Chapter Text
➷➷➷
Bernadetta stared into her bowl of soup with a sickly green complexion, not looking hungry in the slightest. Not an uncommon sight, but Caspar was determined to desensitize Bernadetta to whatever about him was scaring her. So, Caspar funneled Bernadetta to the back of a little restaurant, close to the wall, where she made herself small in the corner.
“I don’t understand… Are you playing with me? Stuffing me with vegetables like a turkey? Just eat me already.” She mumbled. Caspar only laughed. He leaned over his bowl to wave his hand in front of Bernadetta’s face.
“Hello in there! Bernie, I keep telling you, you’re completely safe with me.” Caspar told her. She finally met his eye. Her brows were slanted with nervousness.
“It’s so bizarre. You look just like a person, and you act like a person, but you aren’t a person at all. It’s really unnerving…” She said.
“Oh. Ouch. I guess you’re not wrong.” A pang of sadness glanced him, just briefly. A long time ago, comments like that sent Caspar into a rage. Linhardt too, who never cared about being adopted by humans, would threaten lives over those callous remarks. What do they know? Linhardt would say. They don’t know a single thing about you.
These days, he didn’t especially care. The humans could think what they wanted about him.
“So… Where is your friend?” Bernadetta said, no doubt feeling the awkward tension.
“Lin? He’s asleep. He’ll wake up sometime around sunset.”
“You’re awake in the daytime, and he’s awake at night. So… When do you see each other?”
“Easy, I’m awake at night, too.”
“H-Huh? Don’t you need to sleep? I’m sure even monsters need to sleep…”
“Werewolves only need a few hours of sleep a day. It’s Linhardt that doesn’t need to sleep, but he likes it, so he does anyway.” Caspar smiled. He so rarely had the opportunity to talk candidly about his life with others.
“You really live with him? Madame Petra said werewolves and vampires are naturally opposed species.”
“Oh yeah.” Caspar chuckled. “We’re not supposed to like each other, right? That’s a funny story, actually. Lin and I met way before all this happened, when we were kids. Actually, he taught me to read. That’s how we first started hanging out.” That’s one thing he remembered well. His memories of before sat fragmented in his memory, except for those with Linhardt, which were clear as day.
Bernadetta paused. “When… You mean, like before… Before you…?”
“Before the wolfy stuff? I gotcha.” Caspar nodded, smiling nostalgically. How to start that story? Actually, that wasn’t a tough task. Everything in his life always seemed to start and end with Linhardt.
He recalled being young, eight or nine, and the smell of pine floors and lavender drying in the window. The quiet of the main room, and the familiar scene of Linhardt and his many books strewn about his house.
Initially, Caspar had been quite annoyed to be tasked with learning how to read. But his older brother knew how, so he didn’t have a choice. And his mother had already paid Linhardt’s family. Maybe he could beat his brother at reading?
Anyway, Caspar found that the lessons weren’t nearly as dull as anticipated. The boy named Linhardt, though he was the same age as Caspar, had a mature air to him. But it didn’t take long for Caspar to see past that veneer the adults praised. Linhardt was lazy. And he wasn’t afraid to cut corners or drop a task entirely on a whim. Linhardt relied on his innate intelligence and luck to get him out of most situations, even as a kid. It wasn’t Caspar’s style at all, but Linhardt somehow made it charming. His tutoring lessons with Caspar proved no different.
Plus, he was fun.
The two of them would sprawl about on the rug or laze on the old sofa—or like that day, sit shoulder to shoulder and share a textbook.
“The brown cow went down to the house. A mouse lived in the house. But the brown cow co—cl… Cloud—”
“Could.” Linhardt interjected. Caspar grumbled and readjusted the book in his lap.
“Could. Could not find the mouse. He looked about. Oh! Here is the mouse, behind the couch.”
“Well done.” Linhardt stretched his arms above his head, yawning as he settled back against Caspar’s side. “That’s enough for today. I’m tired.”
Caspar was well-aware that Linhardt had been tutoring him for less than an hour, but he also wasn’t one to pass up ditching a reading lesson. Caspar wiggled his feet back and forth excitedly.
