Chapter Text
The night air drifted through the open door of Merp Manor Café — it was always open for anyone —, carrying the faint scent of roasted coffee, rich pastries, and something floral from the orchids climbing the trellises outside. The café hummed with quiet energy — not the frantic chaos of a city shop, but the gentle pulse of a place alive at night.
This was no ordinary coffee shop. It catered to the supernatural, the curious, the ones who had no reason to fit in anywhere else. And somehow, Elle had made it the best around. Patrons whispered about the quality of the drinks and the comfort of the atmosphere; anyone who walked through the doors felt at home immediately.
Avid moved gracefully behind the counter, pulling espresso shots, serving rare blood wine, and checking the recipes for minor magical tweaks — a touch more nether wart powder, a pinch of pixie dust, something to make the night just right. He smiled to himself as he worked, humming softly.
Scott spent most of his time at Merp Manor Café, though he rarely lifted a finger behind the counter. He was a constant presence, wandering through the tables, straightening a chair, adjusting a display, observing the patrons with that quiet attentiveness that made Avid’s chest tighten pleasantly — maybe his heart fluttering if it could still do such a thing.
In truth, he had taken it upon himself to do more than just look busy. Inspired by Avid’s willingness to dive back into the academic life with online lessons in alchemy and chemistry, Scott had begun cataloging and preserving the history of Oakhurst and the surrounding regions — old records, forgotten buildings, even the subtle lore that the supernatural community had left behind. It was slower work than Avid’s energetic multitasking, but it suited him: quiet, methodical, meaningful.
He watched Avid move behind the counter with ease and endless energy — serving espresso based drinks and somehow still finding time for his studies. Scott shook his head slightly in admiration, letting himself be a little in awe of the vampire at the center of it all. How did he do it? How did he manage the shop, his lessons, his endless energy, and still have time and patience for Scott? Beats him...
Open mic night had become something of an institution at Merp Manor Café. Every Friday, rain or shine. Though, knowing Oakhurst it was more likely to rain.
What had started as a casual invitation scribbled on a chalkboard by the entrance had turned into something much bigger.
Drift had found a band in Oakhurst almost immediately—of course she had—and from there it had snowballed into regional tours, late-night drives, and a small but fiercely loyal following. The kind of band that only came together in a town like this. Their keyboardist had too many hands to be considered polite anywhere else, which made for chords no human could play. Their singer was an enderman who’d beaten the old curse of being unseen, learned how to hold a gaze without vanishing, his voice low and resonant enough to still a room. And then there was Drift herself who was a vampire.
They started as a cover band, at first. Old songs, familiar melodies, reworked with supernatural precision and a little bite. Somehow, that made them even better.
Whenever they were back in town, the coffee shop filled faster than usual, patrons drawn in by word of mouth and the promise of live music that magically lingered in your chest long after the last note faded.
Success followed naturally. Regional tours. A small but fiercely loyal following that planned trips around wherever the band happened to be playing next.
The band took the small stage with easy confidence. Shelby was as close to the front as possible while Scott lingered near the back, arms crossed loosely, watching the way the space transformed with the band’s music.
After a couple of songs, Drift glanced mischievously toward the counter and that’s how one knew she was up to no good.
“And,” she said into the singer’s mic, grinning far too proud of herself, “we’re stealing your barista for a couple songs.”
Avid froze.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened. They’d discovered his talent entirely by accident —late one night after closing, when the café was quiet and Avid thought he was alone. He’d been cleaning the espresso machine, humming absently, then singing without thinking, unguarded in a way he didn't let himself do around people.
Scott had heard him from his booth. He’d stopped dead, just listening, struck by the softness of it, the control, the way Avid’s voice seemed to carry warmth without trying. It wasn’t loud or showy. It didn’t need to be. It felt honest. Real. It had become, quietly, Scott’s favorite sound in the world.
Now, under a roomful of eyes, Avid looked like he might vanish anyway.
Scott felt it before he saw it—the familiar flicker of nerves. Avid hesitated, cheeks warming — already pink on the still pale side of his face — shoulders drawing in just slightly as the room’s attention shifted towards him.
Elle was the first to clap loudly, pushing at his shoulder to guide him toward the stage, Shelby whistled, and Drift’s grin widened like she’d planned this all along — and knowing her, she probably did.
Avid stepped up anyway.
The first few seconds were tentative—then he let go.
Avid glanced toward Scott, uncertainty showing.
Scott met his eyes and gave him a small, steady nod — reminding him that he has got this.
