Room & Board

Part 2

When you next awake, it is dark. Very dark. Your brain shifts from groggy and bleary into alertness in the few moments it takes you to sit up, to feel the ache in your neck, to remember. Without further thought, your body jolts from the bed and you duck from your bedroom.

A small part of you reminds you to be wary. Who knows if Tabaeus was simply putting on a cute awkward act to get your guard down? Vampires were tricky in various media, weren't they? That turns your thoughts towards earlier musings.

How much did the movies and books and video games get right? Which of the vampiric quirks were genuine and which were completely false?

As you crept further away from your room, a new thought coasted by.

What if none of it had been real? What if you'd had a very intense dream? What if you hadn't even been attacked or bit or given a small fortune in rare coins?

That thought - and the worries that accompanied it - completely drained away once you flicked on the lights to your small living room. Tabaeus sat hunched on your couch, their trench coat folded next to them and their shirt removed. It took you half-a-beat to realize they were intently focused on a needle and thread, presumably from the meager sewing kit you kept around.

They were so intently focused on their chore, they didn't even notice the lights coming on or your approach. Of course, the shirt was in extreme disrepair.

Faintly, you wondered if all vampires had poor survival instincts or if that was simply a Tabaeus thing. As you drew nearer to them, you realized the tattered shirt was made of strips of dirty strips of fabric, all haphazardly sewn together. Their pants were only marginally better than the top.

Something caught Tabaeus's attention and their eyes flicked to you, a little startled. Seeing where your attention was, they gave one of their awkward smiles and nod at the shirt. "I have had this for quite awhile. It is less one piece and more patchwork, by this point."

"I can tell," you mumble, your eyes shifting from the shirt to Tabaeus's bare torso. They're not as unmarred as you'd expect from a supernatural creature, rumored to be gifted with healing powers. Small scars litter their body along with one rather large one, which appears to be an old-timey autopsy scar.

Tabaeus looks down at themself, before their pointed ears twitch and you see the barest hint of a flush at their cheeks. You try not to think how it might very well be your blood helping pink their cheeks.

They press their crumpled patchwork shirt against their chest, obscuring it from your view, but seem incapable of returning their gaze to you. "I apologize for my undress. I meant to get this done before you awoke."

"It's fine," you reassure with a shrug, trying to stow your own sense of awkwardness over your staring. Though hesitantly, they do peer up at you from the corner of their eye. As if they're gauging your sincerity. Trying to ignore the heat climbing up your spine, you point at their crumpled shirt, "But you can't keep wearing that."

"What?" Your words make Tabaeus start, jerking straight-backed from their slumped position. Their lips twist into a pout and they hold their shirt closer. "Why not?"

"I didn't say you couldn't keep it. Just you need other clothes." Especially if that patchwork outfit doesn't clean well or completely falls apart in the wash, you think to yourself. But you don't say it outloud. Tabaeus seems attached to it and, in theory, if it was a singular bit of familiarity, ripping it away wouldn't do either of you any good.

Their eyebrows dip with a look of consternation. They seem about ready to say something, their lips parting briefly. But they quickly snap their mouth shut and shake their head. When their red eyes focus back on you, curiosity mixes with uncertainty in their tone, "Is... is there a tailor that works this late?"