“Wanna go play by the creek? The ducks are back.”
“Maybe next time. Now is naptime.” Linhardt said, using Caspar’s arm like a pillow.
“Aw, come on! We can catch frogs, too.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Go by yourself if you want to play.”
“It’s no fun without you.” Caspar huffed. Linhardt paused. He looked up at Caspar with big, searching eyes. They flit about, analytical and unabashed. What was he looking for?
That marked the first time Caspar wondered how Linhardt felt about him.
“Okay. Let’s get the jars.” He smiled.
“Alright!”
After Linhardt had successfully taught Caspar, they stuck together like any neighborhood pals: eating, studying, swimming, reading, fishing, doing chores—anything they could do in their tiny village could be done together. They spent many carefree years like that. Or at least, back then, it felt like many years. In retrospect, they had lived that short span of time many times over now.
Caspar’s family lived quite far off on the edge of town. There had been rumors at that time, Caspar vaguely remembered, of wolves coming down from the mountains. They were in their late teens then, just a step away from being fully grown men. One night, just after dinner, he heard a far-off howl and didn’t know what to make of it—only that it sent chills down his spine.
He hadn’t known it then, but after that howl, they were all as good as dead.
Caspar didn’t particularly enjoy recalling the next part. In the span of minutes, he went from helping his mother wash up and to lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. A one-sided massacre. None of them stood a chance.
He remembered the fear, the yelling, the smell of a hungry animal snarling in his face. Its teeth. That image was burned into his memory. Caspar could see the fresh blood streaking its teeth.
It was over faster than he thought it would be. No long-winded, sorrowful last words from his brother, his dad, or his mom. Just something and then nothing.
He found himself lying face-up, halfway under the kitchen table. Red bathed the interior. The floor, walls, the ceiling, himself. If he turned his head to the left, he could see his brother’s legs near the wall, twisted unnaturally. If his looked to the right, he could see his father, with his pink insides spilling out onto the floor. He couldn’t see his mother, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Taking a shaky breath, Caspar realized two things. First: he was the last one alive. And second: it wouldn’t be for much longer.
But suddenly, the beast was gone. For how long, Caspar couldn’t say. When he opened up his heavy eyelids again, it wasn’t a beast before him, but Linhardt, stumbling into the carnage.
Caspar distinctly recalled his face—pale and round, like a full moon.
The basket in Linhardt’s arms clattered to the floor, the contents spilling out and becoming soiled with blood. Sweet rolls. That’s right, now he remembered, Linhardt was going to come over later in the evening with snacks. Caspar had forgotten completely.
Linhardt fell to his knees in a slump beside Caspar. He had with him a heavy cloak and a torch which, in retrospect, might have been what scared the werewolf away. He would never know for sure. Linhardt’s hand trembled over Caspar’s mangled body. Caspar wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but he couldn’t find the strength.
“Don’t look.” Caspar coughed and hacked, “I know you can’t stand blood.” He attempted a reassuring smile that felt more like a grimace. That was, apparently, the wrong move. Linhardt’s face seemed to split in half with anguish, tears cutting rivers down his cheeks and past his chin. He didn’t speak, but Linhardt took Caspar’s blood-smeared hand in his own, gripping it tightly.
“Stay a little longer with me.” Linhardt pushed the words out through chattering teeth. Caspar felt sorry for him—he must be in awful shape to rattle such a level-headed person like Linhardt.
“I…” Caspar coughed violently. He felt the blood coating his throat. It burned. “I will.”
A look of stony resolve replaced the tears on Linhardt’s face. He wrapped up Caspar in his cloak like a newborn and with some struggle deposited him outside in his family’s wheelbarrow, carting him back to town. Linhardt never said a word. He only gave the occasional grunt of effort that Caspar used like an anchor to stay awake.
The dark roads cleaved to the town lanterns, which glowed with an aura of safety. Linhardt banged away at the hospital entrance for what felt like a long time before the town doctor was roused from sleep. With not a second to spare, he performed lengthy emergency surgery. Caspar was told that the minute the surgery was complete, Linhardt, who was tasked as impromptu surgical assistant, fainted where he stood.
