Chapter 1

~o~

How's your day going?

Alfred glanced at the text in his phone. Usually, he didn't have all that much to say, but today was different. He'd gotten his programming work done early, since he was going to have to greet a new tenant today. His old one, Kiku, had been a pretty awesome roomie. Quiet, didn't ask too many questions, great taste in video games. But one could only have humans around for so long before things got a bit too awkward.

So Honda Kiku out. A Mr. Doyle in. Alfred didn't know too much about the guy, except that he was actually able to pay the $10k a month that he wanted for his little brownstone house without even having a look about. That was a lot of money. He might even get enough to live comfortably for a bit after Doyle moved out.

Fine, Alfred typed in, I'm getting a new tenant today. Hope he's nice.

He waited by the door, wondering how he should greet his new tenant. There was the obvious issue of age. Maybe he could pass himself off as a trust-fund kid who had fallen on hard times. Might explain his nocturnal tendencies. He checked his reflection, a sickly pale face fringed with blond hair with glasses to shield his eyes from the strain of staring at the computer too long. He adjusted his button up shirt, smoothing out his pants. Yeah, he definitely looked like he pull off pasty, down and out, blue-blood.

He probably didn't need to worry. Doyle didn't seem the talkative type so he didn't worry about too many questions. His emails were always very curt, but polite. If only he didn't come in the middle of the day...

The buzzer sounded, making Alfred jump mid-yawn. He quickly turned to the door, seeing the outline of the figure on the other side of the frosted glass. He pulled on his gloves and rolled down his sleeves and touched the handle carefully, opening up the door and staying in the shadows. Pulling on his most winning smile, he said brightly, "Hi, you must be-" Alfred froze. And stared.

Arthur Kirkland. Arthur -fucking- Kirkland, in all his British glory, was standing in his front door.

Arthur stared back at him, mouth agape. "I- you-" he said, clearly just as speechless. Oh he'd grown up handsome, both slender and masculine with the same choppy blond hair he had when he was little, looking like he popped right out of a Burberry catalog. And those eyes. Those green eyes. Pictures didn't do them justice. ...But he was so old. He must be thirty now.

There was no point now in trying to pretend that Alfred had no idea who he was. It was also clear that Arthur remembered the one (goddamned) picture Alfred shared with him over MySpace. The only things that changed were his clothes and the glasses. Obviously, not enough to keep the other man from recognizing him. Seriously, how did this happen?

Thinking quickly, Alfred stuck out his hand, all charm and nonchalance. "Mr. Kirkland. I definitely didn't expect you. Is Doyle your alias? I should have known. It was kind of obvious."

Numbly, Arthur took his hand and shook it. "I- I'm sorry, I was supposed to-" he stammered, still a bit flummoxed. "Are you- Do you have any relation to Alfred Jones?"

Alfred gave a little bow with a flourish of his hands. "Alfred Jones III, at your service."

"The third," Arthur repeated slowly, looking a little less confused but no less consternated.

Alfred gestured to Arthur's things. "Shall I help you with your bags?" he asked, gesturing to the author's suitcases. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled the suitcases in and settled them by the door. "Is this all you have?"

"I, er- your advertisement," Arthur said, recovering just a little bit. He stepped inside, letting Alfred close the door behind him. "You said it was fully furnished?" His eyes glanced over to the decor, matching the interior to the pictures that Alfred posted online. Alfred wasn't very fussy with furniture, mostly eccentric flea market stuff. "Also, I have something coming from- Alright, do you have a father, an uncle?" he asked, finally hitting on the conclusion that Alfred hinted at.

"Yes, I have a dad," Alfred said in bemusement. "Huge fan of yours. I'm guessing you're acquainted."

Arthur frowned at him, then checked his phone. Ah shit, Alfred totally forgot about that. His hand casually slipped into his back pocket and silenced his phone. Just in time as he felt it buzz with Arthur's reply. Well, he definitely wasn't going to answer it now. "Is your... Is your father around?" Arthur asked, still furiously typing in his phone.

