James ended up walking. He really needed to buy a car at some point; having his own set of wheels would make his daily commute ten times better than it was right now.
Though, if he was being completely fair to himself, taking the bus wasn't all that bad, and he honestly didn't mind a little morning jog to clear his head.
Making his way toward campus, he took in the sight of the thick, towering trees lining his usual route.
He had always loved the lush greenery, but with his newly awakened hybrid senses, the entire forest felt completely alive. He could see, hear, and smell a thousand things he had always been blind to before.
The cool morning breeze carried a rich, complex mixture of scents to his sensitive nose. He picked up the sweet, irresistible aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and warm yeast bread from the bakery operating across town.
He caught the sharp, crisp scent of dew settling on pine needles, mixed with the faint smell of roasted coffee beans drifting from a distant diner.
Below that, the atmosphere was filled with the subtle hum of life—the low rumble of tires rolling over damp pavement, distant muffled conversations of commuters heading to work, and the faint, tinny echo of a radio playing indie music from an open apartment window down the street.
Even his vision had shifted. Looking through the gaps in the canopy, he could actually see thin, shimmering wisps of ambient mana drifting lazily through the air like liquid glass. It was faint and light, but it was unmistakably there.
The whole world felt surprisingly peaceful, safe, and deeply grounding.
With his hands shoved deep into his pockets and the brisk wind brushing against his face,
James took a second to just enjoy the view.
His outfit for the day was pretty straightforward—an all-black, urban street-style fit that gave him a relaxed yet sharp silhouette.
Up top, he wore an oversized black crewneck t-shirt with elbow-length drop-shoulder sleeves that draped loosely over his frame.
He paired it with loose-fitting black cargo pants featuring spacious utility pockets along the sides, gathered elastic cuffs tucked tightly above his leather boots, and a silver metal wallet chain looped from his waistband to his right hip pocket.
Mind you, that chain was at best seven percent real silver and like ninety-three percent cheap bronze.
Yes, he wore budget stuff—try living off two grand a month and see how much luxury jewelry you buy.
He had real financial adult shit to worry about. Granted, his tuition was covered, but if he slacked off and failed his classes, his financial aid would be in absolute deep shit.
His current apartment wasn't exactly pocket change either; rent was about a thousand a month, which was honestly a miracle deal for the area.
If he were living over in New York, his ass would be dropping two grand minimum for a closet-sized shoebox with broken heating. Oh hell no.
The thing was, he could easily handle his living expenses if he just picked up a solid side gig.
It reminded him that he desperately needed to find a new job, considering he hadn't worked in a solid month.
And while Michael would jump at the chance to cover all of James's bills without batting an eye, James absolutely refused to let that happen. For one, James preferred standing on his own two feet.
Second, that was way too much tactical leverage to hand over to a guy like Michael. The sugar daddy jokes would practically write themselves.
James could instantly brainstorm ten brutal jokes Michael would crack at his expense, and if James could come up with ten, Michael's chaotic mind already had a hundred loaded in the chamber.
Just imagining the relentless teasing made James shudder.
Yeah, no thanks. I'll just go apply at an Amazon warehouse... or maybe a McDonald's shift. Work is work.
By the time he arrived at the designated meeting spot on campus, he spotted Michael right away.
His friend was standing near the central stone fountain, casually leaning back against a concrete pillar with his arms crossed over his chest.
He was dressed like he was stepping straight onto a high-fashion runway, wearing a tailored, full-length dark brown wool trench coat over a black turtleneck sweater, wrapped snugly with a chunky black scarf pulled up slightly toward his chin.
Tailored black trousers were secured by a dark leather belt featuring a prominent silver rectangular buckle, and a small black leather crossbody bag rested slung over his chest.
His styled blond hair was neatly parted down the middle, perfectly completing a sharp, ridiculously sophisticated winter aesthetic.
As James approached, Michael turned his head. His bright blue eyes locked onto James—looking ridiculously magnetic for a random Monday morning—and for just a split second, a flash of vivid crimson flared across his pupils before fading back to blue.
James stopped a few feet away, scanning the extravagant outfit.
"There is literally zero point in doing all this," James deadpanned, gesturing to the heavy wool coat. It was barely even chilly outside.
Michael's eyes settled completely back to normal, and a faint, amused smirk pulled at his lips. Classic James.
