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‘Curses’, as many liked to call them, could manifest in a variety of ways throughout the Inpherno, their targets random, selected at spawn, and the subsequent burden they had to carry simply another fact of life. To some, like the Darkage Clan, curses were taboo, invited unintentional hardship and bad karma upon those associated with the cursed individual. To others, like those working for the Korblox Corporation, curses could bring power, something to be ogled, something that promoted further research, drew in investors, treated the individual inflicted by said curse as more an object for gain rather than a living, breathing organism.
Some curses transformed limbs, tampered with the senses or caused differences in diet, and some were certainly more accepted than others. If one were to ask Boombox, spawned and raised in Playground, having served (though only for a short while) under a literal deity, what he thought of curses, he’d likely shrug, say he thought little of them, that he only knew one or two who possessed one, and then move on with his day. Because what would an indie musician care about curses, about being an outcast? He’d already experienced enough of that through his utter refusal to engage in anything more than a small scrap his entire life.
But that was exactly the catch, because Boombox had a secret few knew about, and that was the fact that he himself was a vampire.
When one thought vampire, their mind would typically run to sharp fangs, towering stone castles with hidden chambers, extravagant coffins laid ready to be slept in, all pale skin and non-inphernal eyes. Boombox, however, would call that bullshit. His canines, which were indeed sharp, were no longer than his peers’ from Playground, though on the odd chance that he was particularly hungry, his fangs would extend enough so that skin could be pierced. His apartment, contrary to that of an intimidating fortress, was decorated in deep greens and bright hues, the ceiling occupied by tapestries and nets to hang charms off of. His bed, typically ruffled and messy, piled high with pillows and stuffed toys, presented a stark image to that of a cold coffin. And his skin? Perhaps a little pallid in the sunlight, but not enough to be explicitly noticeable.
Speaking of sunlight, that indeed proved to be yet another misconception. Boombox was spawned into the sun, beaming down upon the Playground spawn not unlike a welcoming hand extended towards every inphernal that had been created, promising only warmth and protection. Surely, had vampires, like the stories and movies so adamantly attempted to suggest, been so averse to the light that they’d turn to dust upon coming into contact with it, then Boombox wouldn’t have lasted more than a second breathing fresh air before his life would’ve been cut abruptly, comically short. In reality, at the most, spending more than an hour under the constant rays made him feel a little sleepy, lethargic, but that was nothing he couldn’t excuse with his various gigs DJing during the late night hours.
As an individual who adamantly refused to feed on other inphernals, Boombox thus had to turn to alternative means of sating his thirst. His body, strangely enough, ran as though it possessed two separate digestive systems. Though regular food was not as much a requirement as blood, sometimes he certainly craved a good burger or pastry. It had been many, many years since Boombox had last feasted directly from another inphernal, having since turned to alternatives, mainly aided by one of the many charities that supported inphernals with blood-reliant curses, with the aim to destigmatise their existence and help them procure sustenance in the form of donated blood.
Vampires weren’t the only cursed individuals who required blood, and were in fact very uncommon, many still believing them to be myths or urban legends. Some cursed individuals required blood for other reasons, such as the smell reducing bloodlust, or rubbed into cursed areas of skin as to reduce pain. Despite the fact that they lived in a world ruled by violence and power, blood curses still unsettled some inphernals, and as such some of the few that were open about their curses had been ostracised from the rest of their community.
That wasn’t to say that all inphernals hated them, though. In fact, the majority didn’t know that blood-reliant curses existed in the first place, nevermind vampires. The probability that one would meet a cursed individual was low, and those impaired by the need for blood was yet lower. But that still didn’t mean that Boombox shouldn’t have been cautious. There was almost no overt evidence of his curse, blood stored safely in unlabelled pouches in his refrigerator, poured into sealed, non-seethrough bottles whenever he felt a snack was needed throughout the day. Again, his lethargy caused by the sun could be easily excused by his night owl behaviour, and he made sure to file his nails short every week before they grew too long once again, both to conceal his secret and so that playing his instruments was easier.
Boombox figured that, all in all, he didn’t have it too bad. Sure, being a vampire sucked considering his internal moral compass and sociable, upbeat personality, and he was likely one of the most unfortunate inphernals out there for exactly that reason, but it wasn’t something impossible to hide. He’d been spawned 23 years ago, and the truth behind his secret had never extended beyond himself, Skateboard, and a few fellow vampires online.
Which brought him to that fateful day.
Boombox preferred to shop at night, but many stores regrettably closed much too early for him to be granted the luxury of not feeling as though he could go for a ten hour nap there and then. Thus, Boombox, donned in his typical lime green outfit, cap flipped backwards in such a way that it was much more stylish than it was comfortable, had paid a visit to the pet supplies store. The story behind why is as follows: when Boombox had first moved to Crossroads, not entirely too long ago, he was regrettably, awfully prepared to figure out where his source of ‘prey’ would come from. A couple days led into a week, and by that point Boombox was nearly feral with the need for blood, though utterly refused to hunt down a random inphernal at night.
Skateboard, though he’d crashed headfirst into so many structures that Boombox was almost certain his brain should’ve been turned to mush by then, had then pulled out from beneath that helmet of his what he called his ‘best idea yet!’. The idea being rats.
Rats were everywhere. In dumpsters, in sewers, round the back of just about any place selling food. Boombox had mulled it over, and in his haze of absolute, irrefutable hunger, agreed. He hesitated on the option of street rats, however, only because with a start he realised that only the SFOTH knew what kinds of diseases they carried, so later that day he’d instead found himself carrying two brand new fancy rats back up to his apartment. His fangs had unconsciously lengthened at the thought of finally receiving a fresh, filling meal, only for him to open up the carrier that said meals were in and abruptly start bawling his eyes out. It wasn’t his fault they were so cute! Skate had honestly thought the lack of blood had led him to a mental breakdown. And maybe he was right about that, but there was no way in all of the Inphinity that he’d be able to sink his teeth into such adorable, innocent creatures!
It wasn’t long after that that Boombox had luckily been able to find a charity located in Crossroads to supply him with blood, but by then it was too late. Boombox had already spent half his savings for the month on a brand new floor-to-ceiling cage, decked out in a variety of ramps, ropes and hammocks, pet toys strewn about the place as he coo’ed at how adorable his new pets were. In fact, it looked so fun that Boombox was half tempted to turn himself into his bat form and hang out in there with them!
So, all in all, Boombox had gone out to get them some more food.
The rat feed, nestled between various suitable fruits and veg, had made his carrier bag sufficiently heavy, and so the musician had decided that it was probably time to head on back home for the day. That is, until a striking teal caught his eye.
He’d, in all honesty, only known Medkit for a couple months. He was reserved, serious and uptight, perhaps a little evasive whenever Boombox tried to talk to him. But there was nothing overtly bad about that. If anything, it only drew more of his attention. There was no better feeling than breaking past someone’s defence enough to get to know the real person beneath. Medkit kept himself neat, though there was always a ceaselessly fatigued look in his eye, as though he were tired of constantly looking over his shoulder. His clothes were always ironed, complimented by the hue of his horns, and whenever Boombox saw him outside of phights, it was normally with a cigarette clutched between his fingers.
Perhaps Boombox would’ve been lying if he’d said that Medkit didn’t intrigue him more than most. Despite his closed-off personality, and regardless of whether it was for the purpose of monetary gain or not, Boombox could sometimes detect a hint of genuine concern for others in his words, in his tone of voice, worry over one’s safety and wellbeing when they abrasively threw themselves into the fray, such as the musician himself had done many times over.
So when he saw this doctor, all tired eye and casual, yet trim, clothing, standing at the side of the street, a bag of shopping hanging from one arm while he flipped through a smart little notebook with the other, what was Boombox to do other than say hi?
“Hey Med!” Boombox called amiably, waving as he bounded over, seemingly re-motivated by the other’s presence despite the glare of the sun.
“Boombox,” Medkit nodded in greeting, turning towards him. The light hit the ring on his horn in such a way that Boombox couldn’t help but comment in his mind about how fitting it looked on him. Then again, Medkit always seemed to pull off anything he wore. Even in that moment, soft brown jacket over a simple black turtleneck, the inphernal appeared to exude an aura of formality. The admission made Boombox realise with a start that perhaps he’d been staring at him for just that little bit too long.
“Gettin’ your shopping done for the week?” Boombox asked, inching a little closer to peer at the paper in his hand, which he continued to flick through, lists of various groceries and supplies written in neat, formal script.
Medkit hummed in reply, then glanced up at him, then down, then up again, as though he’d abruptly noticed something.
“Odd to see you outside of phights without your friends,” he commented, voice lilting with a hint of curiosity. Medkit didn’t typically enjoy entertaining conversation with him, so Boombox would take any modicum of socialisation that he could. He wasn’t hurt by the fact, but instead understood that it was perhaps more due to the fact that Boombox enjoyed getting to know others, and Medkit, as someone rather reserved and secretive, perhaps felt a little threatened by his open behaviour.
“They’re not glued to my side, y’know,” Boombox chuckled, and Medkit huffed in reply. He continued to flick through the list, and the musician found the silence that had settled a little less stifling than it usually was when the two of them conversed.
And then something hit him. Or rather, hit his nose.
A smell. Something sharp. Something sweet. Boombox didn’t think he’d ever caught a whiff so deliciously enticing in his entire life. The scent of iron hit him like a freight train, and his gut twisted with ferocity, a sudden aching hunger seizing his mind. He sniffed once, then twice, mouth salivating so much so that he had to swallow a few times before the question could exit his mouth.
“Hey, uh… are you hurt?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically shaky. He could feel his fangs extending, sharp, ready to pierce, his entire body winding up as though he could pounce at any second. Boombox had never been so violently affected by a hunger like this. Even in moments of starvation, he’d never once felt compelled to jump on another inphernal to sate his thirst, certainly not for a very long time, anyway. And besides, he’d had a pouch that very morning, so the fact that this scent, exquisitely enticing, could elicit such a powerful urge out of him… it was undeniably worrying.
“Hm?” Medkit hummed in confusion, only to then look down at the hand holding his notebook, where one of the fingers had been sliced lightly by the paper, a very minute sliver of blood leaking from the minor wound, “Oh… tsk…”
He raised the hand to his mouth, sucking the blood away, and Boombox stood silent all the while, gaze intense, sharp behind his visor. His free hand twitched, mouth shut tight, fangs fully extended by that point, torn between the urge to run or pounce. If his will were any weaker than perhaps he would’ve, but Boombox had long trained out of himself the urge to hunt. If anything, that intrinsic part was satisfied during the phights he took part in, blood pumping fast, energy thrumming as sound pulsed through the air around him. But this was difficult, the most challenging display of self-control he’d ever had to handle, breaths stuttering from his nose, heavy, and eyes boring into the miniscule cut on Medkit’s finger, enthralled.
“Boombox?” Medkit asked, and it appeared he’d attempted to call his name a few times, because the expression upon his face held that hint of worry he’d many times attempted to hide behind his cold exterior. Boombox jumped, as though suddenly freed from the hypnotizing pull of blood. But it was still there, the scent strong, overpowering, and the musician realised that if he spent a moment longer there then something absolutely disastrous would happen.
So, with that knowledge, Boombox took the only other option. Fleeing.
“Sorry I just remembered something I gotta go bye!” he blurted, a continuous string of words without a single pause, hand flying up to cover his mouth as he did so, before promptly turning on his heels and legging it in the opposite direction. What did it matter if it was the way home or not? At the very least he’d be away from Medkit, away from that delicious, alluring smell.
He couldn’t catch the confused set of Medkit’s brows as he sped off, much too preoccupied with trying to will his fangs away.
“Really? That’s what’s gotcha all worried?” Skateboard groaned.
He’d rushed over as soon as Boombox had messaged. All caps, no explanation. Skate had half the thought that Boombox was bleeding out dying, but instead he was met with yet another one of his mental crises.
Whoopsie, one of Boombox’s pet rats, the brown-haired one, scurried up and down Skateboard’s chest where he was sitting on the couch, valiantly chasing the jingling bell he held between his fingers. Daisy, on the other hand, appeared to be the complete antithesis of her friend, instead investigating the state of her owner, who’d slumped himself upside down on the settee, legs slung over the back. They were named as so because their adoption into Boombox’s household was a complete accident, hence ‘Whoopsie’ and ‘Daisy’.
“You don’t understand, Skate! It was like… a pull!” Boombox complained woefully, raising his arms into the air to emphasise his words, dramatics not uncommon to those who knew him.
“It smelled so strong… so sweet…,” he continued, words drifting off as though his brain were being pulled back to that moment. The memory of that strong scent filled his mind again, mouth-watering, enticed. After the first day that it hadn’t left his mind, Boombox had thought ‘whatever, it’ll go soon’. But one day turned to two, then three, and by the time he knew it, weeks had passed without a single day where his fangs hadn’t beckoned themselves out upon the thought of Medkit’s alluring blood.
It had gotten so incredibly bad that he’d been leaving phights as soon as possible, rather than his typical routine of lingering and chatting with his fellow phighters. He’d noticed Medkit’s eye narrowing once or twice when Boombox rushed by him, all stiff movements and sweaty-faced, but he felt as though the second he opened his mouth, he’d instinctively attempt to clamp his fangs down on any visible part of the other inphernal possible. Sure, he received some weird looks for his odd behaviour, but honestly, who cared? As long as Medkit stayed as far away from him as possible, and him as far away from the doctor as he could, then surely no calamity would befall them.
Boombox groaned, disheartened.
“I’ve been trying to avoid him for the past three weeks! Whenever I think about it, I just…,” he explained, slapping his hands over his burning face, voice trailing off into a grumble.
Skate was great. He’d always been there for him during his moments of strife. But when it came to things unique to Boombox’s experience as a vampire, the words just wouldn’t make sense. They’d come out jumbled and incohesive, and all that Skate could regrettably offer would be a solution that made sense to his mind, but in no way solved Boombox’s legitimate problem. And so, inviting Skateboard to his house was more due to the fact that Boombox felt the need to complain, as though he were a robot suddenly overloaded with so much information that he didn’t know how to compartmentalise it all. Skate would listen to him ramble, offer some advice which, though sometimes useful, more often than not fell completely flat, and then they’d spend the rest of the day watching some crap reality TV show until Boombox’s worries trickled away.
