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The coffin lid swings open after a hefty push, and Edgar sits up, fatigue catching up to his aching temples.
Ironic, after a full day's rest. Like. Technically. Ugh, he knows he shouldn't have stayed up so late past noon. It's still eight hours of sleep, right? A look at the clock's spindly hands confirms: eleven PM.
With a groan, Edgar climbs out of the velvet comfort of his coffin. He pretends to regret yesterday's decisions, though his inner voices respond with your fault and worth it.
Hey. Brooding's just his signature thing.
Not because he's a vampire, though. Unfortunately, it's popular stereotype that vampires are all angsty and morose 24/7, which is so not true. Cough cough, Mortis — practically the jester of their clan. Edgar's angsty and morose because that's just who he is. Deep dark poetry, keeping to himself, you name it. Anyone willing to claim otherwise can eat a spadeful of graveyard dirt.
Speaking of eating...
Hunger gapes in his stomach. That's another thing, he hasn't exactly eaten in a while. And since his crankiness and tiredness mash up to make one killer craving, he decides he's going for a human tonight.
Edgar pulls the curtain aside and pushes his window open with a creak, clear night sky in full view as he leaps out. So much for all those fancy stairs in the house. Whatever. He sprints, light on his feet with the wind in his scarf, muscles warming up and getting loose.
The woodlands slowly dissolve into sparse buildings and pavement. More careful now, he flits between the shadows as skillfully as he can, eventually finding an alleyway to lurk in.
It's pursuits like this that make him feel like a real hunter. His anticipation seems to materialize, flesh under his nails, the flavor of fresh human blood warm on his tongue. He shifts ever quietly in his cramped position behind the trash can, just as some failed-gangster-looking dude comes strolling by.
Jackpot.
With a triumphant pounce, the human's down on the gravel and bleeding out, mouth ajar and hardly squeaking out screams of terror and— wait, wait...
“Ew!” Edgar spits out some blood. “What are you, blood type A?”
“Actually... I'm anemic— g-god, don't kill me, please,” the human manages to groan, rigid and clammy, near-convulsing.
“Chill, you're not gonna die. Was just gonna take a quart of blood, but I don't even want to anymore,” Edgar complains.
“Ah— I...” the human mutters weakly.
So that freaking sucks.
He flies home, and settles on a wild creature back in the woods. Meh. At least it's not anemic. Edgar drowns out the last of that aftertaste with a shudder, tossing the animal cadaver back down on the ground before wiping his mouth.
He debates telling his grandfather all about this awful experience, but decides against it, knowing it'll probably turn into a lecture about preying on humans too much. Ecosystem! Warfare! Business!
Right...
Edgar crosses his arms, gingerly avoiding the memory of yesterday. His head throbs again, and not just from the sleep he traded off. At least he knows one zombie with the exact opposite attitude towards humans.
“Oh, my god!” Emz laughs, throwing her head back with that characteristic flip of her hand. “That is so sad!”
“Duh.”
“Gonna tweet this. What do you wanna say?”
“Don't sleep late. Eat healthy food,” Edgar drones, deadpan.
“Perfect.” Emz types it out, her thumbs in a flurry on her phone. “Don't sleep late, eat healthy food. Quote of the day from my bestie having the worst night ever,” she snickers.
“It tasted like swamp water,” he laments. “It was like some reverse hangover drink. Instead of curing your hangover, it gives you a freaking new one.”
“Ha, well a hangover sounds just right for such a great day out, huh?”
“What?” he says, playing dumb, staring deep into the etches of the stone table.
“I'm here for you, Edgar. Total confidant mode. All ears.”
“Great.”
A beat of silence passes.
“What I mean is,” she says almost petulantly, dropping her shoulders. “Tell me more about how it went yesterday!”
“I literally just told you!”
“Uhm, no you didn't! You said you stayed out till noon to see her, and that's why you're totally pooped tonight. Tell me the details!”
