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Ethan Morgan lost his first love on a perfectly normal Friday afternoon, during a perfectly normal walk home, with a perfectly calm demeanor. He lost his first love how he might misplace his school lanyard: quietly, suddenly, and without premeditation. He knew when he woke that it was in his backpack, as always, and had no reason to check. This abstraction was the first kindling in his penultimate, metamorphic ignition.
He couldn’t have predicted the turn of events, but he wasn’t surprised, either.
“Any plans this weekend?” Benny asked as they passed the edges of Whitechapel High’s property, a routine question.
“Besides our sleepover, just going comic book shopping with Rory on Sunday.” Ethan answered with a shrug. They’d been saving up their allowances for the whole month.
“You’re not seeing Sarah?”
“Uh, no? Why?” Ethan arched a brow.
Benny paused as he pressed the walk button at the streetlight. He squinted into the sun almost dramatically, then turned his intense gaze upon Ethan.
“You’re dating, y’know? But you two never really hang out on your own.”
“We hang out!” Ethan insisted, feeling a little defensive.
“When’s the last time you went on a proper date? No monsters, no best friends, just the two of you?”
Ethan kicked a pebble as he thought, watching the crosswalk sign like a hawk.
“There was that art museum… no, that was over a month ago. Um… we went for coffee… probably two weeks ago?”
It took Benny until they got to the other side of the street to respond. He was clearly choosing his words very carefully.
“Does that upset you?”
“What? No. I see Sarah plenty.” They had homeroom together, and English, and lunch, and always met up at least twice a week outside of school with the whole gang. They all made it a priority to hang out without demon-slaying obligations– movie nights, game nights, mall adventures, just cliche teenager stuff. It did wonders for helping them regain a sense of normalcy.
It wasn’t like he was ignoring Sarah, or she him. He was satisfied, he thought. Maybe other couples devoted more time to dates, but he had never felt a need to.
“Right.” Benny nodded. “...Do you like hanging out with her?”
“Of course I do!” He was definitely feeling defensive now. What the hell was Benny getting at? “I love Sarah.”
“No, of course you do. I know. I just meant…” Benny trailed off. He fiddled with his backpack straps. “Do you like going on dates with her more than just hanging out?”
“Are we playing 20 questions?” Ethan snarked, then sighed. “I don’t know, B. I like Sarah. She’s one of my best friends. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. So what if we rarely go on dates? That’s not necessarily bad. Every couple has their own system, right? I mean… I mean, we’re not typical people, it only makes sense our relationship is different.”
Vaguely, he knew that seer-and-vampire-turmoil aside, their relationship had always been odd– hadn’t changed much from their friendship except in name– but he could easily explain it away. Trauma-bonding, getting together when the world ended, sharing the same close-knit group of friends. Rushing into things. It had felt like after they defeated Stern, toppled the biggest Bad Guy of them all, the natural next step would be to get together. Lean into love after all the war.
He couldn’t really remember why he asked Sarah to be his girlfriend. It hadn’t been a big deal, no fancy gestures or candles. It had felt like more of a pull than a push. No more obstacles in the way, no more Lucifractor fragmenting them, no more excuses as to why he hadn’t ‘manned up’ and asked her out yet. Everyone expected him to, and he did. She’d said yes. He’d gotten the girl of his dreams and they were content. They enjoyed each other’s company, they didn’t fight, and they got dinner together every once in a while and hugged at the end. Sometimes he kissed her cheek. Sure, there were no fireworks when he was in her vicinity, but that was probably just because they’d known each other for so long. He could live without fireworks.
Benny cleared his throat and Ethan realized they were only a couple of blocks from their street now. The wind whistled against their backs.
“Sorry. One more question.” Benny looked almost as lost in thought as he did. Or like he’d just taken a sip of exceedingly tart lemonade.
“Shoot.”
“Is your love for Sarah… different than me and Rory?” Benny asked softly.
He knew he was supposed to say yes. He should say yes, because deep down, he knew that’s what the answer was, but he wasn’t sure it was for the reasons that were expected.
He thought of Sarah’s gentle smiles and unwavering morality. Steadfast, secure, and comfortable. He thought of Rory’s boisterous energy and resounding loyalty. How he never failed to make Ethan laugh, almost infectious with his ardor. A breath of fresh air when Ethan got too lost in the fog of his own mind. He thought of Benny’s reckless, wild nature, and how he brought sparks into Ethan’s life while also grounding him. A flame that seemed like it should burn him, sometimes, but only ever brought warmth.
In the end, he only managed a nod, and then another when Benny told him he’d be over at 7 sharp. He slowly climbed the stairs to his room with the distinct feeling that he had a lot more homework to do than just readings.