“So you’ve got like, what, a blood crush?” Skate suggested off-handedly.
“I’m not sure if that’s a real thing…,” Boombox mumbled in reply, and then silence settled once more. Daisy had seemingly lost interest in Boombox’s misery, and instead fled back to their open cage, settling herself within a hammock. The musician once more found himself jealous. If only he could live his entire life in bat form, far away from the pains and worries of inphernal relations… But unfortunately, he just so happened to thrive on social interaction, and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive even a single day in his other form, what with his rather embarrassing inability to fly very high.
Skateboard had initially laughed in his face at the admission. After all, what kind of vampire is scared of heights? But Boombox was, and that irrefutable fact screwed with him to no end. A vampire who doesn’t hunt. A bat who can’t fly. What a disappointing vampire he was indeed…
“Why don’t you just tell him you’re a vampire? Maybe he’ll let you have a sip,” Skateboard suggested, still preoccupied with Whoopsie. Boombox shot him an almost horrified look.
“Are you crazy? I can’t do that!” he contended.
“Why not? Vine’s got a curse, so’s Coil. No one treats them any different for it,” Skateboard explained, glancing over with a raised brow.
Coil, like Boombox, had been afflicted since spawn with another variant of an ‘urban legend’ curse. His, though, manifested very differently to Boombox’s own, through the simple fact that he was a werewolf. Though the aversion to silver certainly existed, and his diet was largely made up of red meats, the inphernal only transformed around once a month, under the glimmering rays of the full moon. When this happened, nothing changed within his psyche, nor did he become overtaken by ‘base instinct’, or whatever people would have assumed would happen. No. Instead, he was just a big, fluffy dog on two legs from sunset to sunrise.
Boombox wouldn’t admit that he was jealous, because the topic of curses was still taboo. But that twinge still existed deep inside him, in the same way that he was jealous of any regular inphernal not suffering a curse. The want to be normal.
“Their curses aren’t reliant on the blood of living things! The worst Coil does is shed fur all over your couch every full moon!” Boombox complained, “Plus, why would he just give me his blood? He doesn’t even like me!”
There was silence, which stretched on longer, then longer still, until Boombox looked up at Skate once again, who was gazing at him with an expression one could only describe as a mix between disbelieving and mildly disappointed.
“What’s with that face?” Boombox questioned, confused.
“If he doesn’t like you, then why does he talk to you so much?” Skate shot back.
Sure, Medkit spoke to Boombox the most out of their tight-knit group of friends, but that was only because the musician was the one to continuously pester him so much in the first place. If Boombox didn’t ceaselessly prod and poke at his buttons, he’d likely get no more than a rolled eye and instant dismissal. That in no way, shape or form, indicated that Medkit liked him. Boombox wanted to think them friends, but he couldn’t be certain of the doctor’s own opinion on him. If anything, he assumed Medkit thought him not too dissimilar to an annoying fly buzzing around his head, something he could swat away time and time again, but would always, irritatedly, return to harass him once more.
“I don’t think a couple mumbled responses counts as ‘so much’,” he corrected with a sigh. If only the opposite were true, Boombox thought. Over the months, he’d made it his mission to befriend Medkit, and he just knew that he could one day squeeze himself through the gaps of that solid, frigid exterior to see what was really inside. The inphernal was like a sibling to Sword, chatted amiably with him and rocket, and when he did so Boombox could just about discern that icy shield melting away. He’d hoped to one day offer that too. To be the warmth that burned away his fear.
“Still, it’s more than I can get outta him,” Skateboard returned, “normally he just scolds me for skating too fast for him to shoot.”
Boombox hummed at that.
He opened his mouth to poke at one of his fangs with a finger absent-mindedly, wincing slightly when he accidentally pierced the skin. He wasn’t even hungry, or thirsty, or whatever the want for blood made him, difficult to explain using only inphernal terminology, but Medkit’s blood was still on his mind. It was scary, in all honesty, that he’d reacted in such a way. Further due to such a small amount of blood causing his fangs to extend in the first place. Gods knew what would happen if he was one day around when Medkit would have a wound larger than a simple mild scratch. If something like that happened, Boombox was frightened about how he’d react.
“What is it ‘bout him, anyway?” came Skate’s voice once more.
“Whaddya mean?” Boombox replied, confused.
“I mean, you’ve never felt a pull to someone’s blood this much before. There’s gotta be something different ‘bout him,” he offered.
Skate had known of his vampirism from the moment they’d met. He’d seen most if not all instances wherein Boombox held an intense craving, starved or, in his earlier days, overtaken by the desire to hunt, but he’d never seen or heard of anything like this. Not how Boombox had described it. Longing, desire. Perhaps his words weren’t misplaced when he’d called it a ‘blood crush’ in jest, because the feelings which accompanied the draw towards Medkit’s blood had unquestionably begun to mix and mingle with some others he held within his head.
“Hmmm… I guess…,” Boombox sighed. If it was what he thought, then he’d be utterly, totally fucked. There was no doubt about it. And to be honest, the idea significantly lowered his mood. His stupid curse. His stupid life. Causing stupid problems with his stupid relationships. Boombox suddenly felt as though he needed a beer or two, maybe a pouch of blood to wash it down with, anything to flee the depressing truth of the situation.
“Or maybe there isn’t. Maybe it’ll pass. You’ll just have to see!” Skate continued upon realising that his friend’s mood had abruptly diminished.
Boombox shot him a half-hearted smile. He shouldn’t have been making Skate worry about him, and he was right either way. Maybe it was indeed entirely too early to make judgements and assumptions. It’d only been three weeks, after all. In the end, Boombox figured that he’d hold out a little longer, and by that point, the urges will hopefully have all been willed away…
But three weeks turned to four, then four to five, and by the time two months were rolling around since this whole problem had begun, Boombox felt as though he were ready to explode every time he occupied the same room as Medkit for more than a couple of seconds. During phights, the scent of Medkit’s blood was sharp, piercing through the multitude of other smells floating around whatever arena had been chosen that day, even amongst the thick backdrop of metallic iron, that sweetness nevertheless took centre stage. It came to the surprise of others that Boombox, subsequently, hit a little harder during these days, movements more cunning, an uncharacteristic precision to his strikes. He chalked it up to the hunt, the intrinsic need to blow off some steam, and yet the moment the round ended, he would flee as soon as possible, disappearing from the locker rooms in a heartbeat.
He hated how much more he felt that eye on him as a result, pouring into his back, scorching. Boombox felt as though he’d begun to tangle himself within his own web, lies and excuses piling up, eagerly dodging any conversation Medkit attempted to engage him with. If his ‘issue’ didn’t exist, then perhaps Boombox would’ve been overjoyed that the inphernal was beginning to speak with him more, but every time he faced Medkit’s way, all that his mind fled back to was blood, the pulse of his heartbeat in his veins, how easy it would be to pierce his skin, what he would do for even a drop of that plasma on his tongue.
It was maddening. The feelings persisted, and Boombox found himself becoming increasingly wound up. Consequently, he’d decided to down an entire bottle of blood before phights in an attempt to stave off the unrelenting hunger that seized him in Medkit’s presence. A bad idea, he found, because when that delicious scent wafted his way, he’d only find that he’d made himself nauseous at the thought of consuming it, like the smell of alcohol or greasy food while one was plagued with a hangover. All in all, it was a wholly uncomfortable experience, and Boombox was forced to give up that plan only a couple days into the act, stomach churning uncomfortably as his fangs extended at the sight of the doctor’s skin.
Contrary to what he’d hoped, Boombox found the urges becoming much more prevalent as more and more time passed, the moments during which he was around Medkit seeming as though they were playing out in slow motion, stretching on for an eternity and more, fingers itching, heartbeat hastening. Despite the fact that his skill during phights had initially increased, his focus had begun to falter, movements becoming sloppier and sloppier until he found his name consistently frequenting the bottom of the leaderboard. It seemed as though everything in Boombox’s life kept on going wrong, misfortune after misfortune befalling him as the enticing scent of blood stubbornly refused to leave his head.
It was a cloudy day when Medkit finally decided to confront him about it, a conversation that, for once, Boombox couldn’t weasel his way out of. They were on opposite teams during a phight, and Boombox’s movements had swiftly turned careless, focus utterly shattered in the presence of the other inphernal. He was certain that his own team were rather mad at him considering his utter refusal to stand on the point, where Medkit provided backup to his teammates. He’d aimed to pull himself from as many matches involving the other inphernal as possible, but it was rather difficult to do so without leaving a support space free, no one else to fill the spot. His mind was thus torn by guilt. Stay and perform his worst, or leave and risk being kicked from the roster all together?
“Boombox,” Medkit greeted, stern. Boombox could smell him coming, but had to act as though he’d been torn from his musings.
“O-oh, hey Med! Just heading off,” he explained, attempted to keep his voice level. It was unfortunate that Medkit had caught him leaving the locker rooms, and if Boombox could peek through that hazy mist that led his eyes to his neck, then perhaps he’d have spotted that Medkit’s clothes were a little ruffled, indicating that he’d intentionally rushed to catch him right after the end of the match, knowing that Boombox’s escape would have otherwise been swift.
“Can we talk?” he asked, but it came out as more a command. The tone of his voice was hard, albeit laced with a hint of concern. In ordinary circumstances, Boombox would’ve already conjured up some lame excuse to flee from Medkit’s grasp within an instant, but something about the lilt of the doctor’s words told him that there would be no way of escaping this fateful encounter. Medkit’s posture was relaxed, but still guarded, uptight, suggesting that even if Boombox had somehow escaped him, he would’ve pestered him the next day, and the one after that as well.
So, with little other option, Boombox agreed.
“Mhmm, sure!” he accepted, false smile playing at his lips.
It was dangerous for them to be so close, Boombox’s fangs already beckoning themselves out, that instinctual urge to lunge quickly seizing him. The world felt a blur as Medkit led him to an empty hallway, away from any prying ears or eyes. If anything, this only made Boombox more nervous. For what reason, exactly, did they have to be alone together? Some small part deep within Boombox’s vampiric brain celebrated at the fact, isolating his prey away from others, keeping him all to himself. The musician had to shake his head furiously as soon as the thoughts emerged, drawing a confused look from the other.
Medkit’s footsteps drew to an eventual stop, the resounding clack of his heels against the hard floor thoroughly missed when Boombox realised that he then only had the sound of his breaths to focus on, the rustle of his clothing as he moved to lean against the wall. Boombox swallowed, then took his place against the opposite wall, the lights above a blinding artificial white. Although it wasn’t as horrid as the sun, his eyes were still sensitive, and the musician had to squint in an attempt to save himself from the headache that bloomed at the forefront of his head.
“So,” Medkit started. One of his hands reached into his blazer pocket, muscle memory, a place that Boombox had noted he typically kept his cigarettes in. He paused for a moment, then withdrew his hand, instead moving to cross his arms.
“So,” Boombox replied, a little nervous. He half wished he’d not de-summoned his gear, if only so that he could hold it in his arms to fiddle with, anything so that the facsimile of a barrier could be planted between the two of them.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Medkit stated, and Boombox’s throat went abruptly dry.
“Ahaha what? Have I?” he laughed nervously, darted his eyes around, landing them anywhere but the other inphernal. That sharp scent hit him again, like a truck into stationary traffic. Medkit had a small habit of worrying at his lip, something he did almost entirely unconsciously, but it appeared that this time, he’d accidentally pierced lightly through the skin. Boombox tried his damndest not to look his way, not even a glance, throat becoming tight, constricted, the fangs in his mouth annoyingly sharp, and would no doubt be visible were he to open his mouth again.
Medkit sighed, brushed some of the hair out of his face.
“I don’t know what I’ve done, if anything, but I can clearly see how it's affecting your performance,” he continued, words jumbling inside of Boombox’s head, comprehension fleeting, “and moreover, how it’s affecting you.”
Again, Boombox had never had such an issue with his urges. His mind felt fogged, the words meeting his ears vague and hazy, as though being heard from underwater. He couldn’t help a glance up, then away, swallowing hard as his gut clenched. His mind was in turmoil, a fierce battle between sense and urge. Jittery, on edge. Boombox could hardly make out his surroundings, focus zoning in on the other inphernal, the desire, the need, an intrinsic want.
“Whatever it is, I’d rather we just talk it out now and be done with it,” Medkit finalised, and Boombox breathed out a shaky breath, some shallow attempt at collecting himself.
“Oh… uh… nope, nothing’s up to be honest,” he spoke a little off-handedly, the words trailing out of his mouth like an afterthought, not a hint of acknowledgement in his tone. Medkit huffed, a slight hint of frustration evident in his body language, glancing off to the side, finger tapping irritatedly against his arm.
“When I enter a room, you scamper out of it as quickly as possible. ‘Nothing’s up’ appears to be a bit of an understatement,” Medkit commented, brow twitching with annoyance. Only when he looked back, Boombox was much closer than before.
He startled at the sudden closeness, though the movement was only barely recognised by the vampire. ‘Blood, blood, blood,’ was the only thought that resounded within Boombox’s head, his hands raising to push Medkit’s shoulders against the wall behind him. Medkit let out a sound of confused alarm, hands flying down to his sides as Boombox used a frankly surprising amount of strength to push him backwards. Medkit’s heartbeat hastened, thrummed loudly within the musician’s ears, a sweet melody, as he leaned upwards, tilted his head towards Medkit’s neck, completely overtaken by desire.
The smell of medkit’s blood, though long having dried upon his lip, was somehow even stronger up close, enticing, begging to be consumed, and a light hiss fled Boombox’s mouth as he opened it wide, his sharp fangs poised to pierce the thin skin of the other inphernal’s neck. Medkit was sandwiched between Boombox and the wall, bodies pressed close, and by that point Boombox could not only hear his heart, but feel its swift pulse through the contact of their chests. The moment seemed to stretch on for the longest time, the promise of satisfaction, Medkit’s sharp, rich blood flooding his mouth only seconds away, and Boombox, within that moment, felt perhaps the most alive that he had ever been.
