A/N: I hope you enjoy this! Written for the LIGHTNING CHALLENGE set by HyaHya.. feel free to join in if you want! The prompt's on the 'Collaboration' section on Charchisto's forum!
Disclaimer – I DON'T own Young Dracula people! Ok?!
A Brief Encounter -
Rain battered the window as hordes of tourists caught the English weather experience. The drizzly streets of London were left bare as the streets emptied out into the warmth of highstreet shops and restaurants. A bell tinkled loudly as a young business man stumbled into the first building he saw, hair plastered to his forehead with the rainwater. A quick glance around told him that he was in a café. Good. He could do with a coffee to wake him up. Work had been tiresome for him today, too many clients arguing with him for what he was certain was just to annoy him. And paperwork. He couldn't stand to look at another piece of paper for the rest of the day.
His hair, although not as messy and haphazard as it used to be, was still a raven black, and the splash of freckles still dotted his face. He looked much like he had in his childhood, but he tended to push that part of his life to the back of his mind. It was worthless to him. Not worth thinking about.
He strode briskly to the counter, and mumbled a greeting to the cheery waitress. She reminded him of his mother. Blonde, perky and a little bit too happy. It unnerved him how similar they were. He didn't speak with his parents anymore. He stopped talking to them when he decided to leave his hometown for a more aspirational career. His brothers had visited in the first few months but then they just didn't seem to want to see him anymore. Well, they had always thought he was a freak anyway. So he was on his own now.
He ordered an extremely overpriced latte, and took it in his hands. Keeping his change firmly in his pocket, he sat down at a small table next to the windowsill. Taking out his notebook, he placed his latte on the table and took a ball point pen out of his coat pocket.
He looked down at the scribbled words on the paper. He had no idea what they meant, why he wrote them down, but he knew he had to remember. His colleagues often asked him why he did it, and he couldn't tell them why. He didn't know, he just did it. It felt right.
He took a sip of his latte, and closed his eyes. Tapping his forehead, he let his mind wander. It was the best way to find the words he needed. He was certain he was so close, when a bell tinkling interrupted his thoughts. Cursing under his breath, the young man looked up to see a teenager literally fall into the shop. From the look of it, he was a troublesome youth. Dressed in a leather jacket and boots, he certainly looked menacing. To top it all off he looked like he had been smoking. From the wispy air that surrounded him anyway.
The boy worriedly glanced out of the window, and the business man frowned. Was he running from someone? He hoped not, he'd had enough to deal with today and he didn't want to break up a petty fight between a bunch of teenagers. The boy didn't glance his way, but instead leant against the wall and closed his eyes. Robin glanced around. No-one else looked uneasy, so why did he feel the way he did?
Robin watched as the teenager stood up and paced around the café. The blonde woman that reminded him of his mother pranced over to the boy and with an overly bright smile, announced to him that if he wasn't going to buy anything he would have to leave. The boy nodded, and turned to go outside. Robin stared at him, transfixed. He felt like he had met him before.
The boy must have sensed his eyes on him, and he turned around abruptly. He froze. The boy narrowed his eyes, and then he looked pained, as if remembering an old friend that had died. The boy's gaze was haunting. Old. Like they had seen much more than was possible. He felt a shiver run down his spine as the boy made no move to deflect his gaze. Eventually, he felt uncomfortable and uneasy so he broke the eye contact with the boy.
He looked down at his notebook, and then looked up at the boy again, but he was gone. Disappeared. Like he'd vanished into thin air.
He shook his head, and scribbled down a word on his notebook. No. Not a word. A name. Robin blinked in surprise, and looked out the window into the dim streets of London. Impossible.
Because right there, circled in the centre of his little black notebook, was a name he had forgotten entirely. Never thought he would hear it again. But Robin Branaugh was never one to forget. Anything.
Vlad…