Andrei – Moldova

Alin – Romania

Tsvetan – Bulgaria

Franz – Kugelmugel

Kuzey – TRNC

Luca – Luxembourg

Monique – Monaco

Mr Jensen - Norway

No, I couldn't stop myself from starting a new story. Fite me.

I really love vampire aus, not gonna lie, especially awful, cliche vampire romance like whatever the hell I'm about to write. There is angst in this too, though, so be warned. Death and fighting too.

As a child, Andrei Radacanu had been terrified of three things: the dark that offered him many a sleepless night; pigeons, with their tiny, beady eyes; and dying. Even after dying, he found it to be an experience best left unrepeated. But, in time, he grew to find the darkness of his days comforting, empowering, even.

Of course, pigeons still creeped him the fuck out.

He never used to like the gloom and rain, and certainly would never have wanted to settle in a dreary, Glasgow suburb for any amount of time. Nowadays, though, it meant he could go to school.

Darkness was safety to him. A cocoon that kept him protected from the hatred and fire raging outside that would reduce him to ash. The fire would destroy him one day, he knew. Nothing would last forever and he could be careful as could be, but eventually…

Eventually…

He'd have to watch his family burn through screams and torn hearts and rivers of blood, inhaling his murdered loved ones as he died in furious rampage and frenzied slaughter-

The sound of the alarm trilled through thick wood he almost hit his head against as he shot up. Andrei groaned, throwing the lid open with a wave of his hand. Louder, the shrill sound was unbearable, and he scrambled – hissing – to slam the snooze button, giving him enough time to turn the damn thing off. Without overloading and kicking it in. Again.

He never expected to have to keep forking out for alarm clocks.

Deep breath. Calm again. He was safe. All was well. Deep breath. And another. He was dead, but deep breath.

He really needed to start using his phone. And maybe keep it charged. Stupid modern technology.

Maybe if his brother wasn't a complete fucking scatterbrain, he could wake him up each day with a hug and maybe even a warm cup of blood to get him started on those cold, winter mornings. Alin was always awake at this time.

Grabbing a periscope from his desk, Andrei made his way to the window, hidden behind a thick, purple curtain. Lucky he had no reflection so, even if it was sunny, the sun wouldn't burn his eyes out. Probably. He'd never bothered pursuing a degree in any scientific field. He slipped the periscope between the curtains, and, with a grimace, took a look.

"Yes," he hissed, "clouds!" He could go to uni today! 'Writing for the media' was his favourite course. Well, poetry was his favourite in terms of subject, but in terms of classmates… Andrei wiggled his eyebrows.

And now he needed to look his best: dead but delicious and all. Luckily – or unluckily – his clothing choice was made that bit easier by the fact that he only had 5 blouses left in reasonable condition. The rest were either ripped to rags or covered in more blood than a bike that lost a fight with a truck. The deep pink one was certainly… eye-catching. A conversation piece, perhaps? Combined with skinny jeans, it was a look that painted him as alternative in a classy way. As opposed to immature and angsty.

Andrei knew it was slightly sick to be relying on old, predatory instincts, the need to look absolutely irresistible to his prey. But in his defence, it was to score a date, not a meal. And at least, this way, he didn't need hypnosis to seem like the only person in a room.

Not that he'd ever use his powers of hypnosis for evil.

His brother's husband thought he was a fool. Maybe there was something about old people that bred hypocrisy, and at 800 years old, Tsvetan had apparently forgotten that he had not only developed feelings for a mere human, but fallen madly in love with one. He'd been completely ensnared and he damn well knew it! Then again, Alin Radacanu tended to bring out only the most extreme emotions in people. And animals. And monsters. And mostly white-hot rage at that.

Andrei dumped notebooks and folders into a battered old bag he'd bought during his 2005 emo phase and still secretly loved. The sad thing was, Tsvetan hadn't noticed any difference.

His best friend said he was a mess of cringe and Andrei knew it was true. Franz Edelstein, however, was his own brand of awful.

Satisfied that he looked like the biggest attention-seeker in Scotland, Andrei began to adoringly descend his spiral staircase. As was his melodramatic want, when he found out the place had a tower with a cute little room right at the top, he claimed it immediately. Alin and Tsvetan could have their creepy cellar lair, but Andrei was proud of his decorating, making the round room a strange cross between stately home and 15-year-old's bedroom.

With a coffin, of course.

He heard the sounds of a violin as he wandered through halls Tsvetan had decorated with the word 'macabre' on his tongue. The place was a country house the old bastard had bought back in the 70s, the final in a collection of properties he owned across Northern and Eastern Europe, bought with wealth he'd amassed and stolen over centuries of being one of the most fearsome vampires of the time. Of course, many of his houses were either destroyed in the Second World War or grabbed by the communists when the iron curtain fell.

