“Wow. It’s beautiful!”
“You’re beautiful,” he says, flipping the camera back to his face and the sly grin on his lips. I rub my hand against my forehead. Every time he says this to me, it throws me. Like I was riding along okay on my bike, but then he sticks a metal bar in the spokes and I go flying over the handlebars. I never know how to respond, except to tell him he’s insane. But that’s obviously not very nice.
“You dislike it when I tell you this?” he asks.
“It’s not that I dislike it… I—I’m just not accustomed to it. So it catches me off guard. Actually… my mother would say that to me a lot, right before she died. So I… I don’t know.” Add to this, a model-esque first-generation vampire is saying it to me. Should he have his eyes checked? I thought they had amazingly sharp vision.
“Your mother was right. I don’t know much about her, but from that, I at least know she was a smart woman.”
This makes me smile. “Thanks.”
“I have a meeting soon, but I wanted to let you know my plans were delayed. Try to sleep?”
“I will. Good luck with your meeting.” We end the video call, and I’m staring at the screen, my mind fuzzy, gut twisty, but my heart warm. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing with this posh vampire, but… it’s nice. However long I’m on this ride for, I’d like to enjoy it. I’m going to.
I should go to bed. I should try, and I told Jun I would. But I really want to finish this section of line-item estimates. I’m so close to completing the proposal. Once I get it submitted and approved, the real work begins, and I want that. If I have to lose a few nights of sleep to bring it along faster, so be it.
Why does the time between a plane landing and a person escaping the airport and reentering society feel like a black hole? Or some sort of gap in the time-space continuum where you can’t reach them and you have no clue what’s happened to them.
Junichi’s plane from Hong Kong (a connection from London via Prague) should have landed two hours ago. I’m sitting in my office and leaning back in my desk chair, staring at my mobile like I’m waiting for it to sprout tiny legs and tap dance across my desk to announce that Jun is back. We’ve been texting and talking every day for almost three weeks now.
It’s 10:35 a.m. and my next appointment is at eleven. An older gentleman who’s had mild health issues his entire life—fatigue and rapid weight loss from malnutrition—is visiting me for the first time. The GPs have never been able to pinpoint the problem. His wife has convinced him to come here to be tested and see whether he carries vampiric DNA. I’m excited about meeting him.
Can you imagine? Going your whole life feeling mildly shitty, thinking that’s your “normal,” only to find out you just needed a little vampire blood to set you straight. I hope I can help him.
I sigh and turn toward my computer. I’m about to respond to an email when there’s a knock at the door. “Yes, come in,” I say in polite Japanese. The door cracks open, and Junichi pokes his dark, curly head inside. I stand and suck in a breath, eyes wide. Not cool at all. I should probably act less excited, but I cannot.
He steps inside. Of course he looks delectable. His fitted trousers are moss green, and he’s wearing a crisp white jumper with an autumny, deep goldenrod trench coat over the top and brown leather trainers. His beard is back as well, neatly trimmed and framing his beautiful lips.
“Hello, Doctor Davies. My phone died in Hong Kong. My apologies for the silence.”
“Hi…” I don’t know what’s come over me, but I feel entranced by him as I step around my desk and walk forward. Drawn toward him, and he smells incredible… Why can I smell him from across the damn room? And who gets off a plane looking like this? Did he go home and shower first? It doesn’t matter. Vampires. “S’alright… How was your flight?”
“Long.” He’s smiling and leaning with his back pressed against the closed door, his fingers wrapped around the handle. “Believe it or not, I have an emergency meeting in…” He flips his wrist up to shift his coat sleeve back, looking at his elegant watch. “Eight minutes. I wanted to stop in and let you know I’m back first. I also read through the proposal on the plane. It’s excellent. Once the rest of my board approves, you’ll be green lighted and fully funded.”
“Fantastic.” I smile. I’m standing about two feet in front of him now, staring at him like an idiot, so I say, “Are we still meeting up before having dinner at Haruka and Nino’s house tomorrow to celebrate the submission?”
He grins, his onyx eyes shining. “Yes. It seems our first dinner date has been crashed.”
I shake my head and take another step forward as I stare up at him. “No. This doesn’t count.”
“No?” He lowers his head slightly to look down into my face. “You’re asking me to dinner twice now? You may want to wait until after the first. See if I put out.”
“Two dinners… three, four.” I step into him, and the first thing I do is slide my fingers against the bulge at his crotch. When I feel the full curve of him against my palm, I give him a nice squeeze. He breathes, and a deep but subtle groan registers from his throat. My face is lifted, inches from his mouth. His breath is warm and spearminty when it brushes my lips. “I want as many as I can get.”