#
“Ice cream or mug cakes?” Erica asked, tapping her long nails against the fridge.
“Do you have strawberry?” Sarah responded from the kitchen stool.
Erica rolled her eyes. “Duh. You know I always keep it stocked.” The for you was implied. Even as Erica shook her head in faux-irritation, Sarah felt a pleased smile slip on her face. Sometime she felt like Erica knew her even better than herself.
She watched quietly as Erica took the pint from the freezer, scooped it into two bowls, and fixed it exactly as Sarah liked: a pinch of chocolate sprinkles and two cherries. Her movements were easy, almost muscle memory.
They always started their sleepovers with a ‘sweet treat.’ The tradition had been born out of Erica’s preteen rebellion– a middle finger to her parents who had tried and failed for years to drill into her the importance of a meal before dessert. She had never been one for temperance, and they couldn’t say no if Sarah was over. They loved her like another daughter.
They didn’t have to eat anymore (food did more or less nothing to them) but neither one wanted to give it up.
“Okay. Cheesy romcom or sitcom reruns?” Erica asked, the second step in their unerring routine.
“What do you think?” Sarah returned, already slipping a spoonful of heaven into her mouth. Perfect as always.
“Mm, I picked last time.” Erica swept a piece of Sarah’s hair dangling over the bowl across her shoulder, so gentle and quick that she almost missed it. “Your turn, princess.”
That had been a recent development. At first, Sarah was sure it was mockery: poking fun at her ritualistic tendencies and alleged high maintenance. She had a very particular way she liked her coffee and a specific highlighter for each class, sue her. But then Erica kept using it. Maybe because of Sarah’s reaction each time, widened eyes and stuttering retorts. It had evolved into something not quite snide, not quite legitimate, a fuzzy gray area that neither of them addressed. Sometimes Sarah felt like she should bring it up, but she didn’t know what she would even say. Hey, just checking in, what do you mean? Obviously nothing, unless there’s something I’m missing? Hey, do you know why I pretend to hate it?
Sarah swallowed with concerted effort. “Golden Girls. If it’s on.”
“Good choice,” appraised Erica, already grabbing both of their bowls to bring to the living room. Sarah held her breath until she was out of sight. Picked at her sweater. Cursed her heightened sense of smell.
Lavender, patchouli, and musk haunted her journey to the sofa all the same.
#
“Glomp attack!” Screamed Rory as he latched onto Ethan, very nearly sending both of them to the floor. Ethan staggered with the force, though he should’ve expected it. This was Rory’s self-proclaimed ‘surefire method’ of cheering him up when he looked too pensive.
Benny, sitting on Ethan’s bed, watched them with something between fondness and scrutiny, like he was calculating the Newtons of the tackle hug.
“Can you glomp a little less glomp-y? Some of us can still break bones if we fall.” Ethan said, grin betraying his serious tone.
“Nooo, no,” Rory whined, voice muffled from being pressed into Ethan’s shoulder. “Would never hurt your bones. They’re too precious.”
“They’re…” Ethan failed to form a retort. He would laugh if Rory didn’t sound so sincere. He had never really thought of his bones as anything but… bones, but he found himself a little flattered.
“Pearly white prizes,” Rory purred, nuzzling his head even closer. “Prob’ly have delicious marrow. Best in the world. But I won’t try it. Scout’s honor.”
Ethan ignored the fact that Rory was never a Scout. He raised a brow at Benny in an ‘are you hearing this’ way, but Benny just shrugged and resumed his brow-furrowing.
“Prizes.” He repeated evenly.
Rory pulled back just enough to nod with gravitas. “I won’t. Even if I reallyyy want to.”
“That’s… reassuring,” Ethan managed.
Rory petted his head, smoothing down his hair with surprising gentleness. Or maybe Ethan shouldn’t be surprised, because Rory was always careful with him, even if he played up ferality. All fang, little bite (though Ethan didn’t doubt that the temptation was there).
Ethan found himself leaning into the hand, blinking slowly as if in a trance. Despite all the bone talk, he felt warm, safe, loved.
“The scent of your blood is like my own personal brand of meth.” Rory whispered.
“Hey, no Dusk quotes!” Benny finally piped in, annoyed. After the movie theater incident, he hated any mention of that film. Rory only looked puzzled.
“Who quoted Dusk?” He asked, absentmindedly stroking Ethan’s neck.
“You, dingus!” Cried Benny.
“Oh. Sorry, I guess.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. Or like he had any idea what Benny was talking about. He was bona fide unhinged, and Ethan loved him all the more for it.