Except a little townhouse in Chișinău he'd kept only by being there to hypnotise anyone who tried to take it from him. Luckily for the Radacanu brothers.

He also still had this house a few miles from Glasgow, a cottage on the Hebrides, and a few properties in northern Scandinavia.

"Morning," he chirped as he entered the living room. It was Alin on the violin, Tsvetan singing an old folk song to keep him company. He sat at the organ bought 200 years ago, a smile on his face that reminded Andrei of just why he and Alin belonged together.

Tsvetan Borislavov Borisov was a dour, gloomy man. He rarely thought it necessary to crack a smile, and yet, around Alin, his cold, dead eyes lit up. It was like he was human for a moment.

"Oh, is it morning already?" Alin's hands stilled and the music came to a halt.

"Yes," Andrei pulled him into a hug, "might want to get to sleep. It's gloomy out, but you need to rest."

"Yes mother," Alin sighed dramatically. Tsvetan just chuckled, standing up to give Alin an awkward side hug, burying his nose in his hair. Tsvetan wasn't used to showing affection in the slightest, but the granite man was softening up. Slowly.

"So," he began, looking like he was giving a speech in front of a crowd of slayers, "you have… human school? Learning, um, learning books."

"Creative writing, yes. At human university." He didn't know why he was trying. When it came to the world of humans, Tsvetan was practically senile.

He saw something in Alin's eyes: the lack of understanding. Confusion. He groaned.

"Don't start," he snapped, "I like learning." Yes, at twenty, he really didn't need to keep doing degree after degree, wherever the three of them settled, but he most certainly wanted to. Andrei loved learning. He wanted to know everything, and what better opportunity to learn everything than after being given eternal life? In a sense.

Right now, he was curious about the art of writing. He could get novels published, right? Then, in a few decades when they'd become classics (maybe he'd have to try a few times under a few aliases whilst he honed his skill but oh well), he could take a literature class or two and watch everyone analyse his work. And, presumably, start a few tearful fights every time someone criticised his writing, because he was a Radacanu and that's what they did.

"Back in my day, people didn't bother with all this school nonsense," Tsvetan muttered, "if someone wanted to learn, they became a monk."

"Fascinating." Andrei bade goodbye to his brother, ignored Tsvetan, and left, grabbing his parasol along the way.

They picked Scotland for the same reason they picked any other place to live: it was far north and allowed them to survive far easier. It was cold, damp, and the nights stretched longer in the winter. During the day, the clouds would often – lovingly – cover the sun and shield him from the deadly rays. As an added bonus for Andrei, the town also housed the Humanities and Literature campus.

He clutched his parasol tighter. Sure, the sky was grey, but it only took one little hole. One beam of sunlight and he was dust.

Education was worth it, though.

Alin chewed his lip. He did that when he was nervous, without fail. Having been alone for centuries, Tsvetan was a little proud of himself for picking up on that.

"He'll be fine," he murmured, still holding Alin close. When the guy worried, it was usually in regards to that brother of his. He worried about Tsvetan too, whenever he did something ridiculous to the point of dangerous. Which was often because he was a vampire and vampires liked being completely stupid. Or something like that.

"Why does he have to go out in the sun though?" Alin whined, burying his face in Tsvetan's shoulder.

"I have been around a while," he replied with a sigh that signified the beginning of a story; "I have seen people fight and die for their right to an education. I do not always understand Andrei, but you cannot fault him for wanting to understand more about the world. When I was his age, such a thing was unheard of."

Alin smiled. "Thanks."

"I mean," Tsvetan continued unwisely, "a peasant boy perusing an education would-" Alin raised a hand to Tsvetan's mouth.

"That's enough, treacle."

Andrei hurried into the building – he swore he saw the sun about to poke out from behind a cloud, like some sort of wee dick. If he had a heart, it would be pounding furiously. As it were, he just leaned against the wall and wished the sun away.

Given that they still have 15 whole minutes before the lecture began, there was no one around to see his panic, thankfully. All alone. Peace and qui-

"It's gone now," a pair of hands slapped his shoulders and he squeaked. An actual squeak. How fearsome.

"Fucking- fuck! Franz!" he cried, "you almost scared me back to life!"

"Woah, let's not say that in front of the tasty ones." The faux-mysterious whisper of Kuzey scared him more than Franz, if he was being honest. He just turned up unexpectedly, like a creep. Also, 'tasty ones'?

Then again, Kuzey Adnan had been turned during the death of the Ottoman Empire, the oldest of the three by far.

"Kuzey, what the actual fuck?"

"Nice to have that question directed at someone else for once," Franz muttered jokingly.

"How come we never aim it at the blouse?" asked Kuzey, nodding in Andrei's direction.

"Franz is wearing a blouse too," he mumbled.

"Mine's modern. Yours makes you look like a vampire."