I raise my chin in a quick motion to press our mouths together, still gripping and caressing his cock with my fingertips. But I pull back to make sure he wants it too. He does, because he slides one hand through my hair and against the back of my head as he leans down. I lick and part my lips so that when he dips into me, his tongue instantly connects with mine. The sensation is magnificent.
His mouth is warm, wet and clean-tasting with a hint of lavender. I moan because it feels like we’re fighting—but in the best possible way. He presses his tongue into mine and I push back, like he’s challenging me and I meet him every time. Now both of his hands are in my hair, cradling my head and holding me captive.
My chest is so tight and my stomach and groin are burning. The fire actually feels as if it’s going up my spine. I’ve never felt like this kissing anyone. I’m still gripping him with my fingers, but I want him naked. I really liked these clothes a few seconds ago, but now I find them wholly offensive. Discourteous.
He lifts up from my mouth, slow, and I suck in a breath from the loss of him and his warmth. I swallow hard. My entire body is trembling. He bends to brush our noses together. I close my eyes because it’s the sweetest and sexiest thing anyone has ever done to me.
“The doctor isn’t shy,” he whispers. My eyes are still closed, but I can hear him smiling.
“I’m not,” I say, my throat dry. I swallow again. He’s massaging my scalp with his long fingers. His scent is so strong that it feels like it’s all around me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?” he says. He softly brushes his lips against mine. “I don’t know how long this meeting will take, and I need sleep.”
“Tomorrow,” I breathe. I open my eyes to see him staring down at me, smiling. He surprises me when he kisses me quickly on the mouth again, then pulls out of my grasp and cracks the door open. He slips through and is gone.
I’m standing here, shaking like a wet Chihuahua and wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to see patients and get through the rest of the day.
I am not fashionable. Or trendy.
The world (perhaps mostly the demographic of young women ages sixteen to thirty) has recently become obsessed with Korean pop bands. Young men and women with asymmetrical haircuts, bright, iridescent clothes and pouty, angelic faces.
I look nothing like this, and the fact that I am half-Korean is not immediately apparent. I get “something.” As in, “You look mixed with something.” I don’t look like a typical English bloke, but I don’t look thoroughly Asian either. I think if my hair weren’t this weird lion’s mane color and properly black or dark brown, I would visually identify more as the latter. I don’t dye it or do anything to it other than get it trimmed. It just grows this color—upstairs and down.
It’s Sunday. This particular Sunday has already been much more productive than my usual day off, which consists of lying around my flat watching Netflix and eating crisps until it’s time for shōgi. But today I skipped shōgi altogether (I texted Asao to let Haruka know). I’ve gotten my haircut and gone clothes shopping. I’ve also picked up a gift for dinner. A fancy variety set of organic green teas.
By four o’clock I’m stepping off the local train at Kurashiki Station. Jun wants to take me on a little momiji viewing tour around his city before we head to dinner at Haruka and Nino’s house at seven. He says he knows a quiet spot where the autumn leaves are particularly lovely.
When I’m standing outside the station, I pull my phone out from my back pocket and type out a quick message.
[I’m out front. Are you here?]
The little gray bubbles immediately pop up.
[Three minutes.]
The sun is already low in the sky like a work of art—brush strokes in gradient hues of soft pink, orange and gold. The clouds are heavy, but scattered and shadowy. Today definitely feels like autumn. I can smell rice fields being burned and prepped for the next harvest season as it drifts through the air. The breeze is cool against my face. I breathe in deep, pulling all of it into my lungs.
Reaching down, I adjust the hem of my jumper. In my effort to avoid being flashy, I think I’ve gone too far in the opposite direction. My trousers are navy blue and so is my jumper (which fits my shoulders properly, thank you). Underneath, my shirt is black, but there’s an embossed, subtle pattern there. Essentially, a mannequin at the department store was wearing this same ensemble in the window, and I pointed to it and told the shop assistant, “This. In my size.”
I’ve made a genuine effort to not wear something I’ve had for two decades. At this moment though, I’m not sure what’s more embarrassing—Junichi noticing that I’ve made an effort or his not noticing.
He’s a fashion designer. Of course he’ll notice.
When a black taxi pulls up to the curb, I watch as Junichi gets out, thanks the driver and shuts the door. His jumper is beige but has this intricate pattern throughout. There are brown suede patches on his square shoulders and his dress shirt underneath is beige as well. Stunning. It’s unfair, really.
He’s smiling as he walks toward me. He smoothly steps into me and whispers, “Hello, Doctor.” Instinctively, I lift my face since he’s so bloody tall, but when he places a firm kiss on my mouth, my chest tightens because we’re in public. There are lots of people bustling about, and Japan isn’t exactly keen on public displays of affection—especially queer ones. So the fluttery feeling in my heart is suddenly in direct conflict with the astute awareness of social constructs in my mind.
As if he senses my anxiety, Jun frowns when he pulls up from the quick kiss. “Everything alright?”