He still didn’t feel quite complete, though. Something nagged at the back of his brain, a whisper of yearning. He still felt much better than he did even a few minutes ago, almost all pensiveness gone. Rory’s aggressive hugging was truly as effective as he claimed– though it wasn’t just the touch. It was his presence, his eccentric affection, his unrestrained, genuine disposition. He didn’t hold himself back. Ethan had always envied that.
“Quoting Jakeward to Jakeward. Unbeatable,” snarked Benny.
“That was one time,” groaned Ethan. He belatedly realized his thumb was drawing patterns on Rory’s back and stilled it. The action didn’t escape Benny’s piercing gaze.
“Who’s Jakeward again?” Asked Rory.
“He’s the– oh my God, I can’t with you.” Benny rubbed his temples.
“Looks like someone is in need of some glomping,” Rory sing-songed.
Before Rory could even move a muscle, Benny shot up. He shook his head vehemently.
“Nope. Nuh-uh. I’ll come over for a normal hug, thank you very much.” And he did, wrapping his arms around both Rory and Ethan. Rory made a small noise of discontent but still tugged Benny in happily.
They swayed for a couple of minutes, nothing needing to be said. Ethan closed his eyes, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. He had forgotten just how soothing a good hug could be. What else could he possibly need? Who else but his two best friends could calm him like this?
Then a small bout of guilt set in. He couldn’t quite place it; some sense of greed, of ungratefulness. He was keenly aware that he didn’t hug Sarah like this. Not that she wasn’t also comforting, but it wasn’t so encompassing. Didn’t hold a flame to this. His nose twitched with the frustration at not understanding why.
She was great. She was. But intimate moments like this with her always carried the dim, sticky shadows of pretenses. Why was he even thinking about her right now? Why didn’t he think about her more?
“Ror,” Benny whispered conspiratorially, poking Ethan’s side, “it seems the evidence doesn’t back the claim. I can’t in good faith approve the glomping peer-review.”
“What?” Ethan opened his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“He says with a tone shimmering with a thousand ghosts of his past.”
“My tone is not–” Ethan cut off as Rory unleashed a high-pitched, mourning wail.
“No! My method is foolproof!”
“Sorry, bud, not good enough, it seems.” Benny shook his head as if faced with a great disappointment. “Whatever will we do?”
Rory looked into his eyes searchingly. He took the scientific method quite seriously. He pinched Ethan’s cheek (Ethan tried not to frown at the loss of his hand on his side) and tilted his head. Finally, after a few moments, his eyes lit up.
“My method is not faulty, the dosage just needs to be increased!”
“Hm, I think so,” agreed Benny.
“What?” Asked Ethan again, but they were already having a silent conversation: raised eyebrows, tiny nods, expressions shifting so quick he couldn’t keep up. When did they get so good at nonverbal communication?
Suddenly, two pairs of lips were on either side of his cheeks, quick and chaste but oh so tender. Twin pairs of fireworks burning warmth into him. Just as fast, they pulled back, Rory studying his face for the expected results and Benny carrying a curious expression. Ethan couldn’t help but wish for more.
And oh. Oh. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted. Had wanted for a long, long time, a feeling that he had pushed down out of confusion, or fear, some intangible wool that he had become all too comfortable with over his vision. It clicked at all once. He felt like a fool. A loved, cherished fool.
A halted chuckle escaped him because right now he felt utterly complete, and it had always been in reach. Being able to see into the future was pointless if he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
He wanted fireworks, he realized. A whole sky of them. It wasn’t just something out of cliche books. It was Rory and Benny, the tepid night breeze and the spark of the lighter. In reach the entire time.
Benny must have noticed something clicking in him, because he leaned in, just a bit, asking quietly, “You good, E?”
“Yeah,” Ethan murmured, finally meaning it. “I’m right where I want to be.”
#
The TV had long since finished playing Golden Girls. They were idly watching some old show neither of them had seen before, half-paying attention, knees tucked on the sofa and Erica’s hand lightly playing with her hair. The dark sky enveloped them in a cozy, private ambience.
Sarah still hadn’t been able to shake the strange feeling of fight-or-flight, muscles wound tight in a way that took conscious effort to undo. She was safe, she knew that. There was no one in the world she was safer with than Erica. Her persistently high heartbeat just couldn’t listen to reason.
Even though the apprehension wasn’t from Erica, it was at this point undeniably about her. Some invisible force threatening to wedge between them, pry them apart centimeter by centimeter until suddenly she was alone and without an idea of how it happened. Irrational yet impending. Worst of all, the force was coming from Sarah; hyperaware of every point of contact, subtly shifting her feet away, carving distance between them without meaning to. Riding on a train that she couldn’t control, unable to blame anyone but herself.