"Alright, Mr Baroque Flowers. It's a good thing vampires don't exist, then." The three exchanged grins.

Andrei didn't bother mentioning that Franz's blouse didn't match his pastel pink leggings. He wouldn't care in the slightest; so much for blending in with the humans… Kuzey was the only one of them who dressed even remotely sensibly, which baffled Andrei. As far as he could tell, the older the vampire, the more of a dramatic attention-seeker they were. It was true with Tsvetan, and both Kuzey and Franz's dads.

And yet, he'd only been dead for 18 years, Alin for 28, and they were amongst the worst over the top drama-bats imaginable. Then again, anyone who marched into a vampire's lair, demanding to be turned and offering to be seduced, was the very definition of eccentric. It was like he was born to be a vampire.

"Did you do the homework?" asked Kuzey.

"We have an hour before the seminar," said Franz with a faux-guilty grin.

"I did… something." He didn't think it was anything good but what harm? It was that point in the term.

Besides, the task was to write about the street he grew up on. In the 80s. He wasn't even sure it still existed because the country it was in certainly didn't. He'd not been to Moldova since it became independent.

He'd suggested it as a place to settle a few times – as they still had the house – but since getting married, Alin and Tsvetan needed to avoid certain countries. More so than before.

Franz gave him a nudge as students began filing out of the lecture hall. The three made a dash for the door, knowing full well Andrei would mope if he wasn't at the back.

With Luca in sight.

For all their mocking, Andrei, Franz and Kuzey did support each other through their dumbass crushes. Maybe he didn't see what Franz saw in that recluse Lars Oxenstjärna, or what Kuzey saw in his ridiculous football teammate… Peter Oxenstjärna. Were vampires attracted to Swedes? Or, at least, people adopted by Swedes? Did it technically not count as drinking blood if the humans in question's nationality was also a vegetable?

It was easy to see why Andrei longed for Luca, as far as he was concerned. Rosy cheeks and full lips? He was – quite literally – a vampire's wet dream.

They grabbed seats near the back, just as Luca ambled in with his own friends, all chatting excitedly as they made their way up the stairs… to sit in the row in front.

Andrei could feel Franz's smug glare burning into the side of his face, so, instead, decided to focus on counting the hairs making up Luca's thick, beautiful locks. He'd tried a few times, but never gotten far, adding to the frustration Luca made him feel on a daily basis.

Vampires were attracted to humans that looked alive, well cared-for. Here, it wasn't so much of a problem because everyone was stressed and dead inside. But Luca? He had the easy-going air of someone who still had time to take pride in his appearance. Did they not give out homework on that journalism course of his?

He turned to face Andrei, who was a little too busy being annoyed that he'd lost count. He tried to focus on counting Luca's scattering of freckles and- nope, his cheeks were red and the freckles gone.

"Were you two going to say something?" asked Monique, Luca's best friend. "At all?"

They both jumped, Luca drumming his fingers against Andrei's table. "Hey, um?"

"Hmm?" He wasn't sure he was up to speaking just yet.

"What's the lecture on today?" The glare Luca's friends shot him suggested he'd just pussied out of saying something else. Andrei's heart almost started beating again.

"Writing people," he squeaked.

"Ah, okay," Luca took a moment, presumably to weigh up whether or not it was worth coming in.

"Probably important for a journalist to know," he chided. They dealt with people or something, right?

Luca moaned. He really shouldn't have.

"Nice shirt, by the way," he said, "looks good on you."

It'd look better on your bedroom- no, Andrei!

"Thanks," he said instead, "liking the baby blue. It's very, um, becoming." And you'll be- no!

Luca blushed and Monique rolled her eyes. The rest of Luca's friends at least had the grace to pretend to be having conversations with each other. Franz and Kuzey were making their way through a packet of biscuits whilst staring at them intently.

They… didn't even need to eat. At all.

"What about my shirt?" asked Franz, through a mouthful.

"Awful," they joked at the same time.

"Fuck you guys!" Franz groaned dramatically, leaning over his table. "I can't be arsed with today." Andrei raised an eyebrow.

"It's twelve."

"And?"

"Do you even have a 9 am lecture?"

Franz scoffed. "Does it matter?" Bloody drama students.

"Alright, settle down!" Mr Jensen barely looked at his students as he made his way to the desk and began fiddling with the projector. The chatter died ever so slightly, but it wasn't until the PowerPoint was up on the screen that Mr Jensen had the class' full attention.

"Writing about people," he began, voice calm and almost monotone, but still capturing the attention of all. There was something about him, the class had discussed it waiting in the corridor once, he looked like he'd snap if someone talked over him. A shame, really, because he did look really hot.

"When writing my memoirs, and when writing creative non-fiction – non-fiction with a narrative – like fiction, you will need to write characters." He looked about the room to make sure everyone was paying attention; Andrei straightened his back. "It's very rare that you will write creative non-fiction without including a character. Even you are a character, if you choose to write from your perspective."

