April, 2019

Static consumed the air. And while I knew no one was watching me, I couldn't help but feel like all eyes were on me as I sat alone at the table.

Light chatter filled the restaurant. The clinking of forks and knives on plates sounded even louder than it should. And my knee bounced under the table as I glanced around again for the sight of her.

I hadn't been able to rest since midday. I was trying to convince myself that it was because I knew what I was going to do tonight... what I was going to ask Emma. But lingering at the back of my mind was...

It's her birthday tomorrow... I wonder what she will be doing. I wonder who she will spend the day with. Is she okay?

I shook the endless questions and took another look around the restaurant. Lips pressed together, a knot built in my stomach.

Emma's not normally late.

Pulling out my phone, I checked the time.

And she's never half an hour late. She'd at least text. Did something happen? Did Erica speak to her first?

Almost as if trying to make things worse for me, the waiter returned to my table and asked, "Would you like to order something while you wait for your guest, sir?"

It was hard to keep the gruffness out of my voice. "I'm fine, thanks. She will be here shortly."

"I can't even interest you in a glass of wine? Champagne?"

Taking a steady breath before I spoke, I folded my fingers together before glancing up at the waiter. "This water is fine for me right now, thanks. Though we will order plenty when she arrives. She's caught up."

"Very well, sir," he said, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face this time before he flashed me a grin. Then he turned on his heel and approached another table.

But as I was left alone to my thoughts again—taking a moment to unlock my phone and check my messages, which were still void of new ones in the past couple of hours—I couldn't help but long for a taste of beer right now. The storm of emotions raging in me from the unease of an absent Emma to the annoyance at myself for wondering about her again desired a drink to drown the despair. But ever since I met Emma and she pulled me out of that hole, I had avoided alcohol altogether, swearing I'd improve myself this time through healthier measures.

Even though I knew that, as the days went on and mentions of her continued to come back into my life, I was keeping more and more of my feelings to myself again instead of voicing them, bottling everything up once more until I would break.

Though before I could torment myself further at how many steps backward I had taken in my self-improvement journey, the chair across from me scraping against the floor shook me out of my mind.

Head whipping up, I met the chocolate eyes of my guest.

Relief consumed me at the sight of her, gaze taking in her dress—not fitting to the one she left this morning in—and nose relishing the fresh scent of her shampoo and conditioner on her curled hair.

As I opened my mouth to ask where she had been, she was already gushing, beating me to it. "I'm so sorry I'm late. I was on my way here. Like, I even got off at the tube station around the corner about half an hour before we were supposed to meet. But then I could hear some human struggling so I figured stopping a Made was more important. But then, of course, blood got all over my clothes, and I couldn't just rock up here looking like I'd walked out of a horror—"

As she continued to waffle, concern clouding her face, ease washed through me to know she wasn't late because she had run off... or perhaps because I had mumbled something during my nightmare last night.

So, to quell her worries, I reached across the table and captured her hand in mine.

"Don't sweat it," I smiled, giving her hand a squeeze before lacing my fingers through hers. "I'm just glad you're okay."

At once, her features relaxed, that crease between her brows disappearing for the evening as her face softened. Squeezing my hand right back, she said, "I'm fine. Perfect, now that I'm here."

"Glad to hear," I replied. "Hungry?"

"I'm famished," she exaggerated. "Especially considering I lost some blood tonight."

Lips pressing together, my gaze searched her body again, looking for the mark of the Made. But her exposed collar bone came out empty.

As though she was reading my mind, she turned in her seat and shifted slightly so that her leg stuck out.

Glancing around the corner of the table, I took in the two fanged holes on her ankle—now an old scar thanks to an ointment I had given her.

"How—" I started to ask.

But she had beaten me to it. "She was still a little lucid. A fresh Made. So I had to let her think I was actually a victim to get her to bite," she said as she straightened herself in her chair.

"I see," I said with a nod. "Did you get rid of the—"

"Of course I did, Lukas. I do this almost on the daily now." She rolled her eyes before placing her elbows on the table and leaning in with a smile. "Though I miss the days you used to accompany me in case I needed backup."

"What can I say... You're a natural. And you don't need me."

A proud look filled her eyes as she beamed at me, evidently glad she was doing this on her own. But I couldn't stop the other meaning of my words sinking in.

Because she didn't need me.

She never did...