“He did all that? How old were you?” Bernadetta piped up.
“Oh, maybe sixteen or seventeen.”
“…Do you miss them? Your family?” Bernadetta asked. Caspar dimly realized she was scribbling notes under the table.
At any rate, Caspar didn’t have a ready answer for her. Of course he missed them, of course he did. Every day, for a long time, he would wake up and burst into tears remembering his reality. However, it wasn’t the melancholy longing for someone you couldn’t see that tortured him, but frustration that drove Caspar to tears. Frustration over threads that would never be tied. He would never reconcile the fact that he wasn’t his father’s favorite, he would never beat his older brother in a fight, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to make his mother proud. That one hurt him the most. How unfair. How unjust that these moments were taken from him.
The only thing keeping him collected was Linhardt. If he hadn’t been there… Caspar didn’t want to imagine it. What mattered, and what he was grateful for, was that Linhardt cared enough for Caspar to keep stitching him back together.
“Of course I do.” He said finally, leaving it at that.
“I see…” Bernadetta whispered, then louder, “But when did you know you were a werewolf?”
“Well, I guess… During my recovery time I was running insane temperatures. I had hot flashes all the time. But I think the doctor got suspicious when he saw how fast I was healing. He tried to kill me himself, actually!”
“He what?!” Bernadetta shouted, the sound bouncing around their little alcove in the corner.
It was early in the morning. Caspar was alone in the small recovery room, coming in and out of sleep. Linhardt was off somewhere, likely at Caspar’s house. He hadn’t said it, but with the way townspeople kept coming in to give their condolences, Caspar suspected Linhardt was busy getting help with the aftermath. The thought made his chest ache. Was Linhardt out there burying his family? Was he alone?
“Aren’t you looking well!” The doctor came in suddenly. Three times a day he checked Caspar’s injuries, going through the motions with the ease of someone who knew their field of practice intimately. Caspar liked him. His jovial mood slipped away quickly, however, as he poked and squeezed at the many junctures Caspar’s bones were broken.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” He asked.
“A little. Not awful, though.” He hummed. “When do you suppose I can walk again? It’s a little boring being in bed all day.”
“Several months, likely…” The doctor sounded distracted as he unwrapped a bandage, inspecting the deep gash in his muscle. “No signs of infection, not even inflammation…” He muttered, looking to Caspar suddenly with a strange glint in his eye. “Caspar, what was it you say attacked you?”
“A wolf?” Caspar said. At the time, hadn’t considered the wolf very closely—he had been preoccupied with staying alive. But something about this wolf seemed off. Caspar was not well-acquainted with the features of wolves, but this one was much bigger than he recalled wolves to be. And its eyes, which blazed yellow, seemed to regard Caspar with a level of intelligence that sent chills down his spine. This wasn’t a creature that mindlessly killed to fulfill hunger—this was a creature who understood killing well and enjoyed the sport of it.
“A common wolf?” The doctor asked slowly.
“…I don’t know.” Caspar answered honestly. He fidgeted with the blanket over his lap, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
If it wasn’t a common wolf, the only alternative was something out of folk tales.
Something moved. The gleam of metal caught Caspar unaware. He reacted instinctively, reaching out to stop the momentum of the object coming toward his neck. Caspar blinked. With some delay, he realized he had grabbed the doctor by the wrist. He strained against Caspar’s hold, a medical blade clutched in his shaking fist.
“Doctor?”
“I’m sorry,” He told him. “You understand how dangerous those things are. We can’t protect everyone—”
The doctor was hit over the head with a metallic bang and slumped over Caspar, unconscious. Caspar looked up to find Linhardt standing over him, out of breath, bedpan in hand.
“Protect? Hypocrite.” Linhardt sighed, shoving the doctor to the floor and kneeling down beside Caspar. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you?” Linhardt ran his hands up and down Caspar’s body, under his clothes, detecting further injuries.
