Chapter One
i own nothing (not even mitchell. sigh.) and i love this fandom far too much to wish to tarnish it
He'd been feeding.
Mitchell glanced sideways, turning his head a fraction at a time, almost as if scared something would splinter if the movement was too rushed. The smell still clung to the insides of his nostrils – blood – a reminder of what had happened the previous night, although the memories were scarce. Around him, a small single bed with a floral duvet, a pot plant, a poster of ancient actors hardly anyone cared for anymore. A woman's bedroom.
A movement on the bed distracted him, an incoherent mumble as a sleeping figure turned to face him, one pale arm falling over the edge. Around the wrist were various bands made out of string or rubber; a handmade gesture, fixed together with nimble fingers; a trickle of dry blood stained her forearm.
His or hers?
Whoever it was slumbered so serenely that it was hard to observe if she were actually alive, spare the murmurs here and there that left parted lips with every toss and turn. Mitchell felt invigorated as he watched her and memories surfaced. Only half of her was revealed, stomach bare, t-shirt risen, clothes scattered around the floor in prior haste. Black hair, curled at the edges, covering alabaster skin.
He didn't remember her, but with every glance he could remember the taste of her.