He hadn't read Mr Jensen's memoirs; apparently the guy had travelled a lot, in a band of ghost hunters looking for supernatural beings. He almost chuckled at the thought: what would Mr Jensen make of three vampires sitting in his class?

"There are a lot of things to consider," he continued, "we're talking about real people here. It's a delicate balance, telling the truth and getting a story out, and respecting the people involved and their privacy." Mr Jensen pulled a book out of his laptop bag; had any of his lecturers gone a month without promoting their own work? Then again, if they were stuck teaching broke alcoholics how to write, their works probably hadn't sold as well as they'd hoped.

He read an excerpt from his book, about a co-worker who accompanied him on a trip to Bulgaria.

Bulgaria, huh?

What if he decided to write about Tsvetan and his centuries of drama? Then again, to protect the identity of the man he considered a father figure - and his reputation of not being completely insane -, he'd have to pretend it was all fictional.

What if he wrote about when he was alive? From the point of view of a complete stranger who researched and pieced together the last few years of his life, what happened the night he'd died, and how his death became sensationalised. He still had the newspapers from the time, and a video tape of the news broadcast as disgustingly morbid souvenirs. Could he pull it off?

Probably not, because how could he interview people he knew at the time without giving away the fact that he was the dead person in question, somehow unaged after nearly two decades? He could always send Kuzey, the only person who had both not known him when he was alive, and also was trustworthy enough to conduct such research.

He wondered what the police would think if he included an interview with his brother.

Who had disappeared shortly after his death.

It was a stupid idea, but a fun concept nonetheless.

He hoped Luca wouldn't volunteer his work to be read out to the class – it really wasn't his best.

He always ended up with Luca when getting paired off in this seminar. It was a conspiracy! Franz and Kuzey would pair off with each other, as would Luca's four friends, and they'd be stuck together. He wasn't complaining though, because damn he loved being near Luca, talking with him and learning about him.

He was immersed in Luca's piece, about a quaint little street in Luxembourg City ruined by an old lady who seemed to hate him for no reason. He could almost smell the flowers his brother kept in window boxes, and the homemade waffles drizzled in chocolate his sister had perfected even back then.

"Hey, Andrei," Luca leaned closer to hiss in his ear, unheard by everyone else discussing the work in pairs. "There's something I want to ask you."

This was it. This was the moment he'd fantasised for months now and maybe written stories about in his diary. Luca was going to ask him out. It was a dream come true! But he was not prepared for such a moment; he'd make do, but damn if he'd known, he'd have combed his hair that morning!

"Yes?" he breathed, tucking a lock of burgundy hair behind his ear.

"Um, are you free this Friday?"

"Yes, of course." No, wait! That made him sound boring! "Um, I mean, maybe." Did he sound coy or like a berk?

Luca tittered. "Look, um-"

"Yes?"

"I'm having a party, well," he bit his lip, "a small get-together. Just a few friends, and music and alcohol. I'm sure someone will find some weed. Presumably Franz." He paused, and Andrei could feel himself deflate. No date then, but a party, hmm? A chance to see Luca outside of class? He was in. "Yeah, tell Franz and Kuzey they're invited too. And you, of course." He gave a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, sure we'll be there!" He was going to drag his friends – kicking and screaming – to that party to be his damn wingmen. Not to mention, Luca was in the LGBT society too, so also knew the Oxenstjärna brothers pretty well. Chances were they'd be there.

"My brother's in Norway, on a work trip," Luca muttered, "so Isabel and I are going to have some fun. Not trash the place – it's not gonna be as fun as the movies – but just de-stress before assignment season."

"Yes, but this is Glasgow, therefore you will have at least one kitchen appliance stolen." It happened at Peter's last party. Only an idiot would steal a coffee machine from a Nordic household.

"I'm only inviting people I know, not the whole campus." Luca looked a little nervous though, and probably making plans to evacuate a large chunk of his possessions to the attic.

"It sounds fun," he hoped he didn't sound to desperate when he added: "I can't wait."

"Well you two seem passionate about your pieces," came Mr Jensen's growl from behind them, "I'd love to have them read out to the class, if you don't mind."

"So, we're actually going to be spending time together," Andrei bristled with nervous excitement, sandwiched between Franz and Kuzey on a sofa in the library. Working hard, of course. At the very least, the table they'd claimed was now covered in Franz's various projects. "Like, outside of uni!"

"We know."

"I get to see his house," Andrei couldn't help the gasp that came out, "and meet his sister! And- and maybe get to talk to him!"

"Probably a given," Kuzey, for one, looked like he was struggling not to take the piss, "I mean, you won't get to keep him to yourself the whole time, but he will probably say hello at the very least. That much I can guarantee."