“As, um, as okay as I was last time you saw me.” He tripped over the words. “I’m—I’m just fine, really.” Caspar reached out and stopped Linhardt’s searching hands, almost immediately feeling both relief and regret. He didn’t like Linhardt touching him like that. But he hadn’t wanted him to stop either… He’d worry about that later.
“We have to go.” Linhardt told him, his tone grave.
“Go where?”
“North. South. Anywhere but here. The doctor isn’t the only person in town getting suspicious.”
That cinched it. So it was true. He was going to become one of them. Caspar wanted to throw up. Linhardt helped him from bed. He leaned heavily on him, standing just barely on one leg. He grunted with every step. It hurt. It really hurt, but he would bear it.
Caspar stopped Linhardt in the doorway, a sheen of sweat already covering his forehead. Another hot flash began to sweep over him.
“Linhardt.” Caspar said in a small voice. “Will you still be my friend if I become a monster?”
He must have sounded pathetic. But when he looked to Linhardt, his eyes were wide.
“…Stupid.” He exhaled finally, the smallest of smiles gracing his lips. “As if I could just go now.”
Relief flooded Caspar’s chest. So, they would be fine. Caspar felt that sentiment deep inside, like a premonition: they would be fine as long as they were together.
Linhardt, in his time away, was busy planning their next steps. He secured provisions for a life on the road— nonperishable food, waterskins, clothes, medicine, bedrolls, rope, kerosene, tinderboxes—he even said his formal goodbyes to his family.
“We’re really going to be gone that long? That you had to say goodbye? That seems kind of final, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.” Linhardt told him. “But it felt… Appropriate.”
They hitchhiked with a farmer on his passing wagon, who told them of an empty house farther down the barren road. Why was it empty? The farmer didn’t know, and the boys were not in a position to turn down free housing. With what little money they had, they were just grateful to have any shelter at all.
The house was indeed empty of people, and had been for some time. It was a small and modest home with one main room and a hearth at the center. Dusty and damp and covered in cobwebs, but better than nothing.
Linhardt had Caspar propped up in the bed and spent the next several days working hard to make the abandoned space livable again. He aired out the home, and scrubbed it down, chopped wood for the lean-to, fetched water from the stream, boiled it, and made food from their rations. Linhardt did more running around than Caspar had ever seen. It was amazing. Really a sight to behold. And sure, he complained the whole time, but the pure effort Linhardt exerted was not lost on Caspar.
“I feel a little bad, you know.” Caspar fidgeted, itching to do anything else. “You’re working so hard, just by yourself.”
“You were mauled by a werewolf; I think I can handle some chores.” Linhardt huffed. “Just rest before you break the rest of your bones.”
➷➷➷
They were eating around the fire one night the first time it happened.
Caspar felt well enough to at least sit up next to Linhardt on the floor. They talked in low voices about nothing in particular. The crackle of the fire and their occasional laughter punctuated the stillness of the night. Caspar felt good. A little hot, but that was quickly becoming the norm for him.
Through the window, the wind picked up, whistling past the windowpanes. Caspar looked up; his eyes drawn to the parting clouds. A silver light pierced him straight through the heart.
“A full moon…” Caspar murmured, trancelike.
“Caspar?”
A shooting pain twisted in his stomach. Caspar’s bowl fell away from him, clattering on the ground. Then, like he’d been punched, he doubled-over and clutched his sides. Linhardt was beside him in an instant.
“Damn it, I forgot to check the moon phase.” Linhardt muttered. “I thought there was a few more days…”
“Use the…” Caspar panted. “Use the things.”
Linhardt’s eyes were as big as saucers, but he understood. At the far wall, they’d prepared a set of restraints for this event. It wasn’t much. They only had rope, after all, and nothing heavy enough to tie him to.
“Is that too tight?” Linhardt yanked the rope, twisting Caspar’s arms behind his back.
“It’s supposed to be tight.” Caspar said. Linhardt pulled hard. The rope bit sharp at his wrists. “Ow!”
“It’s supposed to be tight.”