His voice carried beautifully, clear and warm, threading itself through the music like it had always belonged there. Scott watched him with something like reverence, heart swelling at the way Avid seemed to forget himself entirely once the song took hold.
Halfway through, Avid glanced toward him.
And winked.
Scott had to look away.
Elle leaned in with no bite “Oh my god, ew Scott!”
Shelby laughed. “Scott, you know you’re a groupie, right?”
“I am not,” Scott muttered, though he didn’t deny the fond smile tugging at his lips.
By the time the folk song ended, the applause was warm and genuine. Avid ducked his head, flustered again, retreating back behind the counter like he hadn’t just undone half the room. Scott’s applause and cheering probably the loudest among the crowd.
Merp Manor Café was proudly displaying Shelby’s book by the window with a handwritten sign that read 'Yes, it’s fiction. No, you can’t ask which parts'.
It had sold out twice already.
Officially, it was a novel. A work of 'speculative fiction', even. A sweeping, slightly unhinged story about hidden worlds, ancient creatures, and the quiet logistics of surviving immortality. Unofficially, it was Shelby taking everything she knew about this secret world interspersed with a slow building romance between the main two characters.
The reviews were glowing. Critics praised the ‘imaginative worldbuilding’ and the ‘uncanny realism’ of the supernatural elements. One particularly enthusiastic reviewer noted that it ‘felt researched in a way that bordered on suspicious’. Shelby pretended not to see that one.
Elle had celebrated the publication by adding a special to the menu called Peer Review. It tasted different every time you ordered it and came with a warning label on the cup that said Inspired by true events. Probably.
Drift, meanwhile, had opened her very own supernatural detective agency. A field she created herself.
She now owned her very own trench coat and solved all sorts of supernatural cases. Her very first one: a laundromat ran by no one, where socks tended to lose their pairs, and a ghost who wasn’t malevolent so much as deeply passive-aggressive. Drift solved it with ease by pointing out to the ghost the he didn’t have feet anymore, suggesting—politely—that it move on with its unlife.
After that word spread. New and more perplexing cases followed.
Curses. Missing artifacts. All of that.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, she acquired a cat by accident. Ruth had appeared on her agency’s doorstep one night, a small calico cat with big bright eyes. Ruth accompanied her on investigations by sitting exactly where she was least helpful and judging everyone involved.
Elle, through it all, was also thriving. The coffee shop was a success, but that was only part of it. On top of it all, she’d become a well loved part of the community that she’d prided herself so much in being all those centuries ago. Her body had also changed with the time, she’d grown a tail and a horn of her own, her face had become dual toned, one of her hands looked like it had been dipped in dark ink in with purple specks a way that still fascinated her no matter how many times she turned it over in the light. She wore every change like a badge of honour.
Avid had also changed. His horns had grown longer, curling upwards with enough presence that Scott had started having to pay attention to where his face was in relation to them. They required care now. Regular cleaning, careful polishing, the occasional application of scented pomades and balms Scott insisted were necessary for structural integrity and absolutely not an excuse to spend time with his hands in Avid’s hair.
Half of Avid’s skin had settled into stark black, the contrast with vampire skin clean and striking, as though he’d been rendered in ink, and beneath it, faint veins of violet magic traced living parts when the light hit just right.
Scott noticed every single detail — not out of vigilance, but because Avid was where his eyes always landed. Especially now, when he was close enough to see the small things. The way the light caught in his golden eye, the faint pulse of magic beneath his skin, the familiar shape of him changing without ever becoming unrecognizable.
Privately — shamelessly — Scott loved every change. Avid was a careful balance of danger and gentleness, something sharp-edged and soft all at once. A contradiction that should not have worked, and yet belonged to him so completely it felt inevitable.
Avid had been trying to get them a pet for months. The campaign intensified dramatically once Drift brought home her detective cat, Ruth — a small calico creature with the unsettling confidence of someone who definitely knew far too much and chose not to share with them.
Ruth followed Drift everywhere. Ruth slept on important papers. Ruth accepted praise like it was her due. Ruth even got away with sleeping on the kitchen counters.
Avid watched all of this with something that wasn’t quite jealousy, but lived nearby. A quiet, yearning sort of want. He never said anything outright — just lingered a little longer when Ruth purred, smiled too softly when she curled up on Drift’s shoulder, and sighed in a way that suggested a deeply personal injustice.
Scott’s refusals came easily, rehearsed and varied just enough to sound reasonable.
“You’re too busy for a dog, Avid” he’d say.
“It wouldn’t be fair to the human, they belong in the city, Avid, with... Infrastructure.”