"Well, excuse me for feeling a bit cold," Michael drawled softly, adjusting his scarf with dramatic flair. "Some of us don't have a thick coat of hybrid fur to keep our core body temperature warm."
James's brow furrowed, stepping directly into Michael's personal space. "Bitch, please. I don't have much more body hair than you do."
The two of them stood nose-to-nose in the middle of the quiet quad, staring each other down with intense, unblinking glares.
The air between them felt so sharp and heavy that you could practically slice through the tension with a butter knife.
Then, Michael's stone-cold expression broke into a broad grin. "Glad you're back, man," he said, extending a hand and pulling James into a firm dap.
James let out a quiet chuckle, slapping his friend's hand back. "Shit was thoroughly draining, you have no idea."
As for why they looked like they were about to throw hands a second ago? Simple. Who doesn't aggressively talk shit to their best friend the second they see them?
"At least you didn't drop the soap," Michael teased, his lips curling into a wicked, knowing smirk.
"Bitch, I didn't go to prison," James shot back instantly, refusing to let the slander slide for even a second.
Give Michael an inch of space, and his ass would run a whole marathon with it.
"Eh, close enough," Michael said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. His bright eyes danced with mischief while James stood there looking thoroughly annoyed.
"They're good enough," James muttered, spreading his arms wide and letting out a long, heavy yawn.
A wave of sudden fatigue hit him—was he actually sleepy after that all-nighter, or was his body just adjusting?
"Werewolves aren't exactly known for being quiet, you know," Michael pointed out nonchalantly, adjusting the lapel of his tailored wool trench coat.
"Kind of figured that out on my own, considering I almost got slimed on my very first day," James admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Michael simply nodded, his expression softening into something surprisingly empathetic.
"Honestly? You probably would have been slimed on sight if they knew you were hanging out with me."
James blinked, shifting his weight. "Look, I get you're a vampire and there's that whole ancient rivalry thing, but the hate can't possibly be that deep."
Michael let out a soft, melodious chuckle, shaking his head until his neatly parted blond hair swayed.
"Your innocence is genuinely adorable." He dramatically reached up and tapped the corner of his eye as if wiping away a tear.
James's brow furrowed in instant irritation. "I am a grown-ass man."
"And I could literally be your great-grandfather," Michael countered smoothly.
James blinked again, his mind grinding to a screeching halt. "...Huh?"
Michael smiled, a quiet, ancient glint flashing in his bright blue eyes. Right—James was still so terribly new to all of this.
"This coming October will be my 198th birthday. You'll be attending the party, right?"
"I beg your finest pardon?" James stared at him, completely thrown off guard.
He had honestly assumed his friend was maybe a couple of years older at most, but damn—nearly two centuries was a terrifyingly long time.
"I know, I know—I look remarkably good for my age," Michael preened, running a manicured hand through his hair.
"I won't be sharing my skin-care routine with you, though." He was clearly in a prime mood to fuck around after a month of radio silence.
"Wait a second," James said, his eyes narrowing as a sudden realization hit him. "Doesn't that make you, like... a massive predator?"
He gestured vaguely toward the bustling quad around them.
College girls were young, but Michael seemed entirely oblivious to the absolute freakiness of his age gap.
"I mean, technically I am..." Michael purred, giving a flashing smile that briefly showcased two razor-sharp, elongated fangs gleaming in the morning light. "I do have fangs, after all."
"No, I don't mean that kind of predator, dumbass," James said, his voice flat with annoyance.
"You are like a hundred and ninety-eight years old, hanging around eighteen and nineteen-year-old girls. That is some absolute super-pedo shit. You're literally Edward from Midnight."
In a fraction of a second, the lighthearted atmosphere evaporated. Michael's pupils constricted, bleeding into a deep, terrifying shade of glowing crimson.
The air around them grew instantly frigid.
"Never... ever compare me to that glittery parasite," Michael growled, his voice dropping an octave into a dark, resonant echo.
James actually flinched, raising both hands defensively. "Jeez, okay, calm down!" He had never seen Michael look that genuinely pissed off before.
Recognizing his own flare-up, Michael closed his eyes, took a slow, measured breath, and smoothed down his dark trench coat.
"My apologies. I almost lost my composure there." He ran a pale hand through his blond hair, exhaling sharply.