The room was spinning. Caspar began to shake violently, colors dancing before his eyes like fireworks. Linhardt backed away from him with a conflicted expression. Caspar couldn’t blame him for being frightened.
In a haze, he fixated on the heat of his body. He was burning up. He screwed his eyes shut, letting his imagination fill in the terrible details. He pictured his body going so hot he would erupt, or expand and crack open. The longer he stayed that way, the worse it became. He was melting. He was breaking. The ropes snapped. He felt his skin tear; his body morphing into something damned and wild.
And hungry.
“Caspar, Caspar…” Linhardt breathed deeply. “You’re okay. Stay still.”
Linhardt sounded very far away, and distorted, like he was speaking through a long tube. It was Linhardt, but it wasn’t. His face blurred into that of a stranger. A human.
Overwhelmed, he thrashed about the room. His body hummed with more power than he thought possible. He slammed his shoulders against the walls, his claws catching and dragging the furniture.
Caspar’s ears, which were not his ears, pounded with the vibrations from the human’s heart. He could hear the blood pumping through his fleshy body; smell the fear flowing from his pores. Saliva pooled in his mouth and dripped down between his teeth—too sharp, too many—and pooled at the feet of the cowering human. His nails dug into the floorboards. He’d never known this hunger before.
“You’re still you…” The human’s voice cracked. “Come back, Caspar.”
Caspar? Was it addressing him?
He startled as something suddenly brushed his nose. It was the human, reaching out to pat his muzzle. He snarled, making the human flinch. But to his surprise, it didn’t back down.
“You can eat me if you want.” It said, distorted and strange. “But I know you don’t want to. I don’t want you to, either.” The human’s eyes grew shiny. Was it in pain? Something wasn’t right.
“I wanted to stay with you longer. Please, Caspar, calm down. It’s me. It’s you.”
At once, the human’s face returned to focus. Linhardt; who stared up at him and patted his head with a gentle, resigned gaze. Caspar stumbled on his too many feet, his vision going blurry, then black.
When he woke, it was dawn. He was in bed, staring straight up at Linhardt. His head rested on Linhardt’s lap.
“Lin?” Caspar whispered. His voice grated hoarsely.
Linhardt’s eyes popped open, bloodshot. He blinked down at Caspar as if unable to understand what he was seeing. Slowly, he slumped forward, twining his arms around Caspar’s body.
“Uhh… What—”
“Shh. Don’t say anything. Just sleep.”
“Why am I naked?”
“Can you hear? I’ll explain later.” Linhardt said with a final tone. Caspar wanted to laugh, but he yawned instead. Feeling sleep pulling him back, Caspar wordlessly coaxed Linhardt to get under the blanket with him. It might have been the sleepiness playing tricks on him, but Caspar could’ve sworn he heard Linhardt’s heartbeat speed up as he nestled close. He felt warm once more, but this time in a pleasant way.
➷➷➷
They lived that way for some time, in the abandoned house, planning their next move. They settled on following Caspar’s heightened sense of smell to track down other werewolves. The idea was that maybe other werewolves could help Caspar with his transformation. There was no contingency plan.
The little house only had one bed, stuffed with straw and layered with thick goose down blankets. Not a problem for the pair. They’d shared beds previously—out of necessity and not. But the winter hit hard and fast that year, pulling them closer together at night than ever before. Caspar found himself every morning with his legs tangled with Linhardt’s, his arms encircling him protectively, purposefully. Lucky for him, Linhardt was a heavy sleeper. He could quietly untangle his limbs without a problem. Though sometimes, he really wished he wouldn’t.
Caspar emitted much more body heat after his initial transformation, which was how he rectified the situation in his mind. Of course Linhardt would cuddle up to him. He was cold. And asleep. People did that, right? Nothing to dwell on, certainly, but the wolf stuff wasn’t helping.
The deep hunger he felt while transformed shocked him to attention, and that feeling never quite fell back into hibernation. He didn’t trust his own actions anymore. Even his thoughts weren’t safe. The hunger persisted from the moment he woke up till he laid himself down to sleep. He was hungry, and no amount of meat or rations could sate him. He wanted a hunt; a chase. Something alive between his teeth. His lips. It made him feel dirty. Like a predator.