Alfred felt terrible about all this. But he'd lied about himself for his whole life. It was a matter of survival. Plus it wasn't going to help Arthur any to know what he actually was. "Nope, he's abroad. Business trip actually. He's usually not around," he added ruefully.

Lies upon lies upon lies...

Paint himself a liar. The bad guy. He had to break Arthur's heart. It would hurt him more than Arthur in the end. "Um, could I offer you something to drink?" he offered, gesturing to the couch. "My last tenant left a lot of tea behind. I think I have some matcha?"

"Yes," Arthur said, looking a bit relieved at the offer. "Tea would be lovely. Thank you." He sat himself down on the couch, putting down his bag and glaring at his phone. He was holding it so tight in his fingers it was shaking.

Alfred quickly headed down to the basement to fetch the tea. As soon as he put a kettle on, he went to his phone. There were already several texts from Arthur. And an email. And some Facebook messages. Oh jeez, that one was a post to his wall with a picture of his house saying GUESS WHAT.

Honestly, out of context, he couldn't tell if Arthur was excited or irate. But the human up there was pure, pulsing anger. Wincing, Alfred checked his texts.

How's your day going?

Fine. I'm getting a new tenant today. Hope he's nice.

Oh funny thing you should mention that.

IM the tenant.

And since when did y have a son? When were u going to tell me about this?

& wha was that bs about not being able to leave the house? Ur son told me ur on goddamned bznss trip!

Ah shit. Arthur only messed up his texts when he was incredibly pissed. Alfred felt sick to his stomach and he could feel his determination to play the bad guy crumbling. He didn't want Arthur to think he was the bad guy. There was a reason for all the lies. A good one! One he'd never be able to tell Arthur. It wasn't fair!

The kettle screeched for his attention, so he pulled it off and made Arthur a cup of matcha green tea. Unable to bring himself to answer any of the texts, he slowly brought the cup back upstairs to the living room. "Um, here's your tea..." he said, putting the cup down in front of Arthur on the low table.

"Thank you," Arthur said curtly, giving his phone one last glare before he chucked it disgustedly away from him. His green eyes flit up to Alfred's, studying him closely. "So, do you live here? The lease agreement mentioned that the owner lived below," he asked, forcing himself to make polite conversation. Alfred was relieved that Arthur was limiting his anger purely to his virtual Alfred.

The false-teen nodded, rubbing a hand awkwardly over his elbow. "Yeah, it's um... My dad's house. I promise I'm pretty quiet. Keep to myself. No parties or anything. I only go out at night, actually. I work at the, um, McDonald's a couple blocks down."

Wow, way to make himself sound super hip. Did the kids still use that word, hip?

Arthur took the cup of tea, taking a small sip. His green eyes glanced over to Alfred's long sleeves and gloves. "Is there something wrong with your skin?"

Alfred blinked. "Oh ...sun allergy." He pulled off his gloves. "Guess I don't need these in here. Sorry." He showed off his pale hands, fingers calloused from his inordinate time on the computer.

However, Arthur's gaze seemed to soften at that. "That sounds very difficult," he said, taking another sip of his drink. "Thank you for the tea. It's quite good. In any case, I think I should probably get settled... Do you have keys for me?"

"Oh, right! Duh," Alfred said with a sheepish grin. He went over to the side table and returned with the little welcome packet. "Here's a copy of the lease agreement, bank information for the rent. Keys to the front and the back doors."

"And guests?" Arthur prompted.

"Guests?" the vampire echoed stupidly. "Oh, I don't really have guests."

"No, I mean, my guests," Arthur pressed, though he kept his tone gentle. "I thought I might have a housewarming party. Is that alright?"

Alfred stared. He had never even considered that any tenants might want parties. Honestly, he should have, since they had the run of the three-story house. Plus Arthur was a little bit of a party animal. He should have remembered. "I guess that's alright. Forewarning might be nice." He'd need to keep himself nice and fed before having a horde of people over to keep the Want suppressed.

