AN: A completely random idea that hit me after watching an episode Teen Wolf, though vampires aren't even a part of the show's plot. This is just the prologue, and it's a very short little bit of what I'm hoping to be a story that spans, at the most, to ten chapters.

Here, both Sebastian and Kurt are at Dalton, and Kurt never went to McKinely (as will become obvious the further we read). In its entirety, this story is an AU, and anything that refers back to the actual plot of the show is probably mere coincidence:)

I've tried to stray as far from the stereo-typical, Twilight-esque vampire as much as I could. Here's hoping it's good enough!

Prologue:

They only ever fuck during the daytime, in-between classes and during lunch. Never in either of their rooms, but in empty classrooms and the choir room when nobody's using it.

This never strikes Sebastian as particularly odd. He understands that Kurt wants his nights to himself, though it's not something that Sebastian himself sees much sense in. He's always preferred the rush of nighttime, the feel of a heavy dark sky and a moon that never ceases to make the stars seem brighter.

If it were up to him, he'd have Kurt all night long.

But Kurt has made it very clear, and on multiple occasions, that he does not agree.

It doesn't matter of course, not really. Sebastian still has Kurt, although not in the sense of a relationship. Outwardly, they are nothing more than friends—study buddies who spend a little too much time in the library during study hall.

The sex is great, and though it sucks that Sebastian can't tell the whole world about it, it's good enough that everyone just assumes he's getting it and that they keep it a secret.

Good enough.

Good enough.

Xxx

The house is cold.

Old and creaking, like every step Kurt takes is a painful gash across rotting wood. As if it knows that he does not belong; is trying to warn the outside world that there is a stranger slipping its halls through like poisoned gas.

Blood drips from his fingers, slow and hot and not his own, never his own.

None of this is his.

He stops in the living room, as if unable to move.

A drop of crimson hits the floor, and he hears it, feels it, like he would have felt his heart had it still been beating.

There is a picture sitting on the coffee table, knocked over and discarded. A young girl smiles up at the photographer, her eyes light and young and alive. She was alive, once.

Kurt feels a foreign prick at the back of his eyes.

Hands shaking, he reaches up to wipe at them, completely uncaring of the red that trails from the pads of his fingers like paint from a brush.

"Tears," he whispers, even though anyone would have heard him is dead, their body lying limp and lifeless across their mattress. "I'm crying."

It's so ridiculous that he almost starts to laugh, but then he remembers green eyes and a sideways smile, and the laugh turns into a sob.

For the first time in nearly fifty years, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel feels guilty for the blood all over his hands.

For the life that he's stolen so carelessly.

And all because of a boy.

All because of Sebastian.