Especially in front of Linhardt.
Caspar watched Linhardt grow up. He watched Linhardt become beautiful, with his delicate features and soft hair. They’d always been touchy—something Caspar prided himself on. As smoothly as Linhardt spoke to others, he never touched them. And he’d caught Linhardt more than once admiring Caspar’s body. Or noticed touches that lingered too long to be accidental. He just… Didn’t know what to do with that information.
It could be something as simple as a stretch or a glance that got him hot in the face and jumpy and stupid. Caspar couldn’t be sure Linhardt even meant to flirt with him at all, but the cartwheels his stomach refused to be ignored.
Linhardt stood up from his spot near the fire, stretched, and shuffled toward Caspar.
“Caspar,” Linhardt yawned, pawing at Caspar’s sleeve. “Come sleep with me.”
Caspar choked on his spit. “Pardon?”
“I’m tired and cold. And you shouldn’t be running around so much.”
Ah. Of course that’s what he meant. He could barely keep his eyes open, resting his head on Caspar’s shoulder. Linhardt could be incredibly cute without knowing it.
“Sure, be right there!” He patted his back, sending Linhardt off. His heart was lodged in his throat. Whatever Caspar was in, he knew he was in deep.
The pair huddled up on the straw-stuffed mattress under several layers of blankets. Linhardt slept peacefully, tucked against Caspar’s chest. Caspar held him close, face buried in the other man’s hair and unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. When he felt Linhardt’s even breath on his skin, he thought he might explode. It was horribly distracting, but Caspar would rather face death than turn away.
In the times sleep did find him, his dreams alternated between gory revisits to the night his family was attacked and scenes of Linhardt laid out before him, touching Caspar, touching himself.
The contrast between the two kinds of dreams threatened to give him whiplash. He woke up with awful headaches. Either with tears on his cheek or a hardness between his legs that Linhardt definitely felt and politely did not draw attention to. Not sleeping at all was preferable.
Linhardt shifted innocuously, but Caspar heard the pace of his breathing change. He sighed. Caspar shuddered.
“Stop moving.” Linhardt mumbled against his chest.
“Lin,” Caspar asked in the dark. “…Why didn’t you run?”
“You would’ve caught me.” Linhardt said easily.
“But you didn’t even try to defend yourself.”
“How could I? Try to fight you off with the paring knife? You have no idea how big those teeth were.”
“You were really—” Caspar swallowed back a lump in his throat. “You were really ready to accept me eating you.”
“So you did want to eat me.” Linhardt smirked.
“Yeah,” He said without thinking. “I really did.”
“Oh.” Linhardt blinked, suddenly serious. Caspar felt ill. “Do you still want to eat me?” He reached up and raked his fingernails through Caspar’s hair. His touch felt like relief.
“No. Maybe.” Caspar muttered. He blushed. “Don’t tease me! You should be scared. Or grossed out.”
“Why would you think I’m teasing you?” Linhardt’s eye widened just slightly.
Caspar groaned, kicking about in the bed. Why was this so difficult?
“I’m… I’m worried.” Caspar told him.
“Worrying about it won’t do you any favors.” Linhardt sighed and rubbed soothing circles on Caspar’s back. Caspar chewed his lip. His hands went twitchy.
“There’s something wrong with me.” He was struggling to look Linhardt in the eye. They both knew he wasn’t talking about his recent change. “I don’t think you’d like me anymore if I told you.” He confessed.
“Nothing is wrong with you.” Linhardt’s firm voice cut right through Caspar’s nervous air, pinning him in place. His chest clenched painfully.
“Please,” He begged, though for what he wasn’t sure. “Please, Lin…”
“Please what? Say it. I’m not going to bite you.”
He knew that, he really did. Linhardt had done more than enough to prove his loyalty. He said he’d still be his friend. He wouldn’t be hated. So why… Why was he so scared?