“You can’t have a sheep, my dear. We eat sheep.”
And, on particularly long days.
“You would forget to clean after it, and then I would be the one cleaning after it, Avid.”
Which wasn’t even fair because he had gotten so much better at picking up his dirty socks off the bedroom floor!
Avid accepted every refusal with exaggerated grace —, going oh, nodding thoughtfully, hands folded like a picture of patience. But every time Drift arrived with Ruth draped smugly over her shoulder — blinking slowly, tail flicking, clearly aware she was beloved — Avid’s gaze slid back to Scott.
It was not accusatory.
It was worse.
It was wounded.
A look that said “You see this? You see what you’re denying us?”
Scott ignored it with the practiced resolve of a man who absolutely knew he would be giving in soon.
After the tenth no, when they were crossing the old stone bridge to the castle, Scott stopped so abruptly that Avid nearly bumped into him.
“Scott?”
Scott raised a hand, shushing him.
There it was again, — a sound so small it almost disappeared into the night. Thin. Broken. A trembling pitiful little squeak slipping through the gaps between the stones.
Scott was already crouching, head tilted to the side as he tried to triangulate the source of the sound.
Nestled in the shadows tucked a larger crack of the cobblestone’s was a baby bat.
He was impossibly small. Pale to the point of translucence, fur damp and clumped from the rain, ears far too big for his head and eyes even bigger — dark, glossy, terrified. One wing lay at a wrong angle, torn and trembling every time he tried to move.
Avid’s chest ached just looking at him.
“Oh,” Avid breathed. “Oh no.”
Scott didn’t even hesitate.
He shrugged off his leather jacket and, with impossibly gentle hands, gathered the tiny creature into his hands, cradling him against his chest, shielding him from the cold and the wind and the rest of the world.
“It’s alright,” Scott murmured, voice low and steady. “I’ve got you.”
The bat squeaked again, pressing closer.
Recovery was slow. The wing was splinted with an old popsicle stick and bandages.
The two researched obsessively, using Avid’s access to academic libraries way beyond what was sensible. Albino bats were fragile things. Different dietary needs altogether. Different sensitivities. Avid’s alchemy coursework finally had a use that wasn’t theoretical, hands precise as he brewed nutrient mixtures and gentle salves, adjusting formulas until the bat stopped trembling and started eating on his own.
Scott hovered like a sentinel. Demanded total silence when he saw the bat was napping. Adjusted blankets far too tight around the bat’s body. Sat upright very still while the bat curled against his throat or tucked into the hollow of his collarbone.
The girls were also endlessly entertained by the addition to the household.
The bat purred when stroked — an absurd, tiny sound akin to the one vampires made when comfortable or content — and burrowed closer whenever someone spoke softly. He learned voices. Learned hands. Learned safety from the group.
They named him Squeak.
Well. Avid and the girls named him Pipsqueak. Scott resisted for exactly one day, right up until the bat responded to it.
“Don’t encourage him,” Scott muttered one afternoon when the bat crawled up Avid’s sleeve as he revised for an upcoming exam and promptly fell asleep tangled in his hair.
“He likes me,” Avid said smugly.
“He thinks you’re a tree, my dear.” Scott added.
Teaching him to fly came later.
At night, when the courtyard was quiet and the wind was still, Scott stood with arms outstretched, voice calm and unwavering as the bat wobbled uncertainly into the air.
“That’s it,” Scott murmured. “You’re doing well. Take your time.”
Avid watched from the steps, heart so full it hurt.
When the wing healed fully, they flew together — Scott and Avid in their bat forms, guiding gently, circling wide, never rushing. There was no real communication, not the way they might have wanted. Vampirism had its limits.
Still, Squeak was a smart little creature and learned fast.
Eventually, Squeak took to the skies properly — strong, confident and free.
Scott watched him from the courtyard as he practiced longer, wider loops, wings steady now, landing cleanly without wobble or fear. Every small success filled Scott with pride… and something heavier he refused to name as he realise their time was coming to an end.
“It’s time,” Scott said one evening, quietly.
Avid looked at him. “Are you sure?”
Scott nodded. He may have sounded composed, but he wasn’t.
They prepared carefully. No dramatics —Scott wouldn’t allow it anyway. Just a calm, deliberate evening meant to say: you’re ready now. Scott checked Squeak’s wings one last time, fingers lingering longer than strictly necessary. Avid whispered encouragements, promises the bat didn’t understand or need but very much helped Avid say goodbye.
When Squeak took flight, the silence he left behind felt enormous.