It occurred to him just then that he'd have to keep up this ridiculous charade with Arthur for months. He needed to be prepared. He wasn't used to getting his lies fact-checked against his other lies. Gah, humans were so difficult!

"How old are you?" Arthur suddenly asked. He immediately backtracked when he realized how impertinent his words were. "Ah, I mean, you don't need to answer that," he said with a flush. "I apologize. I am somewhat overwhelmed."

Alfred shook his head and sat down across from the author. "It's okay," he said, still trying to mentally file through the years of correspondence he'd had with Arthur. What other inconsistencies could he stumble over? "I'm nineteen."

"And... Your father?" Arthur asked slowly.

Alfred let out a bark of laughter. "Wow, you sure know how to get awkward quick," he said, as Arthur blushed. "My dad was sixteen when he had me. Raised me on his own. Works as a programmer." He could see Arthur doing the mental calculations. It meant that "Alfred Senior" was 35 now. More importantly, he was an eighteen year old with a two year old when he started talking to Arthur. Motive enough to keep a little baby a secret from a thirteen year old boy.

Alfred wasn't sure how he'd explain away the lie about not being able to leave the house, but he'd come to that when Arthur asked. (Which he already did, didn't he? Shit.) "So how do you know my dad?" he asked, trying to draw the questions away from himself. Easy way to deter the interrogation for a little while.

"I've known him for seventeen years," Arthur replied, unable to keep his eyes from his phone. "He's been a good friend..." He turned his attention back to Alfred. "My apologies for my rudeness earlier," he said and he sounded sincere this time. "As I said, I was a bit overwhelmed. I never expected a meeting like this. You see, I had expected that I would never meet your father in person. Nor did I ever know that he had a son. I was just a bit taken aback. However, I see no reason why we should not get along." He suddenly smiled. "If you're anything like your father, I think it will be very likely that we should be friends as well."

Alfred thought that if he still had a heart, it might be beating harder now. However, he felt a smile come onto his features instead. "That would be really nice," he said softly. Yet at the back of his mind, he still wondered how he could possibly keep this up. Should he cut his losses now and kick Arthur out?

No, definitely not. How would he ever get an opportunity like this again? To be with his dearest friend, if only for a little while. (Plus the money!) He would make it work, somehow. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Maybe upsetting his boring little existence wasn't the worst thing in the world.

~o~

Alfred,

I apologize for all of the angry texts (and email and posts) earlier. It was just a bit of a shock. I understand now why you kept your son a secret. It must have been incredibly difficult to raise him so young. I would not have been able to understand that level of responsibility when I was younger. I don't know why you told me all the things you did, but it's in our nature to lie online, isn't it? I'm disappointed, but I understand. For what it's worth, he seems like a nice boy. You raised him well.

Now that we have this all swept under the rug, it would be nice to finally meet you in person. Remember, I know where you live.

Yours,

Arthur

Huddled in bed, Alfred stared at the email on his phone, reading it over and over again. He didn't know how he was supposed to answer it. His "father" could never meet Arthur in person. Ever. Sighing, he responded with some derpy "yeah, that's great!" and left it alone at that for now. He didn't expect a reply right away. Predictably, their messages had been a bit strained as of late. Strange that now that Arthur was living upstairs, he felt further from him than ever.

Arthur had been settling in for a couple weeks now. He worked from home, being a writer and everything, but he liked to keep himself up in the attic. He said the dusty place had character. He'd been quiet up until now, keeping to himself, but Alfred supposed that he must have been being polite.

Now he could hear punk rock thrumming upstairs, footsteps from Arthur's party guests, laughter and wine glasses. Apparently, being a famous author made you a lot of friends. Or at least made your party the place to be.

Groaning, he rolled over on his twin and pulled a pillow over his head. His Want was heavy now, despite how much cold blood filled him. Old Red Cross donations would never be a perfect substitute for the real thing. His teeth ached, dry veins heaving for want of the delicious warm blood pumping above him. Damn Arthur. Damn him for tempting him.

