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Mark is rambling, again. He just doesn’t shut up. Rev grits his teeth and tries to ignore him, resolutely working on his essay. He doesn’t know what Mark is going on about— and, frankly, he doesn't care. He just wishes he’d be—
…quiet?
Rev pauses, blinks. Mark’s constant background noise has teetered off. Rev turns to Mark’s side of the room, where he’d been sitting in his coffin, petting Raven in his laps and talking about his day or something. He finds Mark, miraculously quiet, and completely frozen, one hand in the air, paused mid-petting. Raven, half asleep, stirs awake, looking up at him and meowing grumpily. Mark isn’t reacting, just…staring. His eyes are hyper-focused on Raven, specifically at her— collar? No, below that, her neck. Specifically the area, where, after far too much flesh loss, had been left open to reveal veins and bones.
His jaw opens.
“I don’t care if you eat her,” Rev says. Mark startles— in the same moment, he jolts back and his back slams against the walls of his coffin, the cover flies off the wall and bonks him on the head. Raven, somehow, has avoided all this and not died, but her lack of any sort of instinct still has her sitting on Mark’s lap, annoyingly meowing.
“Owwww,” Mark whines, pushing the coffin cover back up. “I’m—wha! Hey! I’m not eating Raven!” He holds her protectively to his chest, then seems to reconsider the action with a grimace. He drops her outside of his coffin, and Raven mews pathetically about being pushed away. She slinks away to sit under Rev’s chair, which he wrinkles his nose at.
“You sure? I really won’t mind. She doesn’t have much blood, anyways.” He kicks his chair leg to try and scare her off; she doesn’t even react. Rev huffs, turns back to Mark.
His gaze has slid. From Rev’s eyes…to his neck.
Rev slaps a hand to the spot. “No way! Off-limits!”
Mark snaps out of it with a squeak. He devolves right into an apologetic, pathetic, babbling mess: “I’m sorry I’m sorry so sorry I wouldn't — just hungry so sorry!”
Then he’s stumbling out of his coffin and out of the room, with a last call of “Going to the cafeteria! Bye Rev!”
Rev watches him go, he rolls his eyes and turns back to his essay. He's never been hungry before, but can it really make someone act like such an idiot? Or, well, in Mark’s case, a bigger idiot.
The truth is, they’re lost.
Rev thought maybe there’d be a way out, somewhere in the vast forest surrounding Kade. There isn’t. And now Rev is stuck with his stupid, annoying, happy-go-lucky roommate. Because of course Mark had to follow him. It has been hours, hours of Mark rambling on and on; going from cheerful to concerned to panicky. Then. Quiet.
Rev pauses at that. Last time Mark had gone quiet…. Rev stops in his tracks and pivots. Mark is leaning against a tree, one arm clutched around his stomach, and his gaze fixed on Rev. Their eyes meet. Immediately, Mark breaks eye contact, eyes shutting tight and his head dropping to face the ground.
“Do not tell me you’re hungry right now,” Rev grumbles.
Mark gives a mirthless chuckle, “haha, yea, sorry Rev, I just haven’t eaten since…ugh, a while.”
Rev crosses his arms and tsks. “Come on, we have to keep moving.”
“Yea, yea, sorry, just…give me a minute.” He collapses against the tree trunk, sliding down to a sit, knees pressed to his chest. His face is pinched and his fangs are nipping at his lips. He drops his head into the dip of his knees. Rev waits a second, two.
“We don’t have all day,” Rev growls. “Get over it already.”
He stomps closer— but Mark jolts his head up, hand throwing out in a stop. He’s breathing heavy, mouth open and panting. His eyes are wide, darting like a cornered rabbit’s. “Wait— stop— I’m sorry I didn’t realise I let my hunger get this bad and I— can’t. Right now.”
Hunger. There’s that word again. The one Rev thought he understood. But turns out, all his life, he hasn’t. It’s not a little made-up thing that people use to get themselves into social situations like restaurants or food court hangouts. It’s a real thing. What’s it like? He’s got no idea. But, now, Rev is finding himself face to face with it.
Mark’s gaze is everywhere but on him. The sun is just starting to set, casting deep, sharp shadows on Mark’s pale skin. His eyes are red, but not that same, bright red they always are— here, they’re deeper, darker, glowing with something fierce, something restrained. Rev takes one step forward. Mark’s eyes shift.
The tension is thick. Their eyes are locked. A beat passes. All hell breaks loose.
Rev gets the breath slammed out of him as his back hits a tree; he chokes and coughs. There’s a hot breath on his face, and as he opens his eyes— he finds himself frozen. Mark is not taller than him. They’re the same height, and if you got down to the details, Rev is maybe an inch taller— but Rev has never felt so loomed over. His eyes are worse up close; swirling yet sharp, feral yet calculating. Rev is not easily scared, even less so once he found out he couldn’t exactly die, but right here, right now, Rev finds he's frozen. He stares into hungry, hungry eyes; into a salivating, fanged maw.