Edgar looks away, mouth open in a soundless scoff.
God. For how pathetic he's become, he still can't own up to it. Maybe it's him holding onto the last shred of his dignity.
“Same stuff. Went to her store. Bought stuff. Done,” he murmurs quickly, growing dizzy like he just downed five shots of fairy blood.
“Uh-huh. You spent five hours just buying things?”
“Maybe I did,” he retorts. To no avail, obviously, as her unimpressed purple eyes clearly convey.
“Okay then, if you're not gonna say anything, I'm just gonna imagine you hid in the shelves for five hours like an absolute fool and made no move whatsoever. Gosh, you're creepy,” she teases.
“That was only two hours!” Edgar exclaims. “Two hours in the shelves. And then she had her lunch break, so I— followed her...” he scrunches his face. “And... she just spent the whole time following her loser human friends.”
“Aww.” Emz smiles. “Jelly?”
“In your dreams.”
He stretches his shoulders out as two bats fly overhead. Following is an understatement. She might as well have been a garbage collector, swiping all sorts of items and litter from her friends. And she might as well have been a banshee with that cackle, might as well have been a newborn werewolf with her metaphorical wagging tail and starry eyes.
And yet...
Edgar facepalms. His guts twist up.
“Gramps is gonna kill me.”
“Psh, hashtag hypocrite,” Emz says lightly. “Doesn't he do business with humans on the regular?”
“Yeah, but for some reason it's not okay when I do it.”
As if he's doing anything remotely close to business.
“It's not like you have to tell him.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
What's the worst that could happen? If she ever figures out he's a vampire, he'll kill her and run. Basic procedure.
Ha ha. Like he's even close enough to that happening. She doesn't even know his name.
He slumps in his seat, resigned to the gloomy fate of secret spy, occasional customer limbo.
“Hey,” Emz says. “Stop that sadboy look. I'm gonna show you it's done.”
“You?” Edgar sneers. “I go to the city way more than you do.”
“Ugh! You're like, so lucky you can even pass as human, you know that?” she huffs. Of course. He suddenly feels stupid for forgetting how human-culture-obsessed Emz is. “And what do you know, losing sleep over stalking a girl for five hours?”
“Yeah. So what.”
“Nothing, just the fact that you're totes whipped. News flash,” she snaps her fingers, eyes mischievously calculating. “I got better ideas.”
9 AM. The sun stings Edgar's face a bit, but his bangs are thick enough to stop it from blinding his eyes. He's approaching the store at an agonizingly slow pace. Why can't he be sprinting? It's probably just his pent-up nerves frying him out.
The building looms over him, clean-cut plank lines and corners sharp enough to kill. It draws him in. Almost like an enchantment.
He opens the door. It's quiet, the air is lukewarm-cool, and she's at the cashier and her eyes fall on him.
Oh god.
Despite all the clothes he's donned, he suddenly feels like it's still not enough.
His hand rises in the shape of a wave. Damnit. Who does that? But she smiles, like the twinkle of a star across the shop, and it puts him at ease, a little.
Head down, he trudges along the aisles and products. It's weird, being in plain sight. Not his fault he has to hide most of the time, it's weirder actually appearing so often. Okay. Maybe he could buy that small ceramic icon. “DARK like my soul,” it reads.
He doesn't have a soul, but it sounds edgy enough.
Regardless, he wastes a few more minutes browsing the fabrics and figures. Humans and their synthetic textiles. He scoffs. Those are some pretty cool sunglasses though. Maybe next time.
Edgar shakes his head. Never would've guessed that he'd become the most loyal patron to a random freaking human store.
But he's not loyal to the store, per se. Rather, it's more like he's...
He fastens his mouth with a scowl and ends his inner monologue right there, before marching up to the cashier like the fearsome entity he is.
And yet he's off-guard again. She glances up, white hair flipped out of her face and god, is it possible?
For someone to be so beautiful?