Medkit’s breaths stuttered out of his nose, minutely shaky, but his mouth refused to open, clamped shut as Boombox held him there. But then his hands were on the musician, snaking up from his hips to his waist, and Boombox became suddenly, rapidly aware that he was not being pushed away, but instead being pulled closer.
Medkit was pulling him closer.
Awareness came flooding back, Boombox’s eyes flying wide open as he hastily stumbled away, mouth snapping shut, tearing himself from Medkit’s hold. His breaths came heavy, and so did the doctor’s, and Boombox was filled with so much pure embarrassment that he felt the only appropriate action was the coward’s way out: to, once again, run.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” the words tumbled from his lips, hand flying to cover his mouth, where his sharp fangs still stood in all their vampiric glory, extended, “I’m leaving! Sorry!”
And then he fled.
Maybe Medkit had attempted to chase after him, or perhaps he was left stunned in the aftermath of whatever the interaction they’d just shared was, but Boombox couldn’t have been able to notice over the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the squeak of his sneakers against the floor as he rushed down the endless halls and out of the venue. Whether Medkit had noticed his fangs or not, one thing was certainly for sure: he was entirely, totally, irrefutably fucked. In what universe could he possibly have been able to conjure an explanation for his stupid, no-brained actions?
Humiliation. Mortification. The exact emotion that had Boombox’s very soul welling up with the sudden urge to hide himself away for the rest of his days, the musician couldn’t quite pinpoint. As he scrambled his way back home, the scene replaying in his mind, he could do naught but groan, face flushing, because no matter how often he seemed to do it, Boombox knew that running from his problems never seemed to work out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
But that was an issue for future him to deal with.
Boombox didn’t really know any other vampires. Not personally. But he knew that they existed, for sure, all due to the fact that many of them frequented a forum online together. On the surface, it appeared a little like a roleplay forum, inphernals simply pretending they were vampires for the fun of it, a few jokes about drinking blood here, and a couple quips about avoiding sunlight there… but the reality was in fact that many of the inphernals active on there where honest to SFOTH vampires, spawned with the exact same affliction that Boombox found himself with.
The elders were often party poopers, vampires who’d been alive for long enough to see factions rise and fall, all of whom had assumed the true, stereotypical role of a vampire. Hunters. They emerged at night, held no remorse for their victims, and drank to their hearts’ content. It was clear from the beginning that Boombox was going to find very little aid from any of them, what with most of their solutions being ‘just kill them’, but there was the odd occasion that they knew very vampire-specific details. In truth, Boombox was more surprised that any of them knew what the internet was in the first place, considering their archaic ways of life.
Boombox had stumbled across the forum by complete accident, desperately searching for answers regarding his curse, and it was perhaps one of the greatest things to have ever happened to him. Some of the younger vampires, ones from the same era as he was, that is, supplied helpful tips on which charities to search for, what time of day is best for travel, etcetera. If Boombox hadn’t found them, then perhaps he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he had, even with Skateboard’s help.
Which brought him, sleepy, paranoid and deeply embarrassed, back to the main page after his frankly humiliating encounter with Medkit. He made sure he was on the right account, the one for his vampiric life, not the one he shared snippets of his tracks with, and constructed a post detailing his story from start to finish, though keeping both his and Medkit’s identities completely anonymous. He described the smell, the draw, the urges to sink his teeth right into Medkit’s neck, along with the fact that he’d not fed directly from inphernals in years. He stressed that his identity was a secret to most, that he’d been trying his best to avoid the object of his desires, but that nothing was working.
It took less than an hour for responses to start coming through.
Some were entirely unhelpful, laughing at his miserable predicament, while others appeared to be regular inphernals roleplaying on the forum as vampires, suggesting much more sinister reasons behind his thirst. Boombox rolled his eyes, the bright glare of the screen illuminating his dark bedroom, and continued scrolling until he reached a response from a trusted ‘friend’. They responded to one another’s posts frequently, and from what Boombox knew, they appeared to be a similar age to him, only they lived in an entirely different region, which made it hard for them to have been able to meet.
Lines and lines of text graced the screen, Boombox’s attention swiftly being caught, eyes swept up in the information his friend had provided, and by the time he’d finished reading, a deep pit had already formed in his stomach. Of course, the musician held his suspicions, but those ideas extended little further than that. It was simply something funny to think about, so how would he have known that the two things were connected?!
In all honesty, Boombox hadn’t been completely truthful with himself, nor had he with Skateboard, or even Medkit himself. Regrettably, it appeared that the answer to his intense hunger around medkit could not be explained away as a one-off occurrence. Boombox’s eyes flitted over the words again, where the word ‘desire’ stuck out more than most, the six-lettered word damning in the way that it made his throat go tight, his heart beat just that smidgeon faster.
What happened when a vampire liked someone? Not much, to be honest. A lot of vampires were drawn to covens, grouped a certain number of individuals they viewed as friends, or of similar interests, within such a category in their head. Skateboard, Boombox would argue, was the first member of his coven. But what happened when a vampire held feelings towards someone? Feelings deeper than simple ‘like’, something closer to ‘want’, ‘need’, and that wretched, cursed word: ‘desire’? Well, it seemed as though Boombox had stumbled his way into finding out entirely by accident.
Boombox hadn’t imagined that his crush on Medkit was anything worth mentioning. Sure, he thought the inphernal was cool as fuck, on top of his already intriguing personality, not to mention his good looks. But Boombox had, for a long while, been curious about the real him, the inphernal behind the guarded wall, the inphernal who chuckled at a cringy line Sword let out, the inphernal who expressed worry and concern and frustration whenever anyone threw themselves into the fray with little consideration for their physical wellbeing. Developing a crush on Medkit was easy, natural, like it was always meant to be there, like the clouds in the sky and waves on the sea. If Medkit didn’t like him back, then he was perfectly fine with taking the back seat, hence why he so desperately wanted to make friends with him in the first place. Something, anything to get just that little bit closer, but not too close that he’d be scorched.
The issue was that the feelings Boombox held towards Medkit seemingly extended deeper than any of his past crushes. Stronger. At some point, his vampiric body had started to confuse the feelings of desire, such being his crush, and his hunger. Boombox’d had a sneaking suspicion that that was the case rather early on, but refused to comment on it, as if speaking it aloud would somehow jinx it. Turns out he didn’t need to speak in the first place, because Boombox’s life was full of misery and pain, utterly unfortunate in all aspects.
It was a little like the concept of ‘rose-tinted glasses’. Due to the fact that Boombox ostensibly had overwhelmingly positive, insatiable feelings towards Medkit, his body had responded in tandem: by making his blood smell as absolutely divine as vampirically possible. Thusly, the want for Medkit as an inphernal and the want for Medkit’s blood as a vampire overlapped, became tangled in a tight, inordinately complicated knot, and had subsequently been dumped at Boombox’s feet for him to figure out what to do with next.
Evidently, the main issue was the crush, which didn’t seem as though it’d be going away any time soon. Boombox had pulled every stunt to stay as far as inphernally possible from Medkit, and even then the need to be near him, whether to interact or go for his neck, never ceased. If anything, Boombox was half convinced that the urge for blood was feeding back into his stupid, embarrassing crush like some sick, cruel sort of ouroboros, its only intent to torture him relentlessly.
With a click, the monitor shut off, leaving Boombox in the calm darkness of his room, sunken into his chair as though he were melting, a sad sack of vampire meat being tormented by whatever gods above found his strife humorous. He sighed, pushed his swivel chair backwards enough so that it tipped over and fell unceremoniously to the floor, a pained groan escaping his mouth at the action. ‘Fuck my life,’ Boombox thought, because apparently it wasn’t being fucked enough already.
Such as his fate was sealed, Boombox did the only thing he did best: avoid his problems. With a deep, depressing sigh, he crawled up onto his bed, the sheets unmade, entirely too many pillows to be classed as normal scattered over its surface. Then, in a puff of smoke, he turned into a small bat, no larger than the average inphernal’s hand, crawled his way up a tapestry hanging from his wall onto one on the ceiling, wrapped himself up in his wings, and waited for the peaceful lull of sleep to claim him.
The following week passed in an uneventful haze, the mortifying embarrassment following his interaction with Medkit forcing him inside, wrapped up in his blankets, bingeing gods-awful rom-coms while sipping on packets of blood he’d stocked up in his fridge. He’d briefly messaged Skateboard about the situation he was in, but didn’t impart much in the way of details. Skate had a rather annoying habit of remembering every single instance wherein Boombox had ever humiliated himself, so giving the full story would be like supplying his executor the blade to seal his fate.
To put it lightly, Boombox was having some much needed ‘me time’. To put it bluntly, he was busy wallowing in his own self-pity.
Which is why the knock on his door almost made him jump out of his skin, three solid thumps, swift and purposeful.
“Boombox?” that damned voice came. That familiar, awful voice, “I know you’re in. Skateboard told me.”
Some part of him was thankful Medkit had provided the name of his betrayer, because it only made him more resolved to smack him round the head the next time he saw his fellow Playgrounder. Actually, maybe smacking wasn’t quite an appropriate response. Perhaps he’d just covertly leech on his streaming subscriptions for a couple months as compensation for the surely traumatic experience he was surely going to face within the next ten minutes.
“Fuck,” he hissed to himself quietly, peered over the back of his couch to his front door as though it were a looming, terrifying, cursed thing. Boombox felt his palms go uncomfortably sweaty, an odd kind of dread settling within his gut as he slowly raised himself from his seat, the padding of his feet across the floor thumping in a repetitive pattern, like the hands of a clock ticking, counting down to his certain doom. Hesitantly, he raised an eye to the peephole, confirming that it was indeed the doctor outside of his very own apartment, rather than some cruel joke his brain had decided to play on him, then went for the handle, unlocking the door with a crisp click!
“Hi!” Boombox greeted through the small slit of his slightly ajar door, voice shakily upbeat, eyes boring nervously into the taller inphernal’s face, “Hey…”
Medkit was in his casual clothes again, comfortable pants paired with a thick sweater, that familiar brown jacket over the top. He had no shopping on him, which suggested that the entire reason for his outing was specifically to visit Boombox, the recipient of which unsure whether to feel unimaginably happy or abhorrently petrified by the fact. There was no indication of Medkit’s internal thoughts through the passive expression upon his face, mouth set in a typical straight line, the bag beneath his eye no less familiar than it’d always been. For a brief moment, Boombox wondered if he, too, had lost sleep over their encounter just a week ago.
“Can I come in?” Medkit asked, but like before, Boombox knew that he’d be unlikely to take ‘no’ for an answer. Subtly, the musician’s fingers fiddled with the edge of the door, before he swung it open and gestured inside.
“O-oh, yeah sure thing!” Bad thing, actually. The worst thing. Inviting Medkit into his apartment was like beckoning a mouse into a trap. Like, well, prey entering a vampire’s lair.
“Homely…,” Medkit muttered as he glanced around, because in truth, Boombox’s house looked nothing remotely similar to a ‘lair’ at all. In fact, humiliation flooded him once more at the reality that he’d hardly tidied the entire week he’d been holed up in there, cushions and spare blankets strewn about the place, snacks left to go stale on the coffee table. The vampire scrambled for the remote, switching off the TV which had still been playing one of those cringey dating shows, brushed all the crumbs he could see off of the couch, then shot a wonky, anxious smile at the doctor as he gestured towards it.
“Uh… sit anywhere you want!” Medkit raised a brow, expression still unreadable, and Boombox found that fact endlessly irritating. A scowl, a grimace, even a twitch to his eye would be better than the blank wall he appeared to be faced with, face set with all the grace that Medkit usually held. Boombox felt a sudden wave of embarrassment hit him once more as the doctor took a seat, the vampire opting to stand opposite him as though they were caught in some odd type of interrogation. His eyes briefly flitted to Medkit’s neck, then back to his face, internally grateful that the visor upon his face could hide his movements. That abrupt hunger surged to the forefront of his mind once more, leaving the musician fiddling in place.
“So-,” Medkit started.
“Wait! Just a sec!” Boombox cut him off, voice a little louder than intended, then rushed to fish his pets out of their massive cage before unceremoniously dumping the two of them on Medkit’s lap, “Here!”
The doctor’s arms were raised, stiff, and had Boombox been less focused on the skin of his neck, then perhaps he’d have enough sense to comment that the action was rather cute. He’d never seen Medkit appear so utterly out of his depth, the blank expression upon his face finally, mercifully cracking just enough to show the surprise beneath it. Whoopsie and Daisy appeared to be just as confused as the inphernal they’d been set upon, sniffing and searching him as though the answer to their unknown objective was hidden somewhere on his person. The reality was that Boombox had placed them there to act as a barrier of sorts. He’d never cause harm to his precious pets, so unfortunately, in this scenario, they were being used as fodder, ensuring that the vampire wouldn’t throw all conscious thought to the wind and pounce on the other inphernal.
“What?” was all that could strain its way out of Medkit’s mouth.
“My rats,” Boombox explained simply, gesturing towards them.
“I see that… Why’ve you put them on me?” Medkit returned, slowly lowering his arms as though wary of accidentally frightening the small animals.
“Do you not like them?” the musician tilted his head in confusion. They were straying majorly off track from the original reason that Boombox assumed Medkit had visited him about, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. The longer he could drag this on, the more time he had to compose himself before giving an explanation for his actions, something he loathed to do in the first place.
“That one is Whoopsie,” he explained, pointing towards the one with the light-brown fur, then gestured towards the white and grey one, “and that one is Daisy.”
Medkit hummed in acknowledgement, then moved a hand to pet Daisy. Boombox had never thought Medkit would get along so well with animals, but there he was on his couch, amiably scratching the rat’s head as Whoopsie tugged and pulled at his sweater. The sight was oddly domestic in nature, the atmosphere calm, peaceful, and Boombox had only then realised that for a brief moment the urges caused by this vampiric side, the utter and inescapable desire for Medkit’s blood, had suddenly vanished, leaving only the warm feeling of fondness he held towards the other inphernal remaining.
“It seems Whoopsie has decided to go up my sleeve,” Medkit observed, the animal pushing her way up said article of clothing. Boombox let out a giggle at the sight, the doctor a little lost on how exactly to coerce the animal out of the space she seemed intent to explore. Lost, he looked to Boombox for help, and upon seeing that no aid would be granted, glanced back down, submitting to his fate as a new play toy for the pets to scout.