So this is what hunger looks like.
Mark draws closer, slow; fangs extended like a viper about to strike, looking for the right weak spot to sink his fangs into. The world moves slow. Rev can’t look away, mesmerised, enthralled, thoughts slipping away from him like sand through his fingers. It’s fine if he dies. He’ll come back anyways. He’ll be doing Mark a favour any—
A favour?
TO MARK?
Mark lunges, fangs at the ready— only to get a face full of magic. He’s slammed into a tree. Rev heaves, but that second to catch his breath has Mark back up and charging again. Rev growls, throwing shot after shot at Mark, scrambling backwards, his codex held tightly in his arms. Mark is fast. Way faster, way stronger, than Rev expected. Rev grunts, focusing his mana before sending a huge blast Mark’s way. Then he promptly turns tail and runs.
The forest doesn’t get any easier to navigate; Rev weaves trees and bushes. Rev isn't a runner— isn't an anything when it comes to athletics, but he pushes his legs to the limit. He can hear leaves crunching and bushes ruffling behind him— Mark is catching up. His head-start is the only reason he hasn’t been caught yet.
Rev takes a sharp turn to avoid a tree, scrambling back up— he can’t afford a second. He can’t even fight him. Since when was Mark so strong? Rev grits his teeth and pushes himself to go faster. The darkness has spread into every crevice of the woods, and Rev’s night vision is definitely not better than a vampire’s. His only shot is to outrun him— but even that might be impossible.
The trees are starting to lessen, and Rev gulps a desperate breath as he catches sight of a light. A town, a street lamp, a bus stop— anything as long as it gets him out of here! Rev uses the last of his stamina for one last sprint, breaking out into a clearing infront of—
“OH COME ON!”
Kade Academy’s looming form is the last thing he sees before he’s tackled to the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt. Rev chokes, struggles and squirms— but Mark straddles his back, pinning him by the wrists. Rev can barely turn his head, much less summon any magic— this time, he’s really trapped. In the corner of his eye, he can see Mark smirk, filled with teeth, something feral and cruel and twisted— no smile that Rev could ever imagine on always smiling Mark. The moon is above him— his face is a black silhouette against the white of the moon; only sharp white teeth, and blood-red eyes. Rev sneers, annoyed more than anything…and accepts his fate.
The vampire leans forward, and bites down.
Rev sucks in a sudden breath as the weight on his back scrambles away— hacking and coughing. He sits up, staring in confusion at Mark— whose spluttering, blinking, coming back to himself all at once. His fangs are stained blue.
He looks up. Their eyes meet.
They’re not back to normal— still dark, still swirling, still sharp, still hungry. But now awareness has seeped its way back in, fighting with the daze but winning, at least.
“What, my blood not good enough for you?” The scornful words spill from Rev before he can think better of it.
Mark opens his mouth, and chokes out a sob. Apologies spill from his lips like water from a tap. Rev wrinkles his nose ridge at the pathetic display— sorry, he was being chased by this, a second ago? What the hell.
“I’m sorry I'm sorry I’m sorry—”
“Oh my god— shut up!”
Mark clamps his mouth shut. His fangs are still too long, too sharp, pressing on his lips and making his pathetic little pout worse. Rev groans, getting up and dusting himself off. “I am over this. Come on, escape attempt over. I need a shower and my bed.”
He turns around, pauses, and glances back. Mark is staring at him again, eyes sharp, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps down saliva.
“…I,” Mark’s voice is timid, soft, “you go ahead. I’m still…hungry, so I’m just…going to go hunt something.”
Then he disappears into the darkness of the forest, like he was never even here. Rev thinks of red eyes, pale skin, primal hunger chasing him— and he scoffs, shrugs off a shudder. He turns back to gaze at the looming— but slightly more inviting than the forest— school. He sighs, going inside. He thinks he’s done with escape attempts, at least for now.
The door creaks open.
Rev shoots up in bed, blanket sliding off, blinking sleep away quickly.
A silhouette, washed in shadow, outlined only by moonlight from a slit in the curtains, enters. It’s Mark. Rev feels his hackles raise as they lock eyes, and he wants to reach for his codex but— there’s blood under his nails and his fangs are stained red, but his eyes…the glow has dimmed, the hunger abated. Back into normal, cheerful, corny, Mark.
Except he isn’t smiling. Isn’t saying anything.
Their eyes are still locked; the room at a stand-still. Then Mark is breaking away, flopping into his coffin. It shuts after him. He doesn’t say anything. No goodnight. No apologises. Nothing.