Edgar braces every muscle in him to keep from shuddering, eyes transfixed, and awkwardly mumbles,
“Uhm. Buying this.”
He dumps the item on the counter with his coins.
“Okie dokie!” she grins, taking it for a quick scan. “What's it for today — enamel pin, dark like my soul, huh? You like coffee?”
Coffee? He swears he heard Emz mention that a couple times.
“Uh, yeah, you could say that.”
“Sweeeet. No pun intended. Or maybe. Depends how you like it!”
Edgar stares as she pushes a few buttons, lost in the words and her doll-like jerky movements. “Y-yeah— LOL! How do you like it?”
“Iced caramel latte,” she beams, leaning in. Edgar didn't know humans could have teeth that sharp. Sharp enough to kill, pulling him like an enchantment. “Sometimes I even add sprinkles!”
“Cool,” he replies, returning the smile. He doesn't even know what sprinkles are but the way she says it is too damn cute.
“Uh, still want a bag for this?”
Edgar looks down at the small pin, trying to weigh the choices quickly before he settles on one.
“Nah.”
Oh god. Her fingertips brushed against his palm when she gave it. Literal chills. Just vaporize him now. This is the best day ever. Hardcore in a way he never could have imagined.
“Thanks so much for buying! Come again soon!”
“Yeah. I will.”
And this is the part where he usually scurries off, but this time he stays glued to the ground.
“So, uhm.”
He crosses his arms, staring out the window. Words can't describe how thankful he is that no one else is around to witness his total fail-ness.
His mouth opens, but all he does is draw in a breath. Nervousness crawls in his skin like a ton of fire ants, and it's painful enough to just make him say screw it.
“Do you have... a number?”
She's still for a few seconds, before tilting her head.
“What? What number?”
Oh god. Emz is gonna kill him. No, she's just gonna laugh at him to death, which is basically like killing him. He just figured he should ask if she even had a number to start with before asking for it? Right?
Edgar smashes his hand into the biggest facepalm ever. “It's... it's nothing. I just wanted to ask— 'cause... you're interesting.”
She stares, totally befuddled. So much for his secret spy, regular customer status! Now she thinks he's a total creep! God, lurking in the shadows for an eternity would be better than this. He starts preparing himself to scream his guts out as soon as he gets back home.
“Are you asking me out?” she gasps.
He jerks his head to her, finger pointed, and her smile's so animated and fiery it almost completely fixes him up. One word, one word, don't screw this up.
“...Yeah!”
He is screaming inside so much right now.
She cackles. Frightening, bewitching, all these feelings muddling together like one of his grandfather's potions. But the craziest thing happens, she looks him in the eyes and answers, “Sure!”
Edgar slams his coffin lid open, rising up like a jack-in-the-box. Holy heck. He cannot believe that just happened. Quick look at the clock, quarter past 10 PM. He bolts out his window, still leaping from the ecstasy. In no time at all, he makes it to Emz's grave.
“Dude! Dude! I freakin' killed it!” he roars.
Emz bursts out, dirt flying everywhere.
“Oh my god, are you serious?” she asks.
“Yes. She said yes! Oh my god. She didn't give me her number but she has this thing called a handle. A Twitter handle,” he rushes.
“Oh. My. God!” Emz squeals, whipping out her phone. “That's even better, now I can get all the deets! What is it?”
God, Edgar is so grateful to have a friend like Emz. “Here,” he says, tossing his receipt to her, code scribbled on the back. Emz types it in.
The screen loads for a bit, before revealing a banner of colorful drawings and a crazed cartoonish icon that looks just like her.
“I super duper love cacti, muffins, art, and the colors blue, red, and purple!” Emz reads. “Commissions open. I know where you live!” She wrinkles her nose. “Weird.”
“Colette,” he softly reads. That's her name. He finally knows.
Emz is still scrolling. “Aww, she's cute! And her art is killer. Fandom girl, uni student, probably a— oh, that outfit is so two seasons ago.”