"You know," I then started, "I could join you again. Join you and Erica. You'd just have to give me your—"

"You know I don't want to give you my blood samples," she cut me off, a seriousness filling her gaze.

"You used to," I countered.

"Back when I knew you wouldn't drink it." Back when it would kill me...

"I won't," I insisted. "Do you really not—"

But before a bickering match could kick off, the waiter from before started walking in our direction, having finally spotted that Emma had joined me.

And, at once, our conversation ceased.

"Have you had a chance to look at the menu yet?" he asked, eyes expectantly going between us.

Though I simply turned to Emma, leaving it to her.

"Not yet," she said, but picked up the menu anyway. "Though I won't take long. Hold on." She ummed and ahhed over the selection, taking not even a minute to lock gazes on the few vegetarian options. "The stuffed peppers please with a glass of Chardonnay."

"Very well," the waiter nodded her order to his memory, deciding to be one of those service staff members who felt the need to not write it down.

Feeling a little miffed from our encounter earlier, still frustrated with myself due to the nightmare, and freshly riled up from the quarrel Emma and I just had, I decided to test him. Eyes quickly glancing through the menu, I then said, "I'll get the Scaloppine al Vino Bianco."

Pausing for effect, I took a brief moment to watch him nod as though I were done. Then I went on.

"But can you make sure the steak is cooked to rare?"

"Of course, sir," he said, reaching for our menus.

Though I spoke again, causing his movements to halt. "And no pepper on it."

"Very well." He reached again, his brows creasing as I could watch him trying to run our orders through his head so that he didn't forget.

So I pushed it further. "No garlic either."

"No garlic or pepper, and cooked rare. That can be arranged, sir." He was struggling now.

"And can you please make sure the white wine is cooked out for extra long? I'm not a big fan of the taste."

"Of course, sir."

I opened my mouth once more to give another amendment to my order, but a foot kicked me in the shin, bringing my mouth to a close long enough that the waiter could grab our menus.

As I grumpily looked at Emma while she glared at me, the waiter took his leave, scurrying away to the kitchen as I could hear him whispering our order under his breath as he tried to commit it to memory.

"You could have picked something easier," she scolded.

"Yeah, well... he annoyed me before. Besides... sometimes I need my tastes appealed to." I shouldn't have added that last part. I knew it was wrong to say the moment it left my mouth. But there was no taking it back now.

Her face had dropped, the smile becoming a distant memory. "I guess," she mumbled, turning her head away from our table as she looked anywhere in the room but me.

An awkward silence consumed us as we let the final hostilities clear the air.

With a sigh though, I caved first. "I didn't mean for tonight to go like this. I'm sorry. I'm just... on edge."

Head slowly, reproachfully, turning my way again, she let her gaze wander over me first before speaking. As though she were wary I'd strike at her again. "It's fine. But... why are you on edge?"

"Because..." Now it was my time to be overly quiet. Cheeks growing a little hot, a straying thread on the table cloth suddenly became very interesting.

"Because... why?" she pressed, a mix of emotions lingering in her tone: hesitancy, interest, and concern.

"Because I..." I glanced up at her eyes for a moment, admiring the way they looked at me with kindness and warmth, all earlier hostilities already forgotten as she became fixated on my current worry.

She's good for you, my conscience breathed. Safe. Kind. Everything you've needed and more... Go for it.

Taking a deep breath, I reached across the table and took her hand in mine once again this evening.

Her spine straightened as she glanced at our hands, eyes widening slightly at my gesture. But then she was quick to lace her fingers through mine, an encouraging smile warming her face as she tilted her head to the side, almost insisting I speak.

"Emma... I love you," I confessed.

Surprise consumed her, her once-firm grip in my hand going loose. But as quickly as the shock had washed over her, it was immediately replaced by ease and sincerity. Her other hand reached over, coming down atop mine before she said, "I love you, too, Lukas."

I couldn't stop the grin stealing my face as the three words came out of her mouth. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Um..." Despite that she had reciprocated my feelings though, my stomach still swarmed with butterflies with what I was about to ask.

"Is that not all?" she pressed, head leaning closer as her voice became softer.

"No... not exactly. You see... I want to ask you something."

A breathed chuckle escaped her mouth, her eyes darting downwards before meeting mine again. Then she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, almost as if she was getting shy herself. "Then ask, silly."

"Right. Of course... well... you see—"

But just as I found the courage within me...

