, even when everything is new.” Oliver nodded thoughtfully, placing his glass down on the table. Silence consumed the room once more, though it did not weigh so heavily on them now. It embraced them, rather, like an old friend. “Do you miss anyone, Abraham?” “Not right now, no. Perhaps in an hour.” “Why then?” Oliver inquired. “I’ll have left you.” Abraham looked softly upon Oliver, who hid a smile behind his glass as he drank. There was a pause, and then, “I still miss my mother.” Oliver looked away as he said it. “I do wish I had gotten to meet her.” “You would have loved her,” Oliver said, “and she would have loved you. To this day, she was the kindest woman I’ve ever known. I miss her sorely, still.” “I know,” Abraham said, blinking back tears. “You always speak so highly of her.” “Yes, yes I do... Some days, I think she should have been bitten, instead of me. She would never view it as a pain. In an endless life, she would have done endless good.” “I’m sure she would have.” Abraham placed his glass down and let his hands rest on the table. Oliver reached out and grabbed one in his own. “Although, I am eternally grateful to get to be in your company forevermore.” Oliver smiled. Abraham blushed. “As am I.” Abraham checked his pocket watch. 4:49 AM. “Oh, dear. It is getting quite late. Or, early, I suppose. I should get going before the sun comes up.” Abraham stood, but Oliver rose with him. “Why not stay?” Oliver’s grip tightened on Abraham’s hand. “I don’t want you missing me in an hour.” Abraham smiled and pondered it for a moment. “Yes, I think I will.” He used his free hand to raise his glass and take a sip. A bit of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. “Careful, my friend,” Oliver said, walking around the table to stand next to Abraham. He placed his free hand under Abraham’s chin and gently wiped away the blood with his thumb. The two men gravitated closer and closer towards each other, until they were so close their noses nearly touched. Their gazes were holding onto each other for dear life, and their hands still matched. Oliver’s hand still lingered underneath Abraham’s chin, and he slowly brought it up to rest on his cheek. “Oliver...” “Yes, Abraham?” Oliver’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I know I’ve said it before, but sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier to have lived and died like a real human. Eternity can be so burdensome.” “You’re mistaken. It may be difficult, but it is never a burden. Nothing will ever be too heavy for you, because you have me to help carry it all.” And Abraham leaned in. He pressed his lips against Oliver’s and squeezed his eyes shut. They held their kiss for a moment, and then Abraham pulled away. When he looked at Oliver again, he was grinning. “I never thought you’d do it,” Oliver said, cocking his head. “Neither did I,” Abraham replied, a smile cracking across his own face, “but a century’s worth of waiting proved to be arduous.” “My apologies. You may have waited a century, but you have me for the rest of time,” Oliver said. “And it’s still not enough.” Both of them smiled, and they made their way upstairs to a bed they would share, knowing in the morning, they would have the pleasure of waking up next to one another. Abraham Weston and Oliver Price relished the thought of waking up besides each other every day for the rest of time.