“Shut up,” he mutters.
“Wow! Defensive already — so romantic,” she coos, and he rolls his eyes.
“Whatever.”
Despite Emz scrolling a mile a minute and Edgar's best efforts to seem flippant, he watches the screen intently. Glimpses of color and capslock fly by, and it's... endearing. He never thought to imagine her social media, but somehow this makes perfect sense.
“'Kay.” She smacks her lips. “So did you get a phone?”
“Yeah.”
He was gonna get one sooner or later, sometime in his life. Here they are.
“So you— oh. Hold up a hot minute. You don't have a Twitter account.”
Edgar blinks. “Like— like that?” He looks back down on her screen. “No.”
But, he's also done just lurking around. His gaze turns resolute.
“But by this morning, I will.”
xXTheEnragerXx. That's Edgar's handle. After hours of rumination, he's gotta say he's proud of it. His icon's a picture of half his face with the deepest purple filter, and his banner's the pitch-black darkness.
Bio: Fortuna vitrea est, tum cum splendet frangitu.
Location: get lost
Another few hours go by inspecting Colette's profile. Her friends — a bunch of other colorful accounts and chains of retweets and replies, keyboard smashes and emojis.
Edgar figures he'd still be a complete loner if he were human. Except worse, without Emz.
But she has drawings too, of all the aforementioned friends and other unfamiliar characters. And pictures of all sorts of knick-knacks: beads, tickets, squares of wrinkled plastic, ribbons.
Throwback to watching her basically snatch things off the ground. A little heartwarming now, seeing the cluttered warm white pages of her scrapbook.
Edgar squints, before lowering the screen brightness. Yeah, those sunglasses sound like a good idea right now.
With a few more minutes of psyching himself up, he brings himself to finally push the message icon.
Yo. It's me. From the shop yesterday. Cactus is our friend.
That was the code. To his surprise, Colette replies almost instantly.
LAJSHAHAS OMIGOSH! YOU REALLY DID IT! HI! HOW ARE YOU!
Fine, Edgar types, more than a little flustered by her enthusiasm. Probably shouldn't mention that he spent the night setting up his account and poring over hers.
He lies back in his coffin, staring at his cobwebbed ceiling. A whole day later and it still feels so surreal. What did he just get himself into? He imagines himself like a bug caught up in the fine web above.
did you sleep well??:3
Didn't sleep yet, he types on reflex, before mentally smacking himself with the reminder to stay lowkey.
So he just thinks back to yesterday.
Falling asleep was hard. Good tho. Woke up pumped af.
YIPPEE! x333 hope you have a GREAT day!! whatcha got on ur plans today?
Idk. Read. And parkour, as usual.
What about u tho? What are u gonna do today
ASKFHGA WOW :OO think you could show me what you're reading sometime? and PARKOUR? THAT IS SO COOL!!
i should do my digital photography homework ajdhaha it's okie tho cause i LOVE taking pics! ehehehe
Homework. Emz's human friends have homework. Damn right he's getting good!
Despite all his dread over the past twenty-four hours, Edgar finds himself having fun talking to her. So much fun. And despite the stinging light of his screen, he spends a good ten minutes staring at her picture before falling asleep.
The nights are good. No more anemic creatures on his plate, so far. He gets those sunglasses, and instead of hiding in the shop, he only hides a clumsy smile when Colette makes a cheesy joke.
“What's gotten into you, young lad?” Mortis cheekily inquires when he chances upon Edgar outside the house. “Coulda sworn you've always been a sequestered little ball of gloom, but here you are pruning the garden with a smile!”
Edgar looks between him and the plants, a frown quickly spreading on his face. “They're— they're growing too damn fast anyway, it's like, annoying!”
“Annoying! Then how outrageously bothersome they must've been! Toodeloo!” Mortis laughs, before flying off.
The breeze rustles and Edgar closes his eyes, just mildly miffed.