“Didn’t they find the culprit before last commercial break? Why are they still running around like headless chickens?” Erica grumbled.
Right. Sarah turned her hazy gaze back to the show, shaking her head after a few moments. The plot barely made sense. “I don’t know.”
“We’d have solved this in five minutes flat.”
“Yeah,” Sarah allowed herself a smile, “we’d kick ass.”
“Mostly me.”
“Hey!” Sarah protested, elbowing her. “Rude!”
“Not if it’s true,” Erica retorted, but her twitching lips gave her away. She rested her head on Sarah’s shoulder for a few moments, still staring at the stupid show. “I’d give you an average of fifteen percent final blows. Twenty if I’m being generous.”
“Final blows? Erica, we don’t kill people.”
“Putting them out of commission, whatever.” Erica rolled her eyes. “And killing monsters isn’t really killing.”
Sarah wanted to argue that killing anything was still murder, but she just sighed. The ethical implications of putting a zombie out of their misery were not what she wanted to dwell on tonight. Her current wrestling with personal philosophy was more than enough.
“How are rehearsals going?” She asked instead.
“Alright. Johnny is still allergic to blocking and my understudy has to use her hands to remember stage right and left, but it’s not like I can get sick, so it doesn’t matter. Just annoying. Oh, and the costume department gave me the worst wand that’s ever graced Dracula’s black earth. I can’t picture where they procured such a cheap disgrace. I swear it’s going to snap if I look at it the wrong way. How the hell am I supposed to play a convincing witch if the glint of my plastic wand blinds the front row? And they’re all, ‘oh, Erica, c’mon, you know we have a small budget, and the fog machines cost a lot, blah blah blah’, as if I care? I’m putting my everything into this production and they can’t even give me a decent prop.”
Sarah nodded along, pleased just to hear Erica talk. Her rants were always entertaining, even if Erica wasn’t always in the ‘right’ (she knew the poor costume department was probably trying their best). She could go on for hours and Sarah would gladly let her.
“...then he said that she said that the schedule wasn’t set in stone, so I shouldn’t be so uptight about putting off full dress rehearsals until next week.” Erica was still steaming. “Hello? Is that not what a schedule is specifically meant for? These people make me sick.”
“I’ll bring you extra flowers whenever it ends up premiering,” Sarah promised.
“It will premiere on the 19th as planned or the cast will be providing me with a fresh buffet,” Erica groused, but she couldn’t stop the crinkle of her eyes. “Blood red roses?”
“Of course. Tied with a black bow.”
Erica pursed her lips, fighting back a smile for a few seconds until she gave up, splitting into a silky, bright grin. It was the prettiest thing Sarah had ever seen, as always, reserved just for her.
“Thank you, princess,” Erica softly susurrated.
Sarah flushed, feeling clammy and a touch too hot. The abrupt spike of fear was anticipated, but unsettling all the same. Was it Erica’s fangs on full display? She tried to school her expression into something neutral.
“Anytime,” she responded quietly. Anything for you.
“I mean it. You’re always there for me. I might not show it well, but… you know.” Erica tilted her head meaningfully.
“I know.” She was fluent in Erica-nese, a language of harsh words and fluffy underbellies, sparse gravity but unending intensity, gentle embraces and peals of laughter bestowed only upon her. After all these years, reading between the lines was second nature.
“Good. Because you’re not getting rid of me,” Erica said with an air of loftiness.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sarah agreed.
“I’m not joking. You’ve got an eternity of diatribes ahead of you. Literally.”
“Mm, maybe you’ll mellow out a little in the next hundred years.”
“Doubtful,” Erica said. She leaned in as if sharing a deep secret. “I’m going to become the most feared vampire in North America. Mark my words.”
“Only North America?” Sarah teased.
“We can move to Europe after and continue the crusade there, too.”
“We?”
“I just told you. I’m not leaving you.” She sounded like she’d never been more sure of anything.
Sarah’s mouth felt all too dry to respond. It felt like that invisible force was now pulling her in, welling up under her skin, a black hole of a sun calling to her dreamily. A compulsion blocking out the rest of the room, leaving only an ethereal bubble of light around the two of them. Nothing else mattered.
It hit her, then. It wasn’t fear peppering her skin with goosebumps or rabbiting her heartbeat.
“Sarah?” Erica’s lips moved, and Sarah was suddenly aware she’d been staring at them.
It was yearning. Inevitable, all-consuming, and incredible that she missed it. A longing so deep that she had somehow confused its ferocity with consternation, trying to outrun it without even attempting to understand it.
