It's too late and Charles knows he shouldn't have stayed in the library up until closing hours, forgetting dinner, but the book's subject was rather fascinating, a new arrival from the capitol's archives, which is a rare occasion in on itself, and he just couldn't leave it alone.

Now, while he makes his way across the empty parking lot, he can feel the warm air at the back of his neck, goosebumps trailing under his skin as he clutches the book against his chest like a prized possession.

There are faint voices coming from up ahead and Charles pauses, closing his eyes tight for a moment, tongue slowly licking red full lips, and then picks up his pace, quickly marching on towards his battered car.

Late Saturday night, of course they are all coming out now to have fun and drink, how could he forget himself like that? Stupid, stupid, Charles. He unlocks the car and throws the book at the backseat, swiftly sitting in the driver's place and putting the car in reverse with jerky moves.

He needs to get out of here and fast. He doesn't know how much he will last outside.

After a tense drive with the car's windows tightly shut and the doors locked from the inside, he manages to reach his apartment without an incident. He enters his bedroom and takes the phone from the nightstand, quickly clicking the first number of his speed dial.

He sits at the edge of his bed while listening to the phone ringing, all the while watching from between heavy curtains at the dim lighted street outside. Finally, after half a minute on hold, the other person on the line picks up.

"Yes?" a much too cheery voice comes out and Charles has to move the phone away from his ear for a moment. There are loud noises and heavy music blasting from the receiver and Charles sighs mentally.

"Raven?"

"Charles! I'm so glad you called! We are having a blast here, you should definitely come." There is a sudden click, then another voice yells into his ear, "Yeah, Charles, don't be a loser, come over-" before Raven obviously grabs the phone back and giggles – honestly, giggles- and adds "seriously, it will do you good, brother mine."

Charles feels a headache coming and raises a finger on his temple, slowly massaging the soft spot there.

"You know I can't do that, Raven." He says softly. "For that matter, you shouldn't either. You have to… be careful." he doubts his words will have any effect on his sister and he's right.

"Oh, please Charles. Not now! We have talked about that. Anyways, have to go now; triple shots on the table!" then the beeping sound of the line getting disconnected.

Charles looks at the phone, shaking his head sadly, and puts it in its place.

He makes his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and bending over to check on the last self where the last two pouches of dark red, almost black blood sit there, waiting for him to take them and drink them like the animal he is.

He'll need supplies again and soon. Feeding waits for no vampire, after all. He should know.

x0x0x0x

Charles leads a very secluded life. Afterlife. Undead life. Whichever the politically correct term for the monstrosity he has become suits him, this is it. Mistakes of the past should always be remembered and lessons should be learned from them.

Raven claims he always overreacts but Charles prefers to be safe than sorry. Or rather, he'd prefer other people around him better be safe than sorry, -which, in turn, depends on how Charles acts during certain… situations.

He is an anomaly. He knows and accepts that. What he could never accept –or, thought he could never accept, as it turned out- is actually harming someone to fulfil his instinctual hunger.

Unfortunately, he seems to be one of the very few out there with the same opinion on the matter.

In less than two hours the sun will rise and here he is, waiting at the dark back alley of the local hospital, like a thief lurking for its prey. The blue door ahead of him remains resolutely locked and Charles leans against the rough wall, staring right at it like it can solve all of his problems.

Suddenly, there's a sound behind the door, the subtle click of it getting unlocked, and a tall, gangly figure emerges hesitantly from the shadows.

Charles sighs in relief before making his way towards the person who, upon realizing someone else is there, close to him, takes a step back quickly, almost stumbling on the door with his back.

"Hank, it's me. Charles" Charles tries his most soothing voice but the young man takes another step back, like he's trying to become one with the door behind him. Charles lowers his head, a pained expression on his face.

"Oh… h-hi Professor" Hank whispers quickly, and his hands stay awkwardly in front of him, like he doesn't quite know what to do with them, whether to raise them for a wave or to shield himself.

"I'm so sorry I came here on such short notice but, it's a bit of an emergency I'm afraid." Charles always forgets himself when he's focused on his studies and doesn't pay attention on the more important things, like, for example, the fact that he should never ever stay out of supplies.

He doesn't want a repeat of that dreadful, horrible incident of the past.

"So. Can I please take them?" Charles inquires politely, watching as Hank immediately jumps up at his words and nods at him, glasses almost falling askew from his jerky movement.

"Yes, of course, here there are." Hank picks up a small portable refrigerator from the ground next to his feet and holds it in front of him, patiently waiting for Charles to take it with quick, efficient moves.

"Thank you, Hank. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, Professor." Hank pushes his glasses over his nose and twists his fingers nervously. "I'm always glad to help you."

Charles hides a smile at the young man's words. It's quite obvious how uncomfortable it makes Hank to be to such a close proximity with one of Charles' kind but still, he's kind enough to say otherwise.

"Well," Charles searches at the inside of his coat, looking at his pocket-watch, "it's getting late. Or early. I'd best be going."

"Oh yes, sure." Hank can't help but look relieved, slowly itching towards the dark room behind him and the safety it will undoubtedly provide should Charles decide to just grab him by the neck and have his wicked way with him.

Shaking his head to clear his bitter thoughts, Charles raises his left hand in a half wave, while he holds the portable fridge with his right against his hip. Hank nods once and gets inside quickly, door closing with a small thud.

Picking up his pace, Charles walks on the deserted street before him, the sky's color ominously turning a softer shade as the minutes pass.