“Yeah, she does that sometimes,” Boombox said between laughter, shoulders relaxing from where they’d been unconsciously tensed up, the awkward atmosphere having somewhat dispersed over the course of their short exchange, Medkit still petting Daisy all the while.
The curtains were closed, deep green blackout ones, so that no inch of sunshine could peak through, and instead Boombox had lit the room in the soft, dim light of a standing lamp, casting a warm glow upon the surroundings. In the light, Medkit’s features were illuminated, from the cool teal of his horns to the thick lashes on his lowered eyelid, the lines on his face betraying the hardships he’d had to endure to reach the age that he was. Despite it all, his lips were twinged up just a slight bit at the ends, something that would’ve gone unnoticed had Boombox not spent months committed to trying to understand every expression the doctor could conjure up, betraying the sense of collected comfort he felt in Boombox’s home. Or maybe it was because of Boombox himself, but the musician didn’t wish to award himself any small amount of false hope.
“The other day…,” Medkit started, and his eye was suddenly back on him. Boombox squirmed in place, any ounce of calm in his body evaporating in an instant, the recollection of his actions hanging over him like the blade on a guillotine.
“Yeah…,” he replied, then swallowed, “the other day…”
There was a silent lull, the only sounds the skittering of Boombox’s pets and the rustle of Medkit’s clothing as they stared at one another. Boombox felt like a pot of boiling water set on high heat, bubbling, dangerously close to spilling over. Any lie that he may have fabricated regarding his actions from the other day swiftly evaded him, leaving the vampire at an utter loss for words, mind blank as that sneaking desire began to stalk upon him once more. Medkit looked askance for a moment, and Boombox could have almost been certain that he seemed somewhat… flushed?
“Did you-…?” Medkit began.
“I need to come clean!” Boombox announced at the same time.
They stared at one another, silent again, before Medkit gave him a brief nod.
“Go on…,” he urged.
“No no no, you go on,” Boombox replied. Thick, covetous fear crawled its way up his spine, meticulous in the way it pulled his brain apart, instilled in him trepidation while running every possible negative reaction Medkit could have through his head.
“Boombox, just say what you were going to say,” Medkit stressed, and the musician fiddled with his hands.
His heart pounded loudly in his chest, a deep, heavy thing, blood rushing to his ears as he was faced with the object of his affection, his desire, the damning truth of his existence a frightening thing to admit. When he was young, too young to know that there were any alternatives, when base instinct and hunger drove him to feed on whoever he could find, it wasn’t uncommon for Boombox to be faced with panic. As someone who valued the wellbeing of others, feeding on them tore his heart in two, moreso when they would look upon him with something similar to disgust in their gazes, distrust. His greatest fear, in this moment, was that if Medkit, too, regarded him with that same level of revulsion, then he wouldn’t know what to do.
“Um…,” Boombox paused, then took a deep breath, “The truth is… I’m cursed.”
An expression of stark confusion ran over Medkit’s face, as if he’d expected any other answer than the one he’d received, almost as though his train of thought had been considering something completely different to what Boombox’s had, but the vampire hadn’t the clarity of mind at the time to even consider such an idea.
“What?” Medkit muttered.
“I’m a vampire!” Boombox expressed, eyes scrunched closed as he threw his hands into the air, “There, I said it!
“I know you’re probably really freaked out, but I swear I don’t normally go for inphernals! I mean, heck, I don’t go for animals either!
“I kinda got carried away the other day, I swear I’ll never let anything like that happen again! I’ll stay 50 feet away from you at all times! I’ll even try and figure something out so that we don’t have any more phights together!”
The words came and wouldn’t stop, tumbling out of his mouth like a torrent of water escaping a broken dam, the secret spilling from his lips sealing his fate. Twenty three years of successfully hiding his existence as a vampire from the rest of the world, and yet one singular inphernal had been his undoing. A foolish, unattainable crush foiling any chance or opportunity to keep living his life in a ‘regular’ inphernal manner. He understood that he was rambling, but that was just something that Boombox tended to do when he was backed into a corner, like those days he’d spent alone in Playground, desperate for even a hint of understanding, a singular extended hand.
The musician didn’t want to see the look on Medkit’s face: fear, anger, despair, whatever it may have been. He’d been faced with so much letdown regarding his curse that he felt as though Skate was truly the last inphernal that he could trust with his secret, despite the nagging part of his brain which compromised that many of the people he knew would never look his way with scorn or resentment. But fear clouded sense, as it always did, and Boombox had been left constantly on edge for his entire life, scurrying to hide a truth that was simply another intrinsic part of his identity.
Medkit would leave, as many inphernals had done before, and Boombox would be left to hide himself away.
“Boombox, slow down,” but that voice pierced through. Not angry, not scornful, but perhaps a little confused. He took the opportunity to peek upwards, only to see none of what he had imagined would be plastered across the doctor’s face, however instead not a small amount of intrigue, honest and genuine. The heart in his chest beat with ferocity as Medkit leaned forward a little in his seat, searching his features, looking at him in what Boombox could only assume was an entirely new light.
“So… you were just hungry?” the inphernal questioned after a moment, leaving Boombox reeling.
“Y-yeah… hungry,” he lied, because like hell would he tell Medkit the truth behind his desire, “you caught me at a bad time.”
Medkit made a noise of acknowledgement, then continued petting the rat in his lap.
“Wait a sec… you’re not as weirded out about this as I’d thought you’d be,” Boombox started, “why aren’t you weirded out?!”
The inphernal shot him a look, one that attempted to convey the words ‘oh, calm down,’ leaving Boombox’s mouth a little dry. The vampire felt his hands become a little less shaky, settling down in the aftermath of his sudden confession, and now instead of pure unease, he was filled with only relieved befuddlement. Soft, cream light caught on the side of Medkit’s face from the lamp, and in it the musician could spy a rare gentleness in the other inphernal’s expression, as though he’d become abruptly aware of how thoroughly stressed Boombox had been in sharing his identity.
“In all honesty, I’ll admit that I thought vampires were a myth,” he explained, tone calm, “I guess not…”
“So Coil’s notoriously a werewolf and yet you didn’t believe that…,” the words caught on the musician’s tongue, all drenched in bewilderment, “that vampires didn’t exist as well?”
Medkit simply threw up a casual shrug in reply.
“Well I don’t know, I’d never met one before. Until just now, anyway…,” he defended.
It was, by large, the most confusing interaction regarding his vampiric nature that Boombox had ever had. Nonchalance, although interspersed with a small amount of curiosity towards his nature, but still nothing like what he’d expected. It made Boombox think, just for a moment, about why Medkit had come to his in the first place, considering the fact that he hadn’t thought that he was a vampire, denied their existence altogether in the first place. The words ‘did you-’ rang in his mind. Did he what? Did the doctor truly suspect that he’d pinned him against that wall for any other reason? Boombox’s face heated at the insinuation, before yet another question from the doctor struck through his ruminations.
“How do you go outside?” Medkit asked, blunt.
“Whaddya mean?” Boombox returned with a raised brow.
“Don’t vampires… ‘burn to a crisp’ in the sunlight?” came his explanation, and Boombox could do naught but bark out a loud laugh at the idea. Medkit was taken aback by the sound, evident in how he sat up a little straighter, alert, not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a car.
“Where’d you get that idea from, a movie?” Boombox giggled, “Just makes me tired more easily, to be honest.”
Medkit shuffled forwards a little more, and the musician became strikingly aware that he’d unintentionally caught himself within a Q&A.
“But you still need blood. So… you don’t eat regular food?” the doctor asked. There was an inquisitiveness on his face that Boombox rarely saw, as though he could whip out a notebook at any moment and start scribbling notes on the paper. The keen glint in his eye spoke of an interest buried deep into his bones, as though it were in his very nature to want to know more, to need to know more. To be asked directly about his own curse, to be able to freely express something he’d kept hidden from the world a good 99% of the time… it filled Boombox with a strange sort of comfort.
“Nah, dude. I could never give up inphernal food!” he explained, then added, “It’s like… two digestive systems? I guess? But I still run more on blood than anything else.”
“Right…,” Medkit nodded, going quiet.
Boombox leaned back against the wall, watched while the other inphernal appeared to sort the information in his head. Maybe he’d spent too long catastrophising, because now that the truth was out, Boombox felt a welcome relief flooding over him, like the raucous surge of water that had burst from the dam had quietened to a bearable trickle. No, he hadn’t expressed the exact truth, in part because in doing so, he was almost certain that Medkit would have wanted nothing to do with him even more than he wouldn’t have after knowing that he was a night-stalking, blood sucking vampire. The unfortunate part was, though, that Boombox’s ‘hunger’ wouldn’t vanish, not for as long as he held affections towards the doctor, something he’d rather keep to himself for as long as vampirically possible.
“I’m kinda glad, to be honest…,” he started after a moment.
“About what?” Medkit questioned with a tilt of his head. Boombox couldn’t help but once more think his actions rather deer-like.
“That you didn’t… I dunno, run off?” Boombox explained, looked down, because for once he was laying himself rather bare in front of another inphernal, “Friends are kinda hard to come by…
“So when I’ve told them the truth before, they just assume that… maybe I was using them? Getting close so that they’d let their guard down?” the vampire huffed, rather unsure as to why he was telling the other about this in the first place, “‘S why Skate’s the only one who knows the whole truth. And now you, I guess…”
“Coil doesn’t?” Medkit asked, a little surprised.
It was no secret that the individual in question held a curse of his own. After all, much of his clothing, mannerisms and personality revolved around it. Coil had never shied away from his identity as a werewolf, and Boombox assumed that it, in part, had something to do with his mentor, who he’d never met before, but had heard snippets about in passing. Then again, the musician also supposed that werewolves were just about as common as vampires were, which is to say: not very. Coil was the only werewolf that Boombox knew, but he’d heard rumours here and there. Knowing of his own existence as a vampire, therefore, made the idea that there were perhaps others of a similar nature somewhere out there in the Inpherno less unbelievable. In truth, Boombox wouldn’t have been all that surprised if it turned out that mermaids or harpies existed either.
“Well, we’re close but… I dunno,” Boombox shrugged, “I’ve had a few bad experiences. Honestly I only told you because I thought you already knew…”
There was a lot going on in that moment those few days ago, all heated breaths and hazy minded. The inphernal had thought that his actions alone had made the truth of what he was glaringly evident, but now he’d learned that that appeared not to be the case, he felt a little embarrassed.
“Then again, it’d be a kinda stupid idea to walk into a vampire’s den if you knew they were there, right?” Boombox jested, a little awkward, then his smile turned wobbly and dropped a fraction, “Sorry I-... I was rambling.”
Medkit paused, as though evaluating the inphernal in front of him. Medkit thought him annoying, bothersome, every synonym for ‘irritating’ under the sun. And yet, just for a short moment, he was granted a look at the inphernal beneath, the insecure inphernal, the vampire who had such little trust in others regarding his identity that he’d rather have sat on the information alone for the rest of his life. Boombox knew for sure that Medkit didn’t like him. He’d only come seeking clarity, and he wished not to entertain any thought to suggest otherwise. Despite the hint of concern that had been set within his expression, hidden behind walls of slightly irate disregard, the twinge in Boombox’s heart was followed by the words: ‘ignore it. It’s nothing’.
“It’s fine. Just glad the air is cleared now,” Medkit spoke with a nod.
The doctor opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it, then opened it again, before continuing:
“If you’re still hungry, you could always…,” he trailed off, looked askance, and the tone was so low that had Boombox’s hearing not been so sensitive then he perhaps wouldn’t have been picked up on the words in the first place. Something like a flush rose to Medkit’s face, though light, before he shook his head in an attempt to banish the thought of what he’d been about to suggest.
“Hm?” Boombox hummed, confused.
“Nothing,” Medkit shot back, curt, then left no room for further investigation as he fired yet another question, “you’ll be at the next phight, right?”
Boombox nodded nervously, making a small noise of agreement. He’d cancelled all phights for the past week that he’d been hiding away, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to going back to them. The action, the thrill, it seemed to stimulate his vampiric nature to an almost annoying degree, meaning that, when Medkit was present, the urges became increasingly unbearable. But he’d already confirmed his return, and he didn’t want to risk losing his job unless absolutely necessary. At worst, he would simply have to continue powering through the desires, praying to every deity possible that they didn’t become more unmanageable than they already were. Though, there was some security, he supposed, that since the doctor now knew of his nature, he’d be able to pump out more excuses as to why he needed to avoid him.
“Right, well…,” Medkit concluded, then made to get up when he recalled the two pets on his lap.
“I’ll help,” Boombox chuckled lightly, beckoning the rats towards him, which he then cradled in his arms.
“Thanks,” Medkit replied, walking to the entrance of his apartment, then turned to him once more, “if you do need anything, just let me know.”
“Will do. Thanks, Med,” Boombox replied with another nod. He was beginning to feel like a bobble head. The door slipped closed behind the inphernal, and Boombox felt his gut twist. Was it just him, or did the room feel strangely warm when the doctor was in there? Boombox let out a deep sigh as that familiar, sweet scent disappeared behind the door and down the stairwell. For a brief moment, he’d thought he’d finally had control over his urges, but it appeared that the moment the conversation was over, they’d come back full swing, fingers twitching for action, fangs poised and ready to pierce.
“Fuck,” Boombox could only lament as he set his pets back down, travelled to his fridge, and plucked out a packet of fresh blood.
“So you lied,” Skateboard stated.
“I lied…,” Boombox reluctantly confirmed, resulting in the other inphernal bursting out in uproarious laughter.
Regrettably, following Medkit’s visit and Boombox’s admission to being a vampire, the musician had no choice but to relay the events to his best friend, including all the information about his crush. Skate had visited only a day after Medkit had come over, and they were currently in Boombox’s room, sat upon his rustled, untidy bed. Between Skateboard’s fingers was a joint, which he took a long drag of before passing it to the vampire, letting out another giggle.
“Don’t laugh! You don’t understand!” Boombox protested, taking his own hit, “If I told him that it’s his fault I’m hungry, then he’d ask why. And then I might as well have been confessing my undying love for him on the spot!”