Rev, somehow, thinks that’s worse than anything he could have said. Then he realises that’s stupid, turns over in bed and resolutely shuts his eyes. Whatever. He’s always wanted Mark to be quiet, anyways.
Mark keeps being quiet.
He’s gone the next morning, and they don’t share any morning classes, so Rev doesn’t see him until lunch— except he isn't at lunch, so he doesn’t see him there. But after, they’ve got a class together— and Mark doesn’t talk to him, doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even remotely acknowledge him. Mark is avoiding Rev.
He sees the irony in this. He hates this switch in dynamic. He hates that he hates this. Whatever. Rev tries to enjoy the quiet— he’s sworn off escape attempts for the next few days, but not skipping class. He attempts that, for a while, dragging Sera with him for a few of them— but not Mark, he doesn’t follow or reprimand or do anything he’d normally do. It irks Rev. He doesn't get why.
The day passes. Rev does an essay at his desk. Mark comes in, sits in his coffin. Raven comes up to him for pets. Rev expects him to start talking, start rambling about his day— something for Rev to ignore and scoff and roll his eyes at. He doesn’t; he stays quiet, pets Raven, and doesn’t once look at Rev. Whatever. Good. Maybe Rev can work in his essay in peace.
Except Rev. Can’t. Focus.
Turns out, Mark’s insistent need to hold one-sided conversations is great background noise. The quiet feels almost eerie without Mark’s voice filling the space, suffocating. Rev stares at his essay, two lines written, then slams his pen down and snaps his head to Mark.
“Okay. Talk,” he barks.
Mark startles, staring at Rev in bewilderment. “I— what?”
Rev growls, sounding like every word coming out of his mouth is almost painful, “You’ve been quiet. All day. And you're never quiet. So. What. Is. It?”
“Are you…worried about me?” The hopeful lift in Mark’s tone and his stupid, shaky grin makes Rev simmer.
“Talk. Or I’m blasting you across this room.”
“Uh—nothing! It’s nothing!” Mark squeaks. He’s not meeting Rev’s eyes again. “I just…uh. Uhm. I’m…”
He goes quiet, head down, hands combing through Raven’s fur, careful to avoid exposed areas. He’s not staring at Raven, either. Suddenly, Rev gets a sense of déjà vu— a small, insignificant memory, bubbles up to the surface, bigger, much more important.
Hunger.
It makes people act like idiots. Mark, like an even bigger one. All his life, Rev thought it was a hoax, something made-up to sell food, an excuse. But he’s seen it now, in Mark most of all. It’s something intangible, but undeniable— a fact of life, a constant truth that Rev hadn’t been privy to. Wouldn’t ever be, as long as his undead heart stayed unbeating. But…he thinks he’s finally starting to get it, maybe.
Rev grits his teeth, glaring hard at a despondent Mark.
Fine. What else does he know about hunger? That people like eating together.
Rev is staring at him.
His gaze prickles on Mark’s skin; scathing like sunlight. Mark feels like a scolded child, ashamed and timid and fearing punishment. It’s fair. Of course it’s fair. Rev has every right to be angry. After… yesterday.
That’s the thing, about vampires. They’re birthed with pits in their stomachs and aches in their throats. They thirst, they hunger; they drink, they feed. Under flesh, between bones, into their very veins, it’s woven into them— Vampires are creatures of hunger. This is the way of life. An eternal truth. One Mark has been very, very aware of his whole unholy life.
It’s…not something he likes about himself, particularly. It’s not wrong, he’s been told a thousand times, that want, that need, that beast that prowls in his belly— scratches and growls and roars. But…but Mark doesn’t like it, doesn’t like himself, when his thoughts are twisted by that haze of hunger, feverish with it, hot blood fuel to the fire in his gut. And if he can’t accept that part of himself— not without ripping off that part of him whose smiles don’t hide the motive of fangs to a neck— then how can someone else?
He hears the creak of Rev’s chair, hears the shuffle of feet. The gaze never leaves him. Mark closes his eyes and braces. After everything that happened he has every right to—
Rev crouches in front of his coffin, pushes his wrist in his face and says, “Drink.”
Mark short-circuits.
Rev shakes his wrist like keys in front of a baby, looking more displeased than he has the right to considering he’s the one asking to be drunk from. Mark stares, wide-eyed and disbelieving, pupils flicking from the offered wrist to Rev’s unamused face,
“…what,” he croaks out.
“Drink. My. Blood.”
“…that…doesn’t clear anything up. I hope you know that.”
Rev growls, flopping to sit criss-crossed and crossing his arms. His face is scrunched angrily, and he’s clearly frustrated— but Mark isn’t sure if it’s at him or at Rev himself. He seems conflicted. Mark is very lost.