"Almost?" James raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Don't push your luck, James," Michael warned, his eyes gradually fading back from blood-red to a calm, magnetic blue.
"For one, I don't look at college students that way."
James watched his friend closely, noticing the subtle, lingering tension in Michael's shoulders.
Normally, as a good friend, James would have backed off, smoothed things over, and de-escalated the situation so Michael wouldn't crash out right here on the quad.
However, as the endless, painful memories of Michael rage-baiting him over the years flashed through his mind, James spotted a golden, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
It was time for payback.
"Two," Michael continued, attempting to regain his suave composure, "by vampire standards, I am actually considered quite young—"
"I'm pretty sure that was his exact line in the movie, man," James cut in smoothly. He casually slouched against the rough bark of a nearby oak tree, crossing his arms with the most relaxed, innocent posture he could humanly muster.
Michael exhaled sharply through his nose, his knuckles turning pale white where his hands rested at his sides.
"It is completely different! Edward was stuck in high school pretending to be seventeen! I attend actual university classes, surrounded by consenting adults who are developmentally in the exact same life stage as me!"
"Right, right," James said, nodding slowly with a look of exaggerated, deep understanding.
"So instead of stalking a high school biology class, you're doing it in an ECON 101 lecture hall. Very sophisticated. Very modern-day Cullen of you."
"I do not stalk anyone!" Michael's voice pitched up an octave, a sharp flash of red flickering across his pupils once more.
"I go to local coffee shops! I engage in normal, healthy, adult conversations!"
"Bro, Edward literally sat in the corner of dark coffee shops looking broody in a pea coat, too,"
James countered seamlessly, waving a lazy hand toward Michael's tailored dark trench. "You even brought the matching jacket for it. Are you gonna start sparkling if the sun comes out from behind those clouds?"
Michael froze dead in his tracks, his mouth half-open to deliver what was undoubtedly a meticulously crafted, multi-century defense of his dating life.
He stared at James, taking in the faint, sly twitch at the corner of the hybrid's lips and the wide-eyed, picture-perfect look of complete innocence on his face.
"So... this is what it feels like to be rage-baited," Michael muttered, his jaw tightening as he realized he had walked straight into a trap.
Trying to explain himself any further was only going to dig his grave deeper. He couldn't win this.
James leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you dated a senior citizen, would she call you 'senior,' or would you call her 'junior'?"
A visible blood vessel practically popped near Michael's temple.
Wow—this was a completely brand-new sensation for him. "You're getting dangerously good at this."
"What? I'm simply curious," James said, placing a hand over his heart as if mortified by the accusation.
"Should I start calling you Grandpa now?"
Michael stared at him for three long seconds.
Then, a slow, terrifyingly sharp smile spread across his pale face. Something sinister clicked in his two-hundred-year-old brain.
"I wouldn't mind if you called me Daddy instead~" Michael cooed, leaning in close with a silky, melodramatic purr.
The quad went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop onto the grass between them.
"...And you made it fucking weird," James deadpanned, instantly recoiling.
He had zero defense against the sheer level of unhinged gay banter Michael was willing to pull out to win an argument.
"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Michael said nonchalantly, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder. The trap was broken, and James had officially stopped rage-baiting.
"You and that gay shit," James muttered, though Michael simply smiled, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
James scoffed, genuinely annoyed that his newly enhanced hybrid senses couldn't decipher whether the vampire was lying or not.
His nose picked up nothing out of the ordinary—just the faint, cool scent of ozone and sweet, antique parchment that seemed to naturally follow Michael around.
Deciding it was better to pivot before things got any weirder, James crossed his arms and cleared his throat.
"Oh right, which reminds me..."
Michael raised a single, stylized eyebrow, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "What is it this time?"
"How in the ever-living fuck could every single wolf in the pack somehow smell that I'm a virgin?"
Michael froze for a fraction of a second, his head tilting slightly as if processing the words. "Oh. You're a virgin?" He blinked, putting on a look of total, wide-eyed astonishment.
"And here I thought you actually pulled. So, what, do you just use your right hand for stress relief?"
If James were still a completely normal human, he probably would have fallen for the act.
Michael's facial expression was ridiculously convincing, carrying the perfect blend of genuine shock and mild pity.