Skate’s phone had been set on the side to charge, so tragically he couldn’t scroll social media over the course of their conversation. Instead, he’d decided to pick up one of Boombox’s plushies, his favourite one, in fact, a large, round seal, and squished it in his hands, attempting to contort its fat face into a variety of hilarious expressions. Next to him, Boombox sat cross-legged, cheek planted in one of his palms, lips tugged down, slightly forlorn. Smoking with a friend always made him feel a bit better in his times of conflict, but even still, the situation he was in was messy, and it certainly didn’t help how he seemingly continued to push himself further and further into the deep end.
“A win is a win. He didn’t run away screaming when I told him that I’m a vampire. But Skate…,” he turned to the inphernal in question, who’d apparently claimed yet another victim out of his plushies, this time squeezing a small alien one, “Can you imagine the pure horror he would feel if I admitted that my big fat crush on him has been the cause of this all along?!”
Another giggle burst from between Skateboard’s lips.
“Stop!” Boombox complained, helpless.
“I’m not laughing at your misfortune, I’m laughing at your ‘big fat crush’,” Skate clarified, as he plucked the joint from between the other’s fingers, taking another drag. Boombox whined pathetically, handing his head in his hands while his friend raised one of his own to pat him on the back placatingly.
“Isn’t that the same thing?” the vampire mumbled, voice muffled, and Skate hummed for a second, as though lost in deep thought.
“Yeah, probably,” he shrugged with a smile, only drawing a groan from the other at his antics. The soft lull of Boombox’s gear filled the room, a calming melody the inphernal saved for moments specifically like these, when he just wanted to let go and get lost in the high for a while, drift from his worries and be content in the calm that washed over him. The shuffle of clothes caught his attention, and then he was being nudged by Skate’s elbow, prompting his attention upon the other inphernal.
“Listen. Boom. Knowing you, you’d rather freeze your head in ice than confess to anyone full stop, nevermind someone like Medkit,” Skate explained, and yeah, he was pretty right about that. It had been months since his stupid crush had started, and the reason he’d decided not to act on it was understandable, both from the point of view from his curse, and his utter certainty that confessing would only scare the other off. Or worse still, make him disgusted. Boombox was, in fact, perfectly intent on keeping the information to himself, all the way to the grave, however long it would take to get there. If only his dumb vampiric nature hadn’t interfered with how his crush presented itself, then he wouldn’t have had any problems doing so at all.
“So it looks like you have one of two options,” Skate continued, “Option one: ride it out until the crush goes away, exposure therapy style.”
Boombox grimaced. He’d been waiting long enough for his crush to subside, but no matter what he did, hiding himself away for days on end, avoiding Medkit like he himself was the embodiment of a plague, nothing appeared to work. Perhaps what Skate said was correct, in that case. The musician’s problem may have indeed been avoidance in the first place. The idea settled in his mind, that maybe spending time around the other inphernal would indeed have the opposite effect of what he’d thought. After all, throughout the conversation they’d shared the previous day, Boombox had indeed noticed the urges subside for a short while, though he wondered if that truly had something to do with his crush, or simply the fact that he’d grown comfortable in his presence, that he wasn’t so on edge.
“Or option two: hide yourself away like a hermit for the rest of your life,” the other inphernal concluded.
“I feel like the second one would be easier,” Boombox mumbled despairingly.
“No!” Skateboard yelled, and within an instant Boombox’s cheeks had been squished between the other inphernal’s palms.
“Mhuh?” Boombox attempted a noise of confusion.
“That’s the coward’s way out! Think about all those old farts on your vampire forum! You really wanna end up like them?” Skateboard scolded. No, of course he didn’t want to be a shut-in like those ancients! Such drab lives they lived, going on about some ‘vampiric rules’ and how they ‘shouldn’t befriend regular inphernals’. Truly, a shiver ran down his spine at the thought. No more parties, no more DJing, no more milkshakes from Thieve’s Rest… Gods, the very concept sounded like a fate worse than being locked up in Banland.
“Or… the secret third option…,” Skate pulled away, took another drag, then passed it back to him.
“What’s that?” Boombox questioned, slightly hopeful. When Skate made a face like the one he was making at that moment, it typically meant that he had a surprisingly good idea. Boombox pressed the joint to his lips-
“You confess!”
And promptly burst into a coughing fit.
“Absolutely not!” he wheezed, valiantly attempting to recapture his breath. Boombox swallowed dryly, then reached over for his half-filled bottle of water, taking a large gulp in order to soothe his itching throat. Only after that did he bring the joint back to his lips, wary this time of any surprise Skate may pull out of his ass.
“Seriously, what’s the worst that could happen?” Skateboard contended, and Boombox threw him a look that seemed to convey a little something like ‘are you seriously asking me that right now?’.
“Heartbreak?! Drama?! The fact that he won’t talk to me for the rest of his life?!” ‘his’ life, because Boombox was more than certain that he’d outlive all of his friends. It was a depressing thing to think about, so Boombox decided not to. Most of the time, anyway. If Boombox didn’t die on the battlefield or in some freak accident, then he’d most likely live for hundreds of years more, certainly further beyond the average inphernal’s life-span. It’s why he sort of resented his crush on Medkit, that it was so deep and genuine. Romantic relations were hard to come across in the Inpherno, and Crossroads was a luckier place than others due to the fact that far less stigma revolved around those deep, intimate connections than others. His previous crushes had been fleeting things, nothing too substantial as to play a major role in his life, because Boombox knew that at the end of the day, if he did ever find anyone to spend his life with, they’d likely die long before he himself did.
Some contended that a vampire’s biggest fear was loneliness. Boombox would agree.
“Hey! What did you do with my good buddy Boombox, huh? He’s never this pessimistic!” Skate’s voice cut in, taking note of his friend’s abruptly negative mood, slinging an arm over his shoulders.
“Your ‘good buddy Boombox’ is being hit by the harsh weight of reality…,” Boombox groaned into his side, aggrieved.
“Okay, so option number two…,” Skate confirmed with a nod, then mumbled something under his breath that Boombox thought he heard, but couldn’t quite be sure.
“What?” he asked.
“I said ‘you’re fucked’,” Skateboard confirmed.
“Thanks for the motivational words, Skate,” Boombox muttered, and Skateboard, at that, threw his other arm around him, pulling him into a hug.
“No problem!” he replied chipperly.
Boombox was fucked.
The musician returned to phights, and time resumed as if he’d never left. Admitting what he was to another person had taken a weight he hadn’t known was there in the first place off of his shoulders, a strange energeticness, combined with his pre-existing vampiric biology, causing him to sweep the arenas with kills and assists most matches. He still avoided Medkit occasionally, lies and excuses slipping past gritted teeth when the urges became overwhelming some days, but how would he grow used to the doctor’s presence, attempt to suppress his needs, if, like Skate had said, he didn’t receive some form of exposure to his presence?
It was mid-afternoon, and Boombox had a gig scheduled for later that night. Sweat clung to his forehead, and he raised a towel to pat it away with a huff, tiredness settling into his bones following the intense match he’d just taken part in. His mind vaguely commented on how his fingernails were getting especially long, so he’d have to cut them soon. It was irritating how fast they grew, but what could he do about that? When he was younger, he’d accidentally nick his own skin on them all the time. It wasn’t uncommon for him to tear flesh while scratching absentmindedly at his arm, his appearance seeming as though he’d gotten into various vicious battles with cats. His claws, because that’s what they really were, combined with his frankly non-inphernal strength, meant that if he really wanted to, Boombox assumed he could tear a hole clean through another person’s chest. The thought made him feel slightly nauseous.
“Can you turn into a bat?” the question came from nowhere.
“Wha-?!” Boombox jumped, swivelled in place on the bench he was seated on only to find that same damned inphernal that’d been causing him so much trouble recently, “Jeez, Med! You scared the heck outta me!”
“No heightened reflexes…,” he heard the doctor mumble to himself as he jotted something down in a notebook, then slapped it shut and returned his attention to Boombox, “So, can you?”
The vampire in question glanced around for a moment, ensuring that no one else would be able to listen in to their conversation. There was the scent of blood in the air, strong, and Boombox assumed that perhaps the other phighter had sustained some injuries during the phight, because he felt his fangs lengthening unconsciously. He lowered his hands to the bench casually, then gripped it tight, swallowing. A group of other phighters passed by, engaged in conversation, and it was only when they were out of sight that Boombox answered.
“Well, yeah?” he confirmed, and Medkit fixed him with a look so expected that Boombox almost wanted to burst into laughter, “I can’t do it right now! We’re in public!”
The doctor seemed to deflate a little, flipped that little, yellow-paged notebook of his back open again, leatherbound and fancy, and scribbled another something down. Boombox leaned upwards a little, trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside, likely notes on his condition, if the inphernal’s questions told him anything, but Medkit held it a smidge more out of view, Boombox pouting in reply.
“Why’re you so interested anyway?” the musician asked after a second, and Medkit hummed. Boombox wanted to shake himself, because there was absolutely no way that from a simple hum he felt those urges pick back up again. Later tonight, preferably before his gig, he resolutely planned to scream into his pillow as loud as possible.
“Call it… a personal project,” Medkit supplied ambiguously, and Boombox raised a brow.
“Oookay…,” he replied.
In all honesty, Boombox expected that to be the end of that, but still Medkit remained, jotting more and more down in his notebook, not even bothering to claim the free seat next to him. To think that only a while ago, the doctor would have groaned at his presence, and now he was actively seeking him out to ask him things? Boombox could’ve thought he was dreaming. Rather selfishly, moreso than he’d ever been, his mind willingly left out the fact that Medkit’s questions were pertaining to his curse, not his actual self. But Boombox would take anything he got, because he was absolutely, irrefutably, horrendously down bad for this inphernal.
“Are you scared of garlic?” came another question.
“Whuh?” Boombox made a confused sound, genuinely perplexed.
“Garlic,” Medkit pushed, tapping his pen on his book.
“Why would I be scared of a vegetable?” the musician questioned, baffled, then his face lit up, “Oh! Oh! You know what food I am scared of though?”
Medkit leaned forwards a little, intrigued, and Boombox had to force himself to move away.
“Tomatoes!” he continued, “Because, like. Right, they taste nice, but they’re actually a fruit, even when, at first glance, you’d think they’re vegetables, right?”
So lost in his own rambling, the vampire completely missed how the doctor’s stiff expression somehow became stiffer, mixed with a small amount of stunned disappointment. His mouth hung open, as though he wanted to interject, but nothing came to mind to steer Boombox off of the topic of conversation he’d led them into.
“Makes you think… how many more fruits are out there disguising themselves as vegetables?” Boombox finished, proud of himself.
Medkit stared at him in stupefied silence, the tapping of his pen against paper having long ceased. The air was still, the halls empty, and no one but the doctor and the vampire remained. Boombox, struck and uncomfortable with the silence, cleared his throat awkwardly, then glanced around as though attempting to find any distraction from the quietude. Medkit gave a long sigh, and the musician’s gaze shot straight back to him. One of the lights overhead buzzed annoyingly, flickering just minutely enough so that almost no one would be able to notice. Boombox did, however, a small headache blossoming at the forefront of his brain.
“This isn’t really the information I was hoping to gain today…,” Medkit explained after a moment, and Boombox opened his mouth to continue.
“Garlic is okay though. I like garlic bread… garlic naan… garlic knots… garlic-,” he was abruptly cut short.
“I get it,” Medkit spoke curtly, and it made Boombox feel as though he had to sit up just that little bit straighter. The doctor groaned to himself, flicked through a few pages, then glanced back up at the vampire with another sigh, almost as though he were beginning to give up with his interrogation, “What about symbols of the deities then?”
Boombox blinked.
“Like… what about them?” he tilted his head, and Medkit returned his confused look with yet another deeper sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. ‘Need, need, need,’ ran its way through the vampiric part of Boombox’s brain, body tensing up like static electricity was running through it, saliva filling his mouth. Once more, he swallowed, leaned backwards until his back collided with the cold wall behind him, grounding, soothing, anything to get the urges to cool down a little. Medkit wasn’t scared, wasn’t fearful, and regrettably, Boombox thought that maybe that made him like the inphernal more.
“Do they, I don’t know, burn to look at? Scare you?” his voice drifted back in again, and Boombox realised that he’d been pointedly staring at a singular area of Medkit’s neck for the past while.
“Nope!” he replied, then chuckled stiffly, “Med, I think most of the information you’re working with is made up…”
The doctor shot him a look, and Boombox slapped a hand over his mouth, taking it as a massive, glaring sign that he should leave. He had an appointment with a pillow to scream into either way, which he certainly didn’t want to miss. Movements janky and uncoordinated, Boombox swiftly lifted himself from the bench, slinging his namesake over his shoulder, then graced Medkit with a wobbly smile.
“I uh… I gotta go anyways… I’ll catch ya later!” he quickly bid his farewells, then sped down the hallways to the exit, leaving a stupefied Medkit in the dust.
A trip to Thieve’s Rest seemed like a perfect afternoon out, in Boombox’s opinion, and just something he needed too. When Skateboard had invited him, he was quick to say yes, mouth already watering at the thought of sweet treats and sweeter milkshakes. In fact, they were doing some seasonal drink that he really wanted to try, which included blending up a muffin in the milkshake. Did it sound unhealthily sugary to the point of throwing up? Absolutely. Did Boombox want one? Also absolutely. He wasn’t great friends with the owner, Slingshot, and honestly didn’t know too much about the inphernal, but Skateboard was, which gave them a neat little ‘family and friends’ discount. Like Boombox would ever pass that up.
The hustle and bustle was a comforting backdrop to their conversation, the two of them having settled in their usual booth towards the back of the building, furthest from the windows. They used to sit near the front because the two of them loved people-watching, but it always ended up giving the vampire an unfortunate headache from constant exposure to the sun, so they’d begun sitting further and further away. Boombox’s heart was warmed by the skater’s consideration for his condition, but he still couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that he’d had to make so many changes just so that the musician wouldn’t feel a tad uncomfortable all the time. No matter how much he protested, Skateboard would shrug it off as if it never bothered him in the slightest, and somehow that made Boombox’s heart twinge even more.