Scott stood very still, eyes fixed on the dark sky, watching as the small white shape rose higher and higher before disappearing beyond the forest trees.
“This is it.” Avid said softly, stepping closer and drawing Scott in — for Scott’s comfort as much as his own. “We did good.”
Minutes passed with the two of them under the night sky.
Then—
A rush of white wings in the dark.
Squeak swooped back down, landing neatly on the castle eaves like nothing unusual had happened at all.
Scott raised an eyebrow. “What is he doing?”
Squeak dropped again, flying fast and lower this time. He passed Scott’s shoulder, brushed close to Avid’s hair, then vanished into the dark once more.
“There he goes!” Avid said, watching as the small creature faded again. “See? Just… checking.”
Only to return one more time.
This time, he landed directly on Scott’s shoulder and tucked himself in, small body warm, cold nose pressing against Scott’s neck with unmistakable affection.
Scott froze.
Avid stared. Then stared harder. “I don’t think he—”
“I believe,” Scott said slowly, eyes flicking down to the white-furred shape very deliberately making a nest out of his jacket collar, “that he may have misunderstood the concept of farewell.”
Avid pressed his lips together, failing spectacularly to restrain a smile.
“So,” he said lightly. “I think I won.”
“What do you mean.” Scott asked, glancing back up at him.
Avid nodded toward the small shape on Scott’s shoulder. “We have a pet.”
Scott sighed — long, deeply resigned — and wrapped an arm around Avid’s shoulders. “We are not discussing this.”
And Avid leaned into Scott, beaming wide.
Absolutely victorious.
Rain streaked down the tall windows of Merp Manor Café, blurring the lights outside into soft halos of gold and violet. It was the good kind of rain — steady, atmospheric, the sort that made people linger over their drinks and stay a little longer than necessary.
Avid stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, horns polished to a gentle sheen. The chalkboard behind him advertised the nightly specials in neat handwriting.
The bell above the door chimed. Scott’s leather jacket was just ever so slightly wet as he made it from the castle. He took a moment to look around and take in what Elle done with the place before his gaze inevitably landed on Avid.
Avid’s mouth curved immediately upon seeing him.
“Well,” he said, voice slipping easily into his professional tone, “welcome to Merp Manor Café. What can I get for you tonight?”
Scott approached the counter, thin smirk in his face. “I was hoping you might recommend something.”
“Oh?” Avid leaned forward, elbows on the counter, mismatched eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Do you usually trust strangers with that kind of power?”
Scott’s lips twitched. “Only when they seem… competent.”
“Competent” Elle, who was wiping down a nearby table, muttered under her breath. Slowly turned her head towards the scene and narrowed her eyes.
Avid pretended not to notice.
“Well,” he said, studying Scott like a puzzle he’d already solved, “if you’re looking for something rich, long-lasting, and a little dangerous, I have a few excellent options.”
Scott’s brow arched. “Do you.”
“I do.” Avid tapped the counter thoughtfully. “Though I should warn you — some of them tend to linger. Follow you home and refuse to leave.”
Scott smiled then, soft and unmistakable. “That sounds… inconvenient.”
“On the contrary,” Avid said. “I’ve been told it’s life-changing.”
Shelby, seated by the window with a notebook, didn’t look up. “I hate everything about this,” she said flatly.
Drift, who was doing paperwork, snorted into her mug in response.
Scott leaned closer now, lowering his voice. “And what would you recommend for someone who plans to come back often?”
Avid met his gaze without hesitation. “Honestly? I’d suggest commitment. Comes with free refills.”
“Bold,” Scott said. “For a barista.”
Avid grinned. “Careful. I might flirt back.”
Elle groaned loudly. “I am begging you two to remember this is a place of business.”
Scott straightened, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the issue.”
Avid slid a cup across the counter — blood wine, prepared exactly how Scott liked it. “On the house,” he said lightly. “For… returning customers.”
Scott took it, fingers brushing Avid’s on purpose. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep coming back.”
“You should,” Avid replied, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “I make a point of remembering pretty boys who walk in during the rain.”
Scott huffed, trying — and failing — to look unimpressed. Their gazes held for a heartbeat too long before both of them broke, laughter spilling out. Avid didn’t bother pretending professionalism anymore. He rounded the counter and kissed Scott — quick, bright, a little too enthusiastic.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
Inside, the café glowed — warm, alive, full of chosen family and quiet miracles.
And neither of them pretended, even for a moment, that this was anything less than exactly where they were meant to be.
THE END (REALLY!)