The door to his basement suddenly flung open, laughter and movement spilling into his stairwell. Alfred looked up, his pupils as sharp as a cat's. "Oh! Sorry!" a young drunk human called from the top of the stairs. "We thought this was empty!" She and her companion let out a small gasp as the vampire blurred into being in front of them. His clawed fingers wrapped around her arms, his hunter pheromones making the both of them compliant.

"What do you think you're doing!" came a familiar sharp voice. Alfred immediately recoiled, retracting his claws and shrinking back. Arthur stood behind the pair, his anger like burning glory. "I told you the basement was off-limits! Now get the fuck out of my house, you pissed arses!" Pulled out of the influence of Alfred's pheromones, the pair nodded quickly and left the range of Arthur's wrath.

Arthur quickly turned back to Alfred. "Are you quite alright?" he asked, stepping closer. "I truly apologize, I did not mean for anyone to disturb you."

"No, wait-" Alfred said, too late as Arthur stepped right in range of his hunter pheromones. Arthur froze, his already flushed cheeks growing warmer with arousal. His pupils blew wide as his body took in the greatest aphrodisiac it would ever experience. Alfred grabbed him by the arms before Arthur tried to come any closer. His breath grew shallow, teeth painful as they elongated. "No, no," he hissed, pressing his face against Arthur's chest. Better his pecs than his neck. "Just walk away. Please walk away."

"Ohohoho~" came an unfamiliar voice behind them. "Rosbif, you did not tell me you were living with such a pretty little zing." Apparently, this threat was enough to nudge Arthur out of Alfred's unintentional pull. Arthur spun around, his arm wrapped protectively around Alfred's shoulders.

"Everything in the basement is off-limits," Arthur growled, his eyes narrowing. "Including him."

"Ah, but he iz not in ze basement iz he?" the Frenchman replied, flipping his blond hair over his shoulder. He held out his hand beckoning Alfred closer. "Now come, pretty zing. Let me look at you."

Wow, he really didn't know who he was messing with. And why did Arthur invite people over that annoyed him? The vampire narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he should take care of the situation...

"It's okay," Alfred said, pulling himself out of Arthur's grip. Arthur was tense behind him, possibly from the residual effects of the scent on him. Or maybe it was genuine concern. Alfred looked up to the Frenchman and let loose. His eyes grew sharp and hypnotic, his pheromones wafting off of him in waves. He knew even without looking that he held everyone's attention on the ground floor. It was an exhilarating reminder of how much power he could have over humankind. "What's your name?" he asked the Frenchman lightly.

"Francis," the Frenchman wheezed.

Smirking, Alfred waved him down towards his lair. "Francis. Come with me." Eagerly, the Frenchman did so, leaving a host of bewildered partygoers to fade out of the trance of the lingering scent.

~o~

The next evening, Alfred could still hear Arthur groaning in pain all the way from the ground floor. Damn, the author wasn't kidding about how much he could party. It was really kind of funny.

Alfred felt very, very good, but he didn't want to think about it. Not now.

The vampire padded around the messy house, sidestepping all the bottles and looking for any signs of damage. Arthur did put down a safety deposit, but it really only went so far. Ugh, was that vomit in the kitchen sink? Ew... He heard a sound up from above, like blankets and shuffling feet. "Oh hey, you're up finally," he grinned brightly up at Arthur's miserable figure at the top of the stairs.

"Don't-" Arthur said, waving inarticulately at the vampire. He really looked like he was going to keel over at any minute. Sure, the side effects of being slammed with vampire pheromones weren't great, but it was obvious that booze was the major player. "Don't pick anything up. I already ordered a cleaning service. They'll take care of it."

Alfred arched an eyebrow. Wow, he certainly had money to burn. "I hope you tip them well," he remarked, turning to head to the door.

"Wait!" the author cried out, making himself wince. Nonetheless, he came down to the ground floor to look Alfred face to face. "Look, I'm very sorry about what happened. I hope that Francis didn't cause too much trouble. Please don't tell your father about this."