Upon the table sat Skate’s half-eaten toastie, along with a cola, one of the ones in the glass bottles, which Boombox considered extra fancy. He himself wasn’t too much of a fan of carbonated drinks. They’d always made his throat tingle uncomfortably, so he stuck his tongue out in disgust whenever his friend attempted to make him try one. On Boombox’s side sat the flaky remains of a croissant he’d eaten, as well as that sickeningly sweet milkshake he’d been dying to try. Gods was it good, but around halfway through he figured that if he drank it any more than he’d be regurgitating it all over the table, and that certainly didn’t seem like a nice day out. Instead, he’d taken to gradual sips over the last hour they’d been there.
“No I didn’t!” Skateboard complained in reply to Boombox’s account of the other day, when they’d visited one of Craterdust’s best skate parks. Skateboard, keen to prove exactly why his namesake was so, decided to test his luck on the biggest ramp there, which had gone absolutely fine, swimmingly even. The problem was when, given the momentum he’d picked up, he went zipping straight into the air upon sailing up the opposite ramp, and gravity had taken its course. Thus, Skate had lost total control of his board and went toppling to the ground. Boombox was almost certain he’d made a new crack in the concrete floor. Oh, and one of his horns, too.
“Uh, yeah you did!” Boombox contended, taking a sip, because Skateboard appeared not to recall the events either way. Maybe hitting his head so many times was finally starting to have some side effects…
“Okay, well even if that did happen it was totally on purpose!” Skate shot back, crossing his arms.
“Oh yeah, like that other trick you have where you ram headfirst into solid brick walls?” the musician continued, and Skateboard drew a hand to his chest and put on an act of abject offence.
“That’s my best one!” he argued, and Boombox burst into laughter.
“Even better than the-,” he stopped mid-sentence, because something abruptly shifted in the air. Was it the chatter? The food? That intense smell of coffee? Truly, who had coffee that strong? The taste was so bitter it made him want to shrivel up and die, like when Medkit brought his flask to phights and the smell almost burned the insides of his nose-… wait. He raised his head, ignored Skateboards confused stare, then sniffed the air again. His heart seemed as though it’d paused in his chest, breath caught, before Boombox unceremoniously crumpled into himself, almost distraught, hanging his head forlornly in his hands.
“Ughhhh…,” he groaned.
“What? What is it?” he heard Skate question from across the table, before someone cleared their voice beside them.
“Boombox. Skateboard,” Medkit nodded to each of them in greeting, and Boombox shot his head up at light speed, evidently attempting to chase away the horrified expression he’d carried not a moment earlier. Of course Medkit was there. There was only one inphernal Boombox had ever met who drank coffee as strong as the one in Medkit’s hands was, and that was, well, Medkit himself.
“Hey, Med! What brings you here?” Boombox questioned, all chipper smiles and painted grins.
Medkit was in casual clothing once more, and Boombox found it strangely nice to see him in anything other than that uniform he always wore to phights. The doctor had never struck Boombox as devoted to any belief or faith, but his business with that weird teal church was his own. Still, he preferred to see him in his autumnal colours, browns and burgundies. It suited him a whole lot better than that stiff, prim and proper suit did, anyway, not that he was complaining about seeing Medkit in smart clothing, because that was a whole other thing he dared not to think about in that moment. It appeared as though he’d swapped his eyepatch out for something more complementing as well, a rich umber rather than his typical forest green one.
“Thought I’d stop by for a coffee. Do you mind If I join you?” Medkit explained, shaking Boombox free from his staring, who silently prayed to the SFOTH above that he hadn’t noticed.
Then his words settled in. Join them… join them?! Barring how terrible an idea it was due to Boombox’s affliction, the two of them seated were absolutely stunned speechless. In what world were they living in where Medkit himself asked to… to sit with them?!
Boombox looked to Skate, who looked to Boombox, who looked to Medkit, a sort of silent exchange occurring between the two of them, the doctor looking on with something akin to bored confusion. Covertly, the musician attempted to convey to his friend that ‘no, this is absolutely not a good idea, please come up with some excuse to make him leave and spare me the humiliating ordeal of trying to keep my fangs in my mouth’. Meanwhile, Skateboard, that conniving, scheming, frankly cunning ‘friend’ of his, thought this apparently the perfect opportunity to place Boombox into the one scenario he didn’t think he’d be able to handle at the moment.
“Yeah, sure! Boom, scoot over a little!” Skateboard eventually confirmed, gesturing Medkit to take the seat next to Boombox. Directly next to Boombox, who shot a look of absolute, unhindered betrayal towards the other Playgrounder, but reluctantly shuffled to the side regardless.
Medkit gave a nod, placed his coffee down, and took his place to Boombox’s side, who suddenly went stiff as a board when he felt their shoulders brush. The doctor, who was busy placing his shoulder bag underneath the table, missed the sly smile Skateboard shot at Boombox, as well as the supportive little thumbs up. The musician glanced at the doctor, who took a long sip of his coffee, a contented sigh leaving him the moment the rim of the cup left his lips, and Boombox tried his absolute hardest not to let out a squeak at the sound, busying himself with sipping as much of that sickly sweet milkshake as he could out of his glass.
The lull in conversation continued, Boombox squirming in place as Skateboard smugly bit into his toastie once more. He sure took his time eating it, so it was very likely cold by that point, but the skater didn’t seem too bothered by that fact, more focused on whatever show the musician would be able to put on next to his ‘big fat crush’.
“So…,” Medkit addressed towards Skateboard, “you know about Boombox’s curse.”
“Indeed I do,” Skate returned with a nod, casual.
“Have you always known?” the doctor asked, and Boombox took that as an opportunity to engage, tried his damndest to keep his voice level.
“We met when I still lived in Playground… I was, uh… a part of Splintered Skies back then…,” he chuckled weakly, scratching at his cheek and, fuck, he forgot to file his nails, “I’d always been able to scrape by on the blood banks for the wounded up there. Then Windforce found out and she kinda… kicked me out haha.”
“Boom was living on scraps for a while, but he didn’t wanna hurt anyone,” Skateboard continued, “he found me beaten up after a fight. Must’ve been too hungry to realise I was still conscious when he latched onto my arm like a leech.”
Boombox groaned at that. The story of their meeting had never been told in full to anyone else period, not the true one, anyway. They were both outcasts, in a way, and Boombox was endlessly grateful that Skateboard had given him a chance in the first place, in reality treating him as he would any other ordinary inphernal. It felt nice to be regarded as ‘normal’, even though the musician knew that he was far from that. Skate was perhaps the last inphernal he’d ever directly fed from, only in a moment of desperation, sense curbed by urges he hadn’t quite gotten a handle on just yet. Skateboard had his other friends, sure, but Boombox owed him his life, and he’d thus resolved to protect the other inphernal no matter what happened, no matter if they grew apart or distant.
“Such an embarrassing story…,” Boombox sighed, “we just tell everyone that I nursed him back to health and that’s how we met.”
“In reality, I realised ‘hey, this guy’s actually pretty chill’! And the rest is history…,” Skateboard concluded with a flourish, and Medkit nodded.
“Interesting…,” he muttered, then turned to Boombox, “you were part of Splintered Skies.”
There was an impressed lilt to his tone, and it wasn’t all that surprising as to why. Splintered Skies were led by Windforce herself, so to join their ranks, you had to be something really special. Boombox didn’t really speak on it all that much, and he truthfully believed that the only reason he really made it in was because he had a support gear and they, well, needed supports. There wasn’t much to say about his time there, because again, he’d been kicked out not long after joining, and in all honesty Boombox preferred not being affiliated with them in the first place, since he now had the freedom to go where he wanted and do what he wanted.
“Yeah… Windforce was actually really cool. When she found out, she was super intrigued by my… predicament. Guess that’s why she just kicked me out instead of killing me on the spot,” he explained, “uh… don’t tell anyone about that, though. That’s another thing only Skate knows.”
“I understand,” Medkit nodded, and for some reason Boombox felt his face heat a little. Was it just him, or was Medkit staring?
“So what’s with the questions, Medkit? You some kinda curse fanatic or something?” Skate’s voice had them both whipping their heads back around to face him. Boombox’s gut flipped when he realised that he in fact had a very clear view of the doctor’s neck. Skateboard’s words felt as though they were a little muffled.
“Curiosity. That, and it always helps on the battlefield. I’ve asked Vine Staff and Coil about their own as well,” Medkit then turned back to him, giving the vampire a little startle, “Boombox is an… outlier.”
Ah… so that was why he was getting heated.
“Sorry! Need the toilet real quick!” Boombox exclaimed, rising from his seat and shimmying by the doctor, who watched in perplexity as he rushed off. Skateboard’s noise of surprise fell on deaf ears, because within a moment Boombox had locked himself in the bathroom, the sound of chatter fading beyond the door. His breaths came fast, hard, and he had to clench his hand against his chest in order to steady his stuttering lungs.
Stumbling towards the sink, Boombox became frighteningly aware that his fangs were fully extended, enticed out of hiding by the doctor who’d sat by his side, shoulder to shoulder. His heart thrummed loudly in his ears, the vampire gripping the sides of the sink with ferocity before turning on the tap and splashing cold, freezing water all over his face, no matter how futile the effort to calm himself was. His reflection, though blurred, conveyed the image of an utterly dishevelled inphernal, face hot and skin tingly. There was a myth that vampires lacked any reflection, but that was evidently false in the fact that Boombox could clearly make out just how pathetic he looked. Instead, his reflection was only slightly hazy, enough for one to notice if they looked long enough, but largely unseen by passersby in everyday life.
Despite everything, his fangs refused to retract, sharp and poised, and Boombox wanted to pull his hair in frustration, an irritated sound of annoyance tearing from his throat as he patted his cheeks a few times, then whined as the hot feeling in his body remained, constant. He felt all tight, all wound up to a near pitiful degree. He needed blood, something to sate his urges, but he’d regrettably left all of his pouches at home, not even bringing a spare with him, leaving him utterly at a loss. Then Boombox caught sight of his arm, and a stupid idea sprung to his mind, so without a second thought, he lifted the skin to his mouth and plunged his fangs deep within the flesh. Pain prickled as blood gushed into his mouth, the taste horrifically sickening, but satisfying nonetheless.
There was a reason vampires didn’t drink other vampire’s blood, nevermind their own, and it was because it tasted as a dead organism’s would, provided absolutely zero nutritional value other than sating a need for a short while. Boombox’s plasma was thick and gross, and he almost wanted to vomit, but at the very least it beckoned his fangs back in, leaving him with bloody teeth and a bloodier arm. Panicked, the musician scrubbed away as much as he could using water from the tap, which he also ran his skin under, clearing it of any red stains. The wound had closed swiftly, the only evidence of his strife two clean puncture marks on his lower arm.
The vampire sighed, aggrieved, then realised that he’d been gone for quite some time by then. Steeling himself, Boombox unlocked the door and strode back out into the café, though the only remnant of Medkit ever being there in the first place was a cup emptied of coffee on the table. Skateboard, who’d finally finished the toastie he’d been picking at over the course of their outing, brightened at Boombox’s reappearance.
“Where’d he go?” Boombox asked, a little surprised, as he slipped back into his seat.
“Dude, that Medkit’s a real nut,” Skateboard started in lieu of an answer, “I told him you probably went to have one of the pouches you sometimes bring with you, then he insisted that he watch.”
‘Oh,’ Boombox thought, face heating again.
“Y’know, maybe you two would make a good match. Seems he’s just as crazy as you are,” Skate said with a shrug and a chuckle. The musician’s eyes strayed to the remaining coffee cup. Would it be weird if he took that? Horror filled him at the thought that’d popped into his mind. Was he crazy? Of course it’d be weird! He looked a little closer, then spotted a tiny speck of blood on the rim, realising that Medkit must’ve bit his lip again sometime since he’d left, then accidentally smeared a little while he drank.
Abruptly, Boombox realised that maybe Skateboard had been a bit blunt towards the doctor, considering how he was talking about him at present.
“Were you mean to him?” he questioned, whipping back up to face his friend, who waved his hands around placatingly.
“No! Just told him you’re not some wild animal to study and then he nodded and said goodbye,” he explained, and Boombox’s shoulders sunk in relief, “he has, like, a whole journal he’s making notes in.”
Boombox thought back on that notebook with a sigh, leatherbound, swift scribbles across yellowed pages, the look of focus upon Medkit’s face as he flipped through it, searching for one thing or another. It’d been making an appearance more and more often of late, the vampire spying it being slipped into his blazer pocket during phights, the exact same one, in fact, that he stored his cigarettes in. Maybe that was why he’d noticed that it carried the faint tinge of tobacco.
“Was that a dreamy sigh?” Skateboard asked, dumbfounded, snapping the other inphernal from his musings.
“What? It’s endearing! He has hobbies!” Boombox contended, face flushing once more. Truly, the scope of emotions he’d experienced all within the last hour or so bordered on absolutely exhausting. Gods, he needed a nice, long nap.
“I guess… he used to be a scientist, I heard,” Skate explained, “probably carried over some habits from that.”
Boombox hummed in agreement. He didn’t know much of Medkit’s past, only that he was spawned in Blackrock, not that the inphernal himself spoke on it much either way. Unlike a few others, Boombox didn’t think that splitting from one’s original faction was all that condemnable. After all, it’d be rather hypocritical of him to think so considering his departure from Splintered Skies. Regardless, it was evidently a sore topic to the other, so Boombox had never mentioned it. Though, he did think it admirable that he’d managed to leave somewhere he’d lived for so long, been able to build friendships and family from the ground up in an entirely brand new region. Maybe one could consider their circumstances similar in some regards, only that Boombox was much less fortunate in that inphernal connection, barring Skate, seemed rather difficult for him to come by.
“Did you bite yourself?” Skateboard questioned after a brief pause, a little concerned. His eyes caught on the puncture marks on his arm, and Boombox became suddenly very embarrassed.
“Not my fault they wouldn’t go back in!” he argued back, then groaned, “Ugh… why did you make him sit next to me… his neck was right there.”