“We don’t have to move if you don’t want to. It’d be a shame to not at least see the world, though. Very few people can say they’ve been to every country,” Erica continued, a rare apprehensive frown marring her face. Sarah wanted to kiss it away, and what a frightening, beautiful thought that was.
“No,” Sarah said roughly, “I want to. Let’s find an old castle in Transylvania like you’ve always wanted and spend at least a decade trying to inspire the craziest stories among the locals.”
“Oh, a little friendly folktale competition?” Erica crooned. “Count me in.”
About three things Sarah was sure: first, she was irredeemably in love with Erica Jones; second, she was done pushing down what made her scared, and would henceforth carry out her undead life as authentically as possible; and third, she had to break up with Ethan Morgan.
#
Rory sent a text to the groupchat not long before the robins and sparrows began their dawn-time screams. It read: EMERGNCY MEETING AT ETHAMS HOUSE @ 11 !!!
Almost immediately, another text from Benny: not an emergency. disregard the idiot (<3). but come.
Sarah was wary at first, wondering if they’d caught a lead on a new supernatural situation, and then wary for an entirely different reason. She’d thought she’d have until Monday to craft the perfect break-up speech, direct but polite, wanting to let Ethan down easy. Ripping off the bandaid might be better, though. She despised stewing in her emotions.
Erica insisted it would be fine. She said she had a feeling that Ethan ‘was fond of fruitcake’ but refused to elaborate, only offering a self-satisfied grin.
Sarah was in her head the entire drive to Ethan’s house. She wanted to hold Erica’s hand for comfort so bad but settled for a quick hug instead, wanting to officially end it before allowing herself to indulge.
The boys were all downstairs when they arrived. Rory sat frog-legged on the couch (his signature position), finger-drumming a fast beat on his knees. Benny, who opened the door, shared a brief, knowing glance with Erica. Ethan was straight-backed next to Rory, clearly trying to seem casual but not quite pulling it off. Rory elbowed him.
“Hey, uh, Sarah. Can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Ethan rubbed his thumbs together.
“Of course,” she replied. They walked in rigid silence, all eyes on them until they crossed the doorway. Ethan seemed to be committing the pattern of the countertop granite to memory and Sarah took a sudden notice of the lighting fixtures. Nothing was said for several beats.
He asked to talk to her, but obviously didn’t know what to say. She hated seeing him so nervous, but she wasn’t much better off. She counted down from ten in her head, then decided to just go for it.
“I want to break up.”
“I think I’m gay.” Ethan declared at the exact same time.
“Oh!” Sarah replied, mouth agape. “I mean. Me too.”
Ethan paused for a moment, expressionless. Then his face lit up and he was suddenly hugging Sarah fiercely.
“Oh thank goodness, I was so– congratulations. Not about the break-up, about coming out, though maybe congratulations for that, too, I think we’ll both be much happier. Not in a bad way! Shit. I didn’t mean that like I’m glad you’re leaving me. Well, yes, but we’re still going to be best friends no matter what. Er, right?”
Sarah giggled, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Of course. It’s okay.”
“Okay,” Ethan said warmly. “Good.”
“Congrats to you, too.”
“Thanks. I, uh… I guess it’s pretty odd we both realized at the same time, huh? What are the chances?”
“Given how often we conquer impossible odds, I think it’s pretty fitting.” Sarah mused. An idea popped into her head; the strange texts, the way the other two boys had looked when they came in, the unique, close dynamic they had always had. “Was it… Benny and Rory?”
Ethan blushed, ducking his head. He scratched at the back of his neck.
“Yeah. Last night I figured out I loved them a lot more than I realized. For a while. Apparently, I was the last one to know.” He laughed.
“I know what that’s like.” She grinned.
“Erica?” He questioned with a perceptive twinkle in his eyes.
“Who else?” She sighed moonily. “I told her last night that I was pretty sure I was in love with her and the first thing she said was ‘duh.’ She is the worst. I hate her.” Not even a little bit.
“Yeah? Benny said if my closet’s glass was any clearer, it would transcend the light-quantum hypothesis. I don’t even know what that means.”
“I’m just as clueless as you.” Sarah shrugged.
“Naturally,” Ethan agreed as if stating a fact. “I think this whole thing has proved we’re at equal levels of idiocy.”
“Hey! Speak for your own self!” Sarah protested, lightly punching his arm.
Maybe they were two of the biggest idiots on the planet. Two very loved, treasured idiots. All she had ever wanted was now here, in her arms, so she couldn’t bring herself to be upset about how long it took to get there.
The scent of endless strawberry sundaes ensconced her, a numinous promise of a future that had never seemed so bright.