However, James's sharp eyes caught the microscopic, telltale twitch at the corner of Michael's lips as he fought to suppress a laugh.
He could practically feel the waves of smug joy radiating off the guy.
"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" James deadpanned, his jaw tightening.
Michael placed a pale hand over his chest, looking the picture of pure innocence. "Me? Never. I am a wholesome, law-abiding citizen."
"Yeah, right. And I'm the Queen of England," James shot back, rolling his eyes.
Michael let out a soft, melodic chuckle, dropping the innocent facade.
"But seriously," James continued, looking genuinely baffled as he spread his arms. "How can they tell? It's not like it's stamped on my forehead."
He wasn't trying to be arrogant, but James knew he didn't exactly fit the stereotype of someone who got zero action.
He stood at an imposing six feet tall, packing over two hundred pounds of lean, dense muscle with a body fat percentage that rivaled a professional athlete.
His jawline was sharp, his dark hair was styled, and on a day where he actually put in effort, he was easily a solid nine out of ten.
Even on his lazy days—where he threw on oversized street clothes and stopped caring, which was becoming his daily aesthetic—he was still a comfortable seven.
He had athletic clout, a quiet, magnetic aura, and a dry sense of humor.
He didn't scream "inexperienced" to anyone walking down the street. Hell, back when he first moved into his dorm, their classmate Tyler had openly assumed James was a total player who slept around every weekend.
James had never bothered to correct him because, frankly, he gave zero fucks about campus gossip.
But having an entire pack of supernatural predators read his private life like an open book just by catching a whiff of his scent? That was wildly uncomfortable.
Michael wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, his smirk growing downright wicked in the morning sunlight.
"I mean... if it bothers you that much, Master, I could always help you change that."
James instinctively recoiled, taking a full step back onto the damp grass of the quad.
His nostrils flared, straining to catch a hint of bloodlust, sarcasm, or genuine intent in Michael's scent profile, but there was nothing.
"I really don't like the fact that I can't tell if you're joking or lying right now," James admitted, his voice flat.
Michael laughed louder, a rich, ringing sound that made a few passing students turn their heads.
He waved a dismissive, pale hand. "Relax, big guy. I'm teasing. But to answer your question: yes, virginity actually gives off a distinct biological and spiritual scent profile. It's subtle, like a crisp, untouched layer of fresh snow, but it can definitely be picked up if an apex predator is actively looking for it."
James stared at him, horrified. "Deadass?"
"Why do you think high-tier priests in the old holy orders were forbidden from having sex?"
Michael asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice slightly.
James raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Wait, is that actually why?"
"Yeah. The absolute purity of the soul acts as a core vessel for holy magic and radiant energy,"
Michael explained, adjusting his chunky black scarf. "And as a friendly reminder: if you ever run into a holy caster, do not get hit by that stuff. It burns like absolute hell."
A dark, distant look crossed Michael's face for a split second, suggesting he was speaking from painful personal experience.
James took a long look at his friend, noting how the crisp morning sunlight bounced harmlessly off his flawless skin.
"Speaking of burning... how the fuck are you not combusting into flames right now in bright daylight?"
Michael simply offered a mysterious, cat-like smile. "Secrets~"
James's eyes dropped down to Michael's left hand, where a heavy, ornate silver band set with a deep onyx stone sat on his ring finger.
A faint, nearly invisible shimmer of ambient magic hummed around the metal. "It's your ring, isn't it?"
Michael let out a dramatic sigh, throwing his head back slightly. "You're no fun at all."
"So if you take it off, do you just instantly burst into a pile of ash?" James asked, leaning against the cold concrete pillar of the fountain.
Michael shrugged, shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his dark brown trench coat. "Not really. It's not like the movies where you instantly vaporize. At first, it starts off like a severe, blistery sunburn. Over time, as the sun bakes the undead tissue, parts of your body catch fire. You only combust completely if you stay out in the direct light for a prolonged period."
James paused, digesting the mechanics. "So it's a slow burn, not an instant execution."
Michael shrugged again, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You're asking a lot of deep mechanical questions today, my friend. You know, I could always turn you into a vampire if you're that curious. You'd get to experience all the good sides firsthand."
James didn't hesitate for even a millisecond. "Nah, I prefer it over on the living side. We actually have seasoned food."