Oho, this was interesting. It sure explained the complete lack of texts he usually got from Arthur after a big to-do. Alfred smiled wanly at him. "He won't find out from me," he promised. "Anyway, I need to get to work. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Do you need a ride?" Arthur asked suddenly, which made the vampire blink.

"No, it's okay," Alfred said. "You don't look like you can go anywhere." He gave the author a wicked grin. "I'll bring back a whole lot of bacon burgers for you." When Arthur turned greener, he laughed aloud and left.

~o~

Working the nightshift at his local McDonald's was a pretty mindless job. However, tonight it was particularly painful. Usually they had at least a few frat kids or drunks wandering in for something to eat or crazy homeless people that made Alfred cringe at old memories. Now, there was not a one to distract him. Nothing to keep his mind off of how he could taste and feel how close his co-workers were. It was like buzzing swarms behind him, impossible for him to ignore. He'd gotten a taste for fresh blood again.

Damn it, he'd been so good for years. He hadn't had a drop of human blood since even before he'd had Kiku as his tenant. Fresh human blood wasn't a necessity to survive, but oh how delicious it was. It was the only thing that made life worth living when he was dirty and homeless, feeding that awful, dangerous addiction. He was no better than a crackhead and many times more deadly. Since then he'd been good. He'd been clean.

Now though, all it took was for that Frenchman last night to throw himself at him to give in to his compulsion. He'd barely managed to stop himself from killing the man, dumping him discreetly in some bushes by the hospital instead. Arthur knew Francis, knew that Francis was at his party, likely remembered Francis making a pass at him. It would have been unbelievably stupid to drain him for dead.

That didn't stop the Want from rearing its ugly head, as the fresh blood's effects began to diminish. It was back now. No, it was always there, but quiet. Now it buzzed in his ears, made his teeth ache, primed all his senses for the purposes of hunting. He needed blood.

No! No, he didn't need it. He got along fine without it. Blood donations were fine. They were safe. Shit, he was so hungry. Groaning, he let his head sink into his hands, acutely aware that Maria was coming up behind him.

"¿Alfred? ¿Cómo estás?" the plump middle-aged woman asked. She really was a sweetheart, worked two jobs, had a nice family. Now though it was difficult to see her as anything but a meatbag. "You look sick, mijo."

Oh, he was sick. So very sick. "I think I need to go home," Alfred said, knowing he was cold and clammy. "Sorry, can you tell Patel? I don't think I can take my shift tomorrow either."

"Si, si," Maria said, her face effecting concern. "Of course, mijo. You go on home and get some rest. We can handle it."

"Gracias," Alfred said with a weak smile, pushing himself away from the cashier and back to the employee room to get his things. He needed to go home. Hide himself in his basement and just go cold turkey. He wanted to text Arthur. Arthur was so good at keeping him out of a bad way...

...Arthur was at home. Shit!

No, no way. He had to stay away from there. He couldn't risk Arthur getting hurt. His head snapped over to the sound of an engine. Some drunk human pulling up and getting some food it looked like. He blurred over to her. "Give me your keys," he hissed, his sharp eyes entrancing her. The woman complied immediately, handing over her car keys.

.noonewouldnoticehergone.

Alfred kicked her out and then sped his way along to Coney Island Hospital.

He whipped out his phone and dialed a number long memorized. "Ivan," he whispered. "Ivan, I need your help."

~o~

When Alfred arrived at the hospital, Ivan was already waiting for him in the back, hands in the pockets of his white lab coat as he looked sternly at the car as Alfred pulled up. He was an enormous man with the usual slavic features, cool calculating eyes, and premature grey hair. That said, Alfred wasn't really sure how old the man was, if he really was a man at all.

The Russian gave him a disapproving look. "Vhat happened?" he demanded. "You are addicted again, da?" Alfred looked down guiltily as he approached.