“…okay,” every word is hissed out, painful, “you like it when we…eat. Together. Right?”
Mark nods just for the sake of nodding. “Like… at lunch?”
“Yes. That. So— do that. Drink from me.”
Mark stares blankly, before light starts seeping into his eyes then explodes into stars. He’s rushing forward, leaning over his coffin’s walls to get into Rev’s face. “Oh my gosh— are you trying to bond? Really, actually?”
“Wha—ugh—stop that.” Rev leans back, pushing Mark away. “I just— I don’t want to risk you going crazy like that again. Or going quiet because your stupid annoying voice is, turns out, great white noise. So. You need to stop being weird and worrying about drinking my blood.”
“Awww,” Mark is grinning like a fool, fangs on display, “I knew it. You do care about me!”
“Shut up. Come on.” Rev offers his wrist again.
Mark’s enthusiasm dims, grin flattering. He gingerly takes Rev’s wrist, thumb circling the point. For most, he would be able to hear a heartbeat, but Rev has nothing— Mark finds that comforting, no taunting thump-thump to drown out his rationality.
“Are you…sure?” Mark asks meekly. His thoughts whirr. “I— what if I drain you dry? Kill you?”
Rev huffs, rolling his eyes. “Then I’d just come back, idiot.”
Mark hesitates still, staring down at the wrist, nibbling nervously at his lips.
Rev growls. “I don’t have all day, you know! I don’t care if you drain me! Come on, let’s get this over with!”
Mark tries to open his mouth, to find another rebuttal— but Rev’s seething glare has him shutting his trap. He looks down at the offered wrist again, really considering his options, before sighing— well, if this is what Rev wants, then Mark can try. From Rev, this is an olive branch. A weird one, but one Mark is willing to take.
Mark brings the skin to his fangs. He bites down.
Only to immediately pull back, sputtering in surprise.
Rev blinks in surprise and some offense. “Wait, is my blood actually that bad?”
“No—no!” Mark splutters, steadying himself. “Your blood is, uh…cold,” he admits, embarrassed.
“…cold.”
“Yea,” Mark chuckles sheepishly, “it just keeps taking me by surprise, sorry. Let me… try again.”
Mark braces this time. He lines his fangs with the puncture wounds he’d already made. Okay. He’s doing it for real this time, he’s going to drink Rev’s blood and…
The edges of his consciousness blur; bloodlust clouding his vision— a red-hot haze spilling into his thoughts; waking the beast buried in his gut. His hunger should be satiated, he’d eaten recently— but that’s the thing, it never is. It— Mark is something vicious and ravenous; never satisfied, no matter how much he drinks. He’d sink his teeth in, and then Mark would eat and eat and eat until he was full except he was never full so his prey always emptied first so he’d do it again and again and again—
Rev’s blood is cold.
Mark had known this, expected it, but— It hits him like a cold splash of water; douses the heat in his veins in one fell swoop. The blood courses through his fangs icily, like sipping a cold drink that had been in the fridge a little too long. The layer of frostiness hiding the blunt force of the taste. The longer it goes, the more Mark starts to taste the blood— iron, of course, yet…undead blood doesn’t taste good, for most vampires; it’s rotten or bitter. It’s an acquired taste. And Mark thinks he’s just acquired it.
But Mark feels…more aware, more present than he normally does. He’s not losing himself in the heat of the moment, the hunger, the haze. Not grappling for more more more— he’s….himself, not his hunger. The beast buried in his gut is…not satisfied, but not voracious either. Mark could even…
His fangs unlatch from Rev’s wrist, slipping out neatly from their punctures without ripping any more skin. That’s the first time that’s happened— Mark is a messy eater. He licks the last of the blood off his fangs— he wants more but he’s not taking more. That feels like a step forward.
Rev rubs his wrist. He’s not dead on the floor. Mark is so, so happy about that— about all of this. Letting someone drink from you is definitely best-friend behavior! Mark knew he was getting to him.
“Sorry, your wrist might feel a little numb for a bit,” Mark grins, too overjoyed about everything to sound guilty about it.
Rev huffs, standing up. “At least it’s my left hand.” He collapses into his chair— whoops, he might not be dead, but he probably has some blood loss. Raven, who had grumpily settled herself into the padding of Mark’s coffin during everything, crawls back into Mark’s lap. She meows angrily up at him. Mark obligingly pets her. His stomach doesn’t feel empty, he’s got a cat in his lap, and Rev is finally starting to accept their roomie/bestie status. Mark couldn't feel better.
Rev picks up his pen, then turns to glare at him.
Their eyes meet.
Mark grins right back, and he starts rambling about his day.