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Scara lived a bland life, in an apartment complex he hated, in an apartment he hated even more. Working a dead-end customer service job he didn’t want, to pay for the mountains of student loans he was accumulating. Just like everyone else, he told himself, this hell was an expectation, the baseline of adult life, and like most things, he hated it. There was only one thing that made anything in his life even the tiniest bit bearable. A lanky ginger, a guy that somehow, at least once a week, conveniently needed something from the gas station Scara worked at.
It was believable at first, little things: a pair of sunglasses, ChapStick, a package of wet wipes, a Tide pen. Though soon enough, that believability began to slip. Scara watched as this six-foot ginger man bought a can of Red Bull at 2 AM, only to pass it off to a man getting gas and leave. His odd behavior intrigued Scara, the way he'd always come in during the night shift, during his night shift, how he’d wander the aisles aimlessly till Scara stepped behind the register.
He didn’t know if he should ask for his number or call the police. He slowly found himself looking forward to seeing the idiot, catching himself smiling.
He felt stupid, cursing himself for ever, even for a second, looking forward to his dumb job because of some stupid stranger. A guy he didn’t even know the name of the guy, he didn’t want to be weird and ask for his name.
He was intoxicated by this man, the smile that was so awkwardly trained. It wasn’t until his coworkers picked up on his behavior that Scara knew he was royally screwed. Only after his infatuation had been pointed out to him that he began stumbling over his words whenever the Ginger would come into the store.
He mentally slapped himself and used every ounce of control to pull himself together and come off as the usual 'idgaf' cashier.
“What’s it going to be this time…” Scara huffed under his breath.
“Your number, if I’m lucky.”
Scara choked on his saliva.
What…
What did this guy just say?
The sheer audacity of this man threw Scara for a loop, running through all the possibilities in his head within a moment. He stopped, a slightly shaky hand grabbing a pen from the counter as he thought about both the pros and cons of following through.
As the man came to the front, with an overpriced shitty metal toy car muttering something about his little brother under his breath he decided fuck it. As Scara rang him up, he’d hastily grab the receipt. Making sure to glance not so subtly at the card the ginger man used, Ajax…
Stupid name for a stupidly attractive guy.
He’d scribble his number down on the back of the receipt before rather aggressively shoving it into Ajax’s hand.
“Don't have a shit night or something,” Scara grumbled, cheeks flushed.
“It’s never a shit night when I get to see you.”
Scara regretted giving his number to this guy immediately.
Later that night, after he got off his shift, as if on cue, he’d get a text.
The notification only further pissed Scara off. Who the fuck did this guy think he was… calling him kitten. It was sickening… and unfortunately, Scara liked it... just a little, not that he’d ever admit it.
Scara faltered, thumb hesitating to hit send
How the fuck did this freak know that
That bitch, this guy could so easily be stalking me, and she gives him the exact time I get off work.
Scara's heart fluttered, and the silence between them was fueling his inner angst-filled teenager. What if he was right... What if the guy he'd accidentally fallen for, turns out to be the man he wanted so desperately to be real as a teenager? How different was being a real vampire from the books he read as a teenager? He had far too many questions rushing through his mind to even think properly. He stared down at his phone at the blinking icon that disappeared as fast as it had shown up.
And left on read, great, good job me…