Skateboard reached over and plucked some of the flakes from Boombox’s long-gone croissant from his plate, happily slipping them into his mouth. They probably tasted like absolutely nothing at all, but Skate always got up to weird antics like this.
“I told you. Exposure therapy,” he shrugged nonchalantly.
“Well your version of exposure therapy sucks…,” Boombox pouted, glancing once more to that coffee cup, an empty space next to him, while Skate’s giggles echoed in his ears.
Medkit’s prodding and poking didn’t end there, however, the doctor catching him at the starts and ends of matches to pry answers out of him when he’d least expect it. It’d gotten to the point that, occasionally, while out on the town, Medkit would spot the musician and continue whatever pseudo investigation he had going on, which often involved leaning entirely too much into his personal space for Boombox to feel normal about. Asking the other cursed individuals about their condition was a flimsy excuse for Medkit’s fascination, in Boombox’s opinion. He hardly thought that they’d been subject to the same amount of scrutiny as he had from the other inphernal. But still, something in Boombox’s heart felt tight at the prospect of the attention, even when it made his knees wobbly and his pulse race.
Every time the doctor came up to him, that little voice at the back of Boombox’s mind had to valiantly remind him, ‘he doesn’t like you,’ ‘he’s not interested’. He knew, in all actuality, that the questions Medkit shot at him came from a place of inquisitiveness, but only due to what he was. In part, it made him feel a little depressed when he thought that he was little more than a temporary experiment. But at the same time, Boombox, pathetic as he was, would take that over nothing. He’d take that eye on him, searching, ignoring the glint in it that told him of feelings more complex than he could quite discern, and be content in the fact that attention was attention.
He drowned out the nagging feeling that they were growing closer, because false hope would only hurt him, despite the times that Medkit asked more personal questions, not pertaining to his condition as a vampire. Maybe he was getting frazzled, all caught up by the sudden onslaught of conversations he was forced into with an inphernal he’d been fully intent on simply admiring from afar. They hadn’t spoken on that interaction they’d shared some months back, neither the way Medkit’s hands had trailed his body, the question on his lips when he’d visited Boombox at his apartment yet unsaid. He tried to forget a faint flush on the other inphernal’s face, because surely, in the haze of desire and want, he’d fabricated the image with his mind. Medkit didn’t like him, Boombox kept reminding himself, because he was rather concerned that their exchanges would trip him up, and he’d fall all over again.
The night air was comforting, the sky cloudless. Due to the light pollution, the stars were scarcely seen, but that didn’t bother Boombox too much. He’d lived his whole life in urban cities, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people, neon signs and flickering street lamps. If anything, he’d have been more surprised if he could see them. The moon’s glow was bright, strong, and Boombox couldn’t help but be drawn to it as he leaned over the railing on the balcony of one of the many locations they’d had a phight at. The pounding headache he’d suffered with throughout the match had finally ebbed away with some fresh air, the lack of sunlight doubtless soothing.
Familiar, overly so by now, shoes tapped along the floor, reverberated in his ears, and Boombox knew who it was before he’d even come into view.
“Hey, Med. Come to ask me more questions about my curse?” Boombox asked, casual, when the doctor approached. His cravat had been loosened somewhat, a rare show of untidy informality, hand reaching to pluck a cigarette from the packet in his blazer, placing it upon his lips as he, too, leant on the railing. There was a lot of space to stand, and yet the doctor had decided to plant himself not even two feet away from the musician. Boombox attempted to stay his heart’s quickening pulse.
“Not particularly. I just came for a smoke,” he explained, raised his lighter to the cigarette balanced between his lips, and flicked it until a flame appeared, the movement practiced, second nature. Boombox stared, watching the end turn bright orange, then grey as he took a drag, small flecks of ash fluttering to the ground.
“Bit ironic for a doctor to smoke, dontcha think?” Boombox jested, and for once, Medkit didn’t scold him on being called as such, not like he did with some others.
“Bit ironic for a vampire not to hunt,” Medkit replied offhandedly, and if Boombox’s eyes were correct then he thought he spied the twitch of his lips upwards at that, a small, albeit uncommon, smile playing on his face, features bathed in soft blue-whites. The vampire thought to himself that he could stare forever, and knowing what he was, how long he’d live, then possibly there was some truth in that.
“Touché,” he smiled after a moment, attempting to drag his gaze from the other. He felt an eye on him, trailing, searching, and didn’t know whether to feel uncomfortable or thrilled by the prospect. Or maybe he was looking into it a little too much. Perhaps Medkit had only glanced at him for but a moment, and Boombox’s mind was playing tricks on him again.
There was a serene silence between them that seemed to stretch on for a number of minutes, thought it certainly wasn’t as awkward as it once would’ve been. The sound of chatter and cars were distant from up there, the musician refusing to look down either way due to his phobia. It really was pitiful that him, of all inphernals, had been inflicted with this curse. Boombox was sure that if he were a little stronger, a little more confident, a little less like himself, then perhaps he’d be someone actually worth the study. A true vampire, and not a fraud.
“Why’re you up here, anyway?” Medkit’s voice came again, and Boombox tried not to look back at him.
“Just clearing my head…,” he explained, then winced, because that was the excuse he provided to those who didn’t know, and so he corrected himself, “well, to be honest. All the senses, they’re a bit overwhelming sometimes.”
Boombox didn’t really like being truthful about himself. It displayed a level of vulnerability he already struggled hiding. Weakness was something the musician had struggled with for his entire life, not physically, but through the eyes of others. He was weak for refusing to hurt people. He was weak for refusing to hunt. He was weak because on the checklist of things that he should be, he had failed to tick a single box. He wasn’t particularly sad about that fact, moreso the scrutiny he’d be under if anyone were to take a good, proper look at him, as though they were peering at his innards, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. But weakness was subjective in the end, he supposed. Medkit hadn’t looked his way in disdain or disgust or disappointment, not for what he refused to be, not yet. Boombox knew better than to take that fact for granted.
“Fresh air helps,” he explained, and the doctor hummed briefly.
“Maybe if you lowered the volume on your gear a little then you’d focus a bit better,” he muttered, taking another drag.
“Well where’s the fun in that?” Boombox laughed, “I’ll always be a musician at heart. I need the music. Gets my blood pumping.”
He glanced over, watched the way Medkit’s eye raked its way over the distant city, sharp, silhouetted buildings, bright lights, the distant thrum of life. It was as though he could see the cogs turning in the other’s mind, slow and methodical, keen and strict. Medkit would’ve presented the perfect air of someone uptight and elegant were it not for that loosened cravat, a single splotch of misplaced paint on an otherwise pristine canvas. Like Boombox cared either way, though, because to him, art was art. Medkit could’ve been standing there in his casual clothing, or he could’ve been standing there ruffled, looking like a mess, and the musician wouldn’t think him any less beautiful. Art was art, and Medkit was Medkit.
“Hm,” Medkit hummed.
“‘Hm’?” Boombox replied, confused.
“It’s almost admirable,” the doctor elaborated, “that the Inphinity laid out all the cards against you, and yet you still strive to choose your own path.”
He turned to face him, horn ring catching in the moonlight. The vampire side of Boombox’s brain commented that he looked tasty, but above that: ethereal.
“Sometimes I wish I had that too. The choice,” Medkit mumbled, leaving the musician a little dumbfounded. He could do naught but look at Medkit’s face, trace the outline of his features, weathered from years of work and stress, and count himself lucky for meeting this inphernal in the first place.
“What would you do with it?” he asked, and Medkit’s gaze evaded him. Maybe they were more similar in that sense too, where they both ran from their problems, acted as though they were non-existent. The other inphernal appeared to deliberate over whether or not he should continue, evidently wholly unused to being so open with another person. But Boombox stood with him in companionable silence, didn’t rush him, nor attempt to steer the conversation away, and he couldn’t quite be certain, but from the minute clench of Medkit’s jaw, he figured that perhaps he was a little thankful for that.
“I’d probably become a teacher,” he eventually answered, and Boombox was quiet.
A teacher. Boombox mulled it over, and he could honestly see it. Despite Medkit’s solitary attitude, he clearly cared for others, holding a strict aura of someone who feigned irritation and annoyance to veil his concern. Medkit would be a good teacher, the musician decided, not because he held a rather large fondness for the other, but because that was what he truly believed.
Medkit sighed, spent, then put out what remained of his cigarette on the railing, flicking it to the ground. Boombox followed the movement intensely, but didn’t say anything more, the sound of their breathing the only remnant of their conversation. The rustle of Medkit’s clothes met his ears as Medkit patted himself down, straightened himself up, once more assuming that rigid smartness he carried with him everywhere. He fixed his cravat, and Boombox distantly mourned the loss of sight of his neck, though willfully kept that thought to himself. And then, as Medkit prepared to leave, he paused, turned to him.
“I just realised something,” he started.
“What?” Boombox replied.
“You look much healthier at night,” he explained, and there was a glint in his eye, as though he’d just figured something out, “like you’re really alive.”
Boombox’s mouth went dry.
“I’ll see you around,” he said with a nod, and then Boombox was alone once again, heart drumming in his ears, blood rushing to his face.
The cold night air did little to cool his nerves, the pull he felt towards the other irrefutable, ceaseless. The musician was left staring at where that other inphernal had been standing, still and unmoving, as though a single twitch of his limbs could shatter the illusion of what had just happened. Boombox swallowed, then swallowed again, breaths heavy, an odd eagerness filling his body at the doctor’s departing words. His voice reverberated within his head, constant, and that surprised, yet calm tone, the… fondness in his lilt.
Standing in the frigid air on that balcony, Boombox came to his own somber realisation: that this crush wouldn’t go, his urges would become more unbearable, and there was nothing he could do about that.
Things had gone full circle, and Boombox had retreated from the doctor once more. As the weeks passed, Boombox kept his distance, isolating himself as much as possible, the drum of his heart overwhelming, the intrinsic cravings for Medkit’s blood only doubling during this time. In attempting to dispel his petty crush, it appeared as though the musician had only made things worse for himself, yet another glaring sign that his life was one doomed for failure, full of misery and misfortune. He felt jittery, on edge, and nothing seemed to help. Not the breaks, not the naps, not the weed, not the distractions. Boombox was stranded in the ocean of his own affliction, damned for having feelings, and damned further for trying to banish them.
His interactions with Medkit became increasingly shorter, the musician becoming fearful to spend even a moment longer around him. A raised brow, a hint of concern. It all went unnoticed by the vampire, mixed up in the conflict of his emotions. But the days passed, matches came and went, the same with gigs, and yet Boombox was offered no modicum of salvation, not even the barest hint. He ignored Skate’s inquisitive gaze, his prying questions, and evaded Medkit’s with a ferocity he hadn’t known he held within himself.
Gentle, amiable chatter gave way to silence, the room thick with the stench of sweat, Boombox wrinkling his nose as he rifled through his locker post-game. He needed to get out of there, because Medkit was on the opposite team, and at some point or another Shuriken had nicked him with one of his sharp blades, leaving the overwhelming, unmistakable aroma of the doctor’s blood to flood his senses. The locker room was gross, but at least the scent of blood wasn’t present, pervaded only by body odour and the faint undertone of cleaning supplies.
Boombox groaned into his hands, and then the door swung open, closed with a thump.
“You’ve been avoiding me again,” Medkit spoke, because of course he’d noticed, and of course he was there. And of course, of course, he had to hold this conversation with him when he was in perhaps the worst state to do so possible. Boombox held his back turned, burned a miserable, self-hating glare into his locker door, because it wasn’t Medkit’s fault, it was his own. He should’ve left sooner. He should’ve pulled from the match altogether. But there was no use dwelling on ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s, because doing so wouldn’t free himself from the corner he was backed into, wouldn’t spare him this confrontation.
Boombox breathed in, deep, tried not to focus on that faint scent of blood, sweet, damning, that reached his nose, then out again.
“Med. I can’t be near you,” he said eventually, voice as flat as possible, though nonetheless a little shaky. Almost overly so.
“Are you hungry right now? We can always have this conversation later,” Medkit suggested, and Boombox found a rare strain of frustration boil its way through his blood at the words. Maybe it was the vampiric side of him, intimidating, or maybe the inphernal side, tired, or perhaps an amalgamation of both, some horrendously incompatible blend of all the worst parts of himself fighting for the limelight, begging for Medkit to leave.
“No, I mean. I can’t. Right now. Tomorrow. Ever,” he bit out, slow, his inflection catching on the tips of his sharp fangs, deadly, “I can’t be around you, Medkit.”
He huffed, wanted to bash his own head against a wall, because his irritation towards himself in no way warranted such a negative attitude towards the other. But if Boombox couldn’t help, then he could only hurt. His claws were dulled, and he’d never in his life bared himself out of anger, or fury or threat. He wasn’t used to playing the bad guy, wasn’t used to the growl in his tone, the hiss in his throat. But an animal backed into a corner would scratch, and bite, and fight, and despite Boombox’s inexperience, he was, in some part, the same. Pushed to his limit, exposed, exasperation and fear and misery coalesced into one singular, pitiful little vampire.
“I don’t understand,” Medkit muttered, and Boombox felt his brow twitch.
“You wouldn’t! You’re not a vampire!” he swivelled on the spot, eyes laying upon the other inphernal, object of his affections, the unknown cause of his grief, and could only barely register the shock that swept its way over his face, “I-... this stupid curse…”
“Boombox, I need to understand what’s wrong to be able to help you,” Medkit explained, taking a step forward, to which Boombox hastily shuffled back, the loud din of his back hitting the metallic locker’s door echoing in his ears, irritating. A mixture of concern and confusion bled through the icy outer layer of Medkit’s expression, betraying the caring personality that Boombox had always known to lie beneath. It only made his heart hurt more, blood rushing to his brain, a fuzzy want growling in his gut.
“It-...,” the words struggled their way out of his mouth, truth planted upon his tongue like the very curse he’d tried to hide, until it all came out in one fell motion, “It’s you!”
Medkit paused, hand half extended to… what? Place it on Boombox’s shoulder? Comfort him? He didn’t know, neither did he want to, not in that moment, because the proximity would drive him mad.
“Your blood!” he blurted, “It drives me insane.”