“Caspar.” Linhardt laced their fingers together. “Are you waiting for permission?”
He looked up at Linhardt with wide eyes, searching Linhardt’s face for signs of this being a cruel joke. Moonlight illuminated his face, delicately tracing him in silver light, like he was made of glass. His eyes were clear. He wasn’t kidding around. Caspar’s heart hammered in his chest. His eyes fell on Linhardt’s lips.
“Not anymore.”
As if possessed, Caspar surged forward and closed the gap between them. He pressed his lips to Linhardt’s. Fervent and needy. Linhardt kissed him back without a second of delay, as if he’d been waiting for it. With glee, Caspar realized he had.
At that moment, everything seemed to snap into place. All his inhibitions were cleared away. He felt clean and full and stupid for denying himself this feeling for as long as he did.
His body moved on its own. Caspar’s hand found the back of Linhardt’s neck, pulling him closer still. He opened his mouth experimentally. Linhardt gasped as their tongues met, sparking that hunger again in Caspar’s stomach. Their legs already tangled, Caspar easily rolled and held down the other man beneath him, lavishing sweet kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, his hairline. He laid flush against him, drinking up the feeling of skin on skin. Caspar had never known anything to feel so good.
Linhardt held his face in his hands and kissed him lazily, unhurriedly—like they had all the time in the world.
Caspar’s head fell against the pillow. Finally feeling the pull to sleep. He felt incredibly light, all the tension in his muscles evaporated.
“I do hope that helped.” Linhardt said. Caspar could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice but was too blissed out to care.
“Lots of help. A ton.” He couldn’t stop smiling if his life depended on it. “Can we do it again?”
“You want more? Okay, promise me something.” Linhardt cuddled up close to him, pulling him by the chin and forcing Caspar to meet him eye. “Don’t ever say there’s something wrong with you again. Not like that. Insecurity doesn’t suit you.”
Caspar paused, surprised. He folded Linhardt into a hug. He was so lucky.
“Deal.” Caspar said, leaving a lingering kiss on Linhardt’s lips before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The hunger he felt was gone, for now. To assume it had been sated completely would be ridiculous, but this was an excellent fix. He replayed the kiss in his head as he fell asleep, his lips still tingling.
“Um…” Bernadetta said suddenly, pulling Caspar from his reverie. “Wow, that’s... Really a lot. And I didn’t need to hear some of those details…” Her face was bright red. Caspar felt a heat come to his own cheeks.
“Oops! I got a little carried away…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I love talking about Linhardt, you know, he doesn’t get out enough.”
“Don’t mention it…” She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “So it’s not a friendship, then. He’s your, your, um…”
“Husband.” Caspar supplied.
“H-Husband?”
“Hm? You have a problem with that?” Caspar pushed, allowing just the slightest sharpness to his tone. He was long past the need to be afraid of what he was.
“No, I—no. There’s no problem.” She tugged nervously at her sleeve. “It’s just… Such a surprise.”
“Really?” Caspar tilted his head. He didn’t see it that way. In fact, recounting his origins with Bernadetta only confirmed it for him: he and Linhardt were made to stay together.
“Yeah…” Bernadetta had a far away look in her eye, like an epiphany was being constructed. “I didn’t realize monsters could love like that. You really are like humans...”
Caspar deflated against his chair, snorting with laughter.
“Wh-What’s so funny?!”
“Nothing, nothing.” Caspar wiped a stray tear from his eye, moving to stand.
“Huh? Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to visit the general store before they close, Lin and I are going on a trip tomorrow.” He grinned. “But thanks for listening.”
“Oh, yeah! I just, I have one question, if that’s okay…” Bernadetta said. Caspar nodded. “I understand what happened to you, but when exactly did Linhardt become a vampire?”
Caspar’s gaze fell to the floor tiles. A bitter smile came to his face.
“I’ll tell you later. That part happens next, actually… And it was all my fault.”
He politely parted ways with Bernadetta and trekked toward the market district, shaking the fogginess from his head. In the west, the sun was starting to set.
It was about time he headed home.
➷➷➷