"It was just one and he's not even dead," the vampire replied, feeling comfortable in coming up close to Ivan. No smell or taste of human blood. "Ivan, please... please help? My roommate had a party and it just- happened. I didn't mean to do it..." he pleaded, looking up at the older man. Back when Alfred was trying to get out of his rut, Ivan helped him out. He locked Alfred down in a shipping container for months, gave him a supply of stolen blood pouches, and wouldn't let him out again until Alfred stopped scratching madly against the metal doors when Ivan brought a human around.

"You are veak," Ivan sighed. "Zat is ze problem vit your kind. Like drug addicts." Alfred didn't bother arguing. It was true. "However, you did not kill yet. I vill give you anozer chance." He waved Alfred over to his Buick. "I vill take you to same place. Hopefully, it vill not take as long zis time."

"Thank you," the vampire muttered quietly as he got into the back of the car. "Oh, um, could you also go to my house? There's... a man there. His name's Arthur. Can you just tell him that I'm going to be away for a little while?" Alfred didn't dare look to see what expression Ivan held. The Russian was quiet for a very long time.

Finally, "Da."

~o~

Arthur paced the living room again, too worried to get to work and continue writing. It had been three days since he'd had any contact with Alfred, ever since the boy had left to do his shift at McDonald's. He'd asked around there, but apparently Alfred had taken off early because he was feeling ill. However, he held off on calling the police so far, trying to tell himself that Alfred was just a nineteen year old boy. Maybe he'd just skived off work and was off with his friends. It was New York after all. Arthur had been that wild when he was young in London.

Except he felt responsible for the boy's welfare. It wasn't exactly what he signed up for when he signed that lease. He was by no means a model for decent human behaviour. He'd never been inclined to look after another living being in his entire life. Even his relationships were just brief flings before he got bored with them. Maybe that was why he was perfectly content to keep his most valuable relationship virtual indefinitely. Now though, his best friend's son was missing and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do.

"Damn it," he cursed, picking up the phone. He'd been sitting indecisively on this for too long. He had to call the police.

Suddenly, the door buzzed, making Arthur jump in his skin. He dashed over to the door, hoping that he'd find Alfred just behind it. However, what he found instead was a huge, looming slavic man. The sight of him immediately sent chills down Arthur's spine as if he knew that there was something inherently wrong with his very existence. There you go with your overactive imagination again, Arthur chided, straightening up as he greeted his visitor. "Can I help you?"

"You are Arzur, da?" the man said in a heavy Russian accent.

"Yes...?" Arthur replied, hiding his nervous suspicion. What on earth would this man want with him? His mind immediately went to his missing roommate. Was this fellow holding him ransom? He certainly looked the unsavoury type of bloke. Mafia?

"I come on behalf of Alfred," the man said, confirming part of Arthur's suspicions. "He is in rehabilitation. He vill be avay." Then with that, the slav began to depart.

Wait. What?! "Hold on a minute!" Arthur cried out, unable to accept this crude explanation. "Rehabilitation? What center is he in? And what is he supposed to be addicted to?" He jogged down the steps, catching up and blocking the man's path. "You can't expect that I should leave this alone just like that!"

The slav looked down at him with his chilling gray -almost violet- eyes. Instead of answering, he asked instead, "You are close to Alfred?"

Arthur's enthusiasm sputtered a bit at that. "Yes- well, no," He sounded a bit daft being so worried over someone he'd barely known for a fortnight. "However, he is important nonetheless. I need to know that he is in good hands for my own peace of mind."

The slav regarded him with some incomprehensible look. Finally, he said, "He is addicted to substance from party." The words knocked the very ground from under Arthur's feet and he felt a little faint. Holy hell. From his party. This was his fault.

"I am doctor," the slav assured him curtly, his huge hand coming to the swaying author to steady him. "I vill be taking care of him. Zis has happened before."

"I... I see," Arthur said weakly. "Is there any way that I can see him? Or talk to him?" Though now he was doubting that he should. Didn't he do enough damage already? Would Alfred even be interested in speaking with him?

"...I vill see if he is villing," the slav doctor replied. He gave a short bow of his head. "Good day, Arzur." With that he finally left. Only when the Russian was out of sight did Arthur realize that he never got the man's name.