Boombox felt as though, in this moment, he was his own executioner, the admission dripping from his lips like poison, scorching, burning himself. The air shifted, tense, though the vampire struggled to comprehend it over the grinding, horrid mash of urges bubbling in his chest, embarrassment and loathing clouding any voice of reason that remained within his brain. Hunger ripped through him like something savage, uncontrollable, but Boombox stood his ground and fought the way his body yearned to pounce, the lines between his two desires crossing over, dancing and melding into something grotesque, something Medkit would surely sneer at, call disgusting, unnatural.
“You make me so hungry and I hate it so much because this wouldn’t even be happening if I didn’t have these dumb feelings! Do you understand? I’m dangerous. I’ve tried so hard to just get over you but it won't work. Nothing-...,” he tripped over his words, frantic, “nothing works…”
Silence followed, so loud, deafening, that had the sound of his own ragged breathing not shook his entire body in the aftermath of his outburst, then Boombox would’ve possibly presumed the entire world to have frozen on the spot.
“You… what?” Medkit muttered, and Boombox became suddenly, dauntingly, terrifyingly aware that he’d essentially confessed on the spot, messy and ugly all the while. Fear shot through him, body tensed, because he didn’t want to see Medkit’s reaction. He really didn’t.
Rapid numbness overtook him, clouding his brain in a haze of panic, and it felt just as it had before he’d met Skate, before splintered skies, when all he knew was hunger and instinct. He was cold, and alone, and his first meal in the entire Inpherno had been a street cat he’d drained until it couldn’t move anymore. He’d cried over its pathetically weak, skeletal body until the life had left it, and then buried it in a crude grave dug with his bare hands, in a dismally small patch of green he’d found. He felt a similar way to back then, lost and confused, body running on auto with nothing but the weight of his actions crushing down on him, no one but himself to blame. Fabric shuffled, Medkit taking half a step closer, and Boombox jolted with impulsive fear. Fear of Medkit? Of himself? Fear for Medkit? Rationale fled him as he shuddered in place, feet moving before he had a chance to acknowledge them doing so.
“Shit. Shit I’m sorry I-,” he expressed, shaky, “I need to go…”
And then he was out of there, again, and it felt like some odd, twisted kind of déjà vu, just like the day he’d pushed the other against the wall and bared his fangs, overtaken by the part of him he just couldn’t seem to contain. The halls were a blur, and so too were the faces he passed upon fleeing the venue, sound melding together into a cacophony of pure noise, overwhelming. Cars zipped past, and Boombox’s feet led him on a route he knew only by muscle memory, winding streets and familiar cracks in pavement, the scent of blood fading from his nose and being replaced only by the volatile mixture of fumes and perfumes and foods that the city cultivated.
A deep pit formed in his stomach, dark and bottomless, and his own actions made Boombox feel a little nauseous. Maybe it was self-doubt, a low sense of self-confidence, but the musician saw no world within which Medkit would be able to look at him with anything other than disgust or annoyance after knowing of his feelings. The doctor was put together, charming in the way that his clothes were always ironed and his stature was always proper. And who was Boombox? Some irritation at the corner of his view, a buzzing annoyance, a failure of a vampire.
The sky was grey, blanketed by clouds whose shadows cast the city in a monotonous, depressing hue. It wasn’t yet raining, but Boombox could feel the moisture in the air, a warning. Footfalls hastened along the stone path, and it didn’t seem very long until he’d reached his apartment, relief flooding through him at the familiar sight. He ascended the stairs with haste, tripping on a few of the steps in his hurried, frazzled state, before unlocking his door and darting directly to his room, ignoring the confused skitters of his pets as they were roused from slumber, the darkness of his house rather comforting despite everything that’d happened. Boombox groaned, his heart hurting as though it’d shattered into a billion pieces, anger boiling over, the musician resisting the urge to scratch at his arms, at his face, pull his hair or horns or whatever outlet he’d long left buried in the past of his teen years.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mumbled to himself, aggrieved. His chest felt tight, constricting, and felt so impossibly small, so utterly helpless.
In a puff of smoke, he transformed into a bat, climbed his way up his tapestries and to the ceiling, and hung there, wrapped in his own wings, head tucked in as far as possible, intent on hiding himself from the world, from his consequences. He wanted to cry, and so let out a little squeak, the most he could do as he was, a cowering little bat hiding in the darkness of his own abode, the sound of silence deafening, only interrupted by the occasional sounds the vampire let out in his distress, heart in turmoil.
Time passed in a blur, seconds bleeding into minutes into an hour, perhaps more, and Boombox secluded himself from the world like a coward all the while. The patter of rain picked up outside, a soothing backdrop to his otherwise lonely apartment, his cries long since having calmed to quietude. Boombox drifted in and out of sleep, the nap doing nothing to quell the chaos of his wandering, catastrophising mind.
Then there was a knock, and a click, and Boombox abruptly realised that, in his panic, he’d forgotten to lock the front door when he entered. The tap of dress shoes danced along his floorboards, approaching his room and filling the little bat to the brim with absolute, inconsolable despair. He tucked his head yet further under his wings as the subtle creak of his bedroom door being nudged open met his ears, shuddering as that familiar presence glanced around the room, seemingly confused for a moment. Then:
“Boombox? Is that you?” Medkit was there. Medkit was in his apartment, having chased him home once more, no doubt there to demand answers. The doctor had evidently spied the little black bat hanging from the ceiling, jolting minutely at his words. It was still dark, the other inphernal having opted not to turn on a light, despite the closed curtains and thus dim apartment. Briefly, Boombox considered that perhaps he’d done so on purpose, especially considering how he knew that the musician preferred it that way. He shook those thoughts away, the rain battering down outside with pure, unbridled fury..
“Listen, I… I’m sorry for pushing you, for causing so much distress,” Medkit spoke, because Boombox, embarrassed and shameful, didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know where to start in the first place. But the doctor didn’t take his silence for rudeness, and only, with a sigh, carried on, “I suppose it’s a little ironic. You always used to pester me, and now I’m doing the same thing back.”
He shuffled, and Boombox thought that maybe he’d approached the bed, a little closer to where he was hanging. Humiliation flooded the vampire further at the state of his room, unruly and untidy, a true testament to just how much of a mess he was, just how antithetical the two of them were. Medkit, the very definition of prim and proper, and Boombox, chaotic and unabashedly loud. The musician didn’t know what made him so worth chasing after to the other, for confrontation or otherwise. By all means, Medkit could’ve made the choice to cut all contact immediately, never bother speaking to him again, and yet here he was, standing in the darkness of his room, thunder booming in the distance, a flash of white sneaking around the edges of his curtains, illuminating his cluttered room, free for the doctor to peer at.
Medkit coughed to himself, grumbled a little, and if anything, Boombox could’ve almost thought his actions maybe a tad nervous, but he must’ve been imagining things.
“Your very existence is fascinating, even more due to the way you live it,” Medkit continued after a moment, “by all means, it shouldn’t work… and yet you’re still here.”
What struck Boombox the most was how… normal he was. There was no fear, no disgust in his tone, and the hint of hesitation before his words appeared to come only from a place of consideration for the other, as though carefully selecting what he would say next, meticulous in the message he wanted to convey. The vampire untensed a little, deep confusion settling within him instead, slowly untucked his head from where he’d been hiding it, and found Medkit looking to the sheets instead of directly at him. Boombox was a performer, an entertainer, so of course he was used to stares, used to being the center of the show, but something in the way that Medkit allowed him his own space, refused to bore holes into him as though it’d burn him, filled him with warmth.
Medkit sighed, like he was deliberating something in his head, shuffled from foot to foot, the shifting of weight only caught by the rustle of clothing as he did so, and then he stepped back, loosened the cravat from his neck, and coughed, nerves showing through the shake of his hands. Perplexed, Boombox could only watch as he appeared to come to a conclusion in his own head. He raised a hand to his collar, pulling it aside for the expanse of his neck to be shown to the vampire, and Boombox, had he not been in bat form, was almost certain that his face would’ve flushed red at the sight. The scene was, in a way, almost perverted in nature, in Boombox’s opinion only comparable to that of an inphernal revealing themself to another, utterly enticing, absolutely exciting to a vampire like him.
“I’m not offering out of pity, or obligation. This is a choice that I’m making,” Medkit said after a moment, and Boombox felt that urge return with ferocity, though torn between his abstinence of living inphernal’s blood and the overpowering intensity of desire that brewed within him.
Slowly, because Boombox was yet uncertain of himself, of Medkit, of what he really wanted, the musician dropped down, puffing back into his regular form, the doctor startling at his sudden reappearance despite having expected it. He swore the inphernal’s lips twitched upwards at his entrance, but his mind was quickly flooded with want. Boombox jittered on the spot at which he sat, all ruffled sheets and untidy pillows, then rose steadily from his seat, breath hitching, because there was, for the first time in a long while by then, silence in his mind, not a single doubt or rejection to be found. It felt unreal, like a dream, but lightning flashed outside, and Medkit was still there, illuminated by that bright flare, the thin skin of his neck beckoning, the doctor himself staring at him with a type of expectancy Boombox had never seen carved into his face before.
“You really…?” he questioned slowly, took a singular step forwards, and Medkit nodded, certain.
Boombox’s chest heaved, breaths hastening as he crowded upon the taller inphernal, fangs visible through his open mouth, approaching as one would their prey, calm and careful. Medkit backed up a little, then paused before Boombox’s hands met his shoulders, pushing the both of them back until the doctor’s rear met the wall. A flush rose to Medkit’s face, this time unmistakable even in the dimness of his room, and that only spurred the vampire on further, a sharp, high hiss squeezing its way between his teeth. He could feel the inphernal’s pulse, fast and intense, even through the material of his blazer, pounding, eager, and Medkit leaned into him as though he’d waited months for this moment.
“My apologies. I don’t really know what area is best-,” he started as Boombox’s lips inched closer to his neck, fangs poised, then was suddenly cut off as they pierced his skin, sunk deep within the flesh as something between a wail and a whine died on his lips.
Fresh, rich, sweet blood flooded the vampire’s mouth with a suddenness he’d forgotten, warm flesh against his lips as he removed his fangs and instead sucked saccharine plasma from the site of puncture, the taste heavenly, otherworldly, addicting. Hands settled at his waist, pulling their forms flush against one another, the throb of their heartbeats intermingling over the course of their exchange. A moan of contentment fled Boombox’s throat as flavour danced on his tongue, Medkit’s hitching breath above him signifying not fear, but perhaps something inching more towards enjoyment, lost in the hazy pleasure of pulsating pain in his neck, blood licked clean from the wound.
Overtaken by want, desire, a myriad of interweaving feelings and emotions, Boombox pressed a soft kiss to his stained skin, blood having smeared clean over his lips during feeding, but Medkit didn’t shy away. A shaky hand raised to his head, pulled him ever closer by his horn, and Boombox found the contact dizzying, the doctor pressing him down, beckoning him to take and take and take, a shy sound of intoxicated ecstasy tumbling from his mouth. Medkit’s blood was as fragrant as the moment he’d first caught its scent, played on his tongue with vibrant pungency, vampiric urges sated by the plasma as though he’d been handed a full, three-course meal.
The musician pulled away, only the slightest, then planted his lips back upon Medkit’s neck, peppering kisses and worrying marks into his skin with his teeth, trailing upwards to his jaw, which he suckled with fond reverence. Medkit, ever forward, made a sound of frustration, leaned down to capture Boombox’s bloodied lips with his own, contentment flooding through the sigh of his nose. The musician, startled by his sudden brazenness, had no room to protest when he felt a tongue prod against him, allowing entry with almost embarrassing swiftness. Warmth pervaded him as Medkit’s tongue plunged within his mouth, searching, reciprocating with his own, groan stifled and swallowed up by the doctor holding him. The tang of his own irony blood must’ve been horrible to the other, Boombox had no doubt, but Medkit continued to entwine with him nonetheless, kissing him as though desperate for the contact.
The wound on Medkit’s neck stanched, stagnant, and yet by then it was long-forgotten, a distant memory swept up in the act of lips against one another, hands on heads and shoulders and waists, trailing down and up and down again, a push and pull not unlike an intricate dance. Medkit pulled away, then travelled to his neck, and suddenly Boombox felt as though the roles had reversed, a shiver running down his body, that he was now the prey, and Medkit the predator. The doctor pulled skin between his teeth, and Boombox sighed in pleasure as his sensitive flesh was marked over and over and over again, breath captured in his throat just as Medkit had captured him in his arms.
The other inphernal led them to the bed, where Boombox fell with a surprised yelp, body sinking amongst deep green sheets and Medkit’s following suit, straddling him, all mussed up hair and disorganised clothing. Once more, the thought shot its way through Boombox’s mind that he must’ve been dreaming, but then the doctor lowered himself to capture his lips once more, hands settling on his waist, and then the waistband of his pants. Boombox swallowed hard, reached up, and pulled the other ever closer, worries effectively dispelled from his brain, Medkit letting out a pleased hum against his lips.
Boombox had never felt so thankful to be a vampire in his life.
The sun was shining, beating down on them with a harshness that would’ve typically bothered Boombox to no end. But today, things weren’t so bad, not at all. He wiped at his lips absentmindedly as a tune, energetic and frantic, blasted from his namesake, a skip in his step, while Skateboard, at his side, eyed him with confusion written all over his face.
“What’s got you in such a chipper mood?” he asked, capturing his friend’s attention.
“Hm? Oh, nothing,” Boombox replied absentmindedly as they pushed their way through the large doors to the venue of today’s phight. There were a few inphernals already milling about, polishing their gear or sharpening their weapons. Almost everyone scheduled to be there had arrived, save one, a peculiar outlier in the fact that he typically turned up early for these sort of events.
And that was when Medkit strode through the door. He straightened his cravat, then gave Boombox and Skateboard an amiable nod. Though, one singular thing struck the skater as odd about him, and he continued to scrutinize and scrutinize the other, even as he made his way to stand by Scythe’s side, before it finally came to him. At the dip of his collar, just barely hidden by his head of white hair, was a dark splotch of fresh blood, stark against the backdrop of bright teal.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw Medkit shoot Boombox a small, albeit genuine smile.
He turned to the musician in question, slow, then muttered out a singular word:
“Dude.”