Michael opened his mouth, ready to launch into a fiery defense of the vampire diet, but stopped himself mid-breath.
He closed his lips, sighed, and nodded begrudgingly. "You know what? Fair point. Unseasoned blood gets boring after a century."
James let out a quiet chuckle, mentally marking that down as a solid victory in their endless banter.
He adjusted his heavy backpack strap and looked back at Michael. "So... if a priest loses their virginity, do they just completely lose access to their holy magic?"
"Considering the corrupt ones who have committed terrible crimes still manage to channel it, I'd say no," Michael replied, his tone turning surprisingly grounded.
James blinked, the harsh reality hitting him. "Oh."
"It probably just gets weaker, or the elemental affinity shifts," Michael offered nonchalantly.
"By that logic," James mused, staring up at the amber canopy of the trees above the quad,
"wouldn't losing your virginity feel like losing a piece of your core identity?"
Michael let out a soft yawn, then turned his gaze back to James. A gentle, oddly sincere smile touched his features. "Do you want to find out?"
James groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Sometimes I feel like if I were born a girl, I wouldn't have my virtue intact for more than five minutes around you."
"Well, at least your predictive instincts are sharp," Michael purred, utterly shameless.
James shook his head, deciding it was best to completely ignore the flirtatious trap.
"So, back to the smell thing. Am I basically walking around campus like a giant beacon right now?"
"Well, mostly," Michael clarified, stepping alongside James as they began walking slowly toward the main academic hall.
"It can be sensed by high-tier entities, but it's not like it's screaming in everyone's face from a mile away. Honestly, before anyone even gets close enough to notice that tiny detail, your other scent notes are going to completely drown it out."
James raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at him. "My other scents?"
"Yeah. The whole 'S-tier hybrid raid boss loot' vibe you've got going on now," Michael said with a firm nod. "The sheer density of your raw aura completely masks the minor details."
Michael paused mid-stride, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he searched for an accurate comparison.
"To put it in perspective... right now, in the eyes of the supernatural underworld, you look like a rich ten-year-old kid walking down a dark alleyway alone, completely defenseless."
James stopped in his tracks, staring at him. "You did not have to paint such an unsettling picture in my head."
"It's the best analogy I could come up with," Michael defended casually, turning to face him.
"Because in both scenarios, if you get caught off guard by the wrong faction... you're getting thoroughly screwed."
James stared at the pavement, the humor draining from his face as the dark reality sank in.
"That's pretty grim."
"It's the absolute truth, James," Michael said softly, his playful demeanor disappearing for a brief moment.
"Every single ounce of your blood, your soul, and your physical strength is a prized commodity. They will use you until there's nothing left."
The words hung heavy in the cool morning air.
A sudden memory flashed through James's mind—the terrifying chaos of the forest, the overwhelming instinct to survive, and the brutal confrontation where Michael had ambushed him.
"Wait..." James looked up, his eyes locking onto Michael's. "Is that why you attacked me in the middle of the woods?"
The way Michael spoke wasn't just hypothetical knowledge; it sounded like the cold realization of someone who had recognized the danger James was in and knew he couldn't stop the forces coming for him—so he took the brute-force option to test him.
Michael looked away for a brief second, a wry, self-deprecating smile appearing on his face.
"Sorry about that, by the way. I had to make it look convincing to anyone watching."
James remembered the state of his hands after that fight—raw, bloody, and thoroughly battered.
It had been brutal, terrifying, and deeply painful.
"...Thanks," James said quietly.
Michael paused, turning his head back quickly, his blue eyes wide with genuine surprise.
"...Huh?"
James offered a soft, genuine smile.
The morning wind blew across the quad, rustling his dark hair and catching Michael's blond locks.
For a brief moment, standing in the golden sunlight with the leaves falling softly around them, James looked remarkably bright, free from the heavy burdens he'd been carrying all morning.
"Thanks for looking out for me," James repeated, his voice sincere.
Michael stared at him, taken aback by the sudden warmth. He cleared his throat, adjusted his heavy trench coat, and turned his face back toward the path leading to the lecture halls, hiding a faint smirk.
"Don't fret over it," Michael muttered smoothly, picking up his stride. "Just don't make me have to save your ass twice."
A/N My work and school been fucking me raw, so, in order to make up for that, my ass will be uploading 5k words, cause why not.
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