"Scaloppine al Vino Bianco?" the waiter cut me off.

Emma and I jumped apart at once, putting distance between us as I annoyingly glanced up at the very same man holding my food. He looked back, equally as peeved with me, though a slight ounce satisfaction seeping into his stare. As though he had been waiting for this very moment to bring our food.

"Yup," I replied, waving to my spot at the table.

As if he doesn't remember who ordered what, I bitterly thought.

"And the stuffed peppers must be for you, madam," he said, placing the other plate in front of Emma.

"Yes, thank you," Emma replied.

"Can I get either of you another drink?" he then pressed.

"We're fine, thanks," I grumbled, wishing he'd just leave. To further emphasise the message, I picked up my steak knife, fingers clenching around as I shot him a warning glance.

At once, the waiter went rigid, genuine terror washing through him.

But when another foot kicked me under the table, I dropped my hold of him and the waiter took off in a hurry.

"Why are you so grumpy today?" she pressed.

I didn't look at her as I ploughed my fork through the flesh and hacked my knife through the meat. And I didn't speak straight away, instead choosing to think about it for a moment.

Because... why was I so mad? I wasn't normally the type to get like this just because I was nervous about something. And even if the waiter had rubbed me the wrong way... I didn't usually hold hatred like this.

Shaking my head, I said back, "I hear there will be a hot spell next week. Maybe it's that."

"Hmm..." she replied, doubt creeping into her tone. "Maybe."

We continued in silence like that for a moment, Emma taking her time chewing her food as her eyes studied me. Meanwhile, I kept my focus on my steak, eating it in haste, wary of meeting her questioning gaze like she'd see all I was hiding.

In the end, she didn't press for my question as we ate our meals and finished our drinks. We didn't even make small talk.

The first words spoken by either of us again was when I, reluctantly, called the waiter back for the bill.

"How was everything?" he asked us as he waved my card through his portable card reader.

"Lovely, thanks," Emma filled the silence for me.

"Great to hear." He ripped the receipt from the terminal and handed it and my card back to me. "We hope to see you again."

I got up from my chair without a word to him, taking no time at all to rush out of the restaurant and onto the street.

You wouldn't think, with the coolness of the air on my face, that a heat wave was on the way. The frigid air was a welcomed relief, cooling the anger that had consumed me in that small space.

Emma didn't join me for at least a minute later. And when she had... "Seriously. What is going on with you?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, taking slow steps down the street. I didn't know where I was walking to, but I wasn't ready to head home just yet. So instead I headed for the nearby park.

The sky was almost indigo, washing with the navy and black consuming it. And the stars were nowhere to be seen, hidden behind the cloudy night and remnants of pollution filling the air. It was on nights like this—when I needed space to breathe—that a part of me missed my hometown.

I rarely did. Obviously. It had so many terrible memories tainting the land. But the peace and quiet of the countryside—the relief of knowing it was just me and the night sky when I needed it—was something I longed for almost every summer when London crowded with tourists in the holiday season. Almost every summer I dreamed of quieter days... except that one June almost two years ago now.

The park, thankfully, was nearly void of people, with most opting for the comfort of indoor spaces at a time like this. Nonetheless, there was still the odd person walking the dimly lit paths of Battersea Park, making me still slightly on edge.

"Talk to me," Emma insisted as her hand enveloped mine.

The closure, the comfort, of her touch washed through me. The bond string burned on my heart as I heaved a sigh—and with it, my emotions. "I can't pick it," I whispered. "Something has felt off all day. Like something about London has changed. And... I hate that I can't pick it. What if I'm missing something important? What if—" But I cut myself off before it came out.

Though Emma didn't let me hide from my truth, instead taking it upon herself to voice what I was scared to say. "What if someone gets hurt? Or dies? Or leaves you?"

I pressed my lips together as I stared at anywhere but her knowing gaze.

"Is that why you told me you love me?" she then pressed. "Because you're scared?"

At once, I came to a stop, pulling her to a halt with me. I turned around and faced her, dropping her hand in favour of placing both of my hands on her shoulders. "No. I told you that because... because I do love you. Because I'm sick of running from or being scared of my feelings. Because I don't want to miss a moment to make it clear how much you mean to me."

Her gaze softened as she took a step closer to me, arms winding around my waist as she stared up into my eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Lukas. You needn't worry."

"I never said—"

"We can take this as slow as we need to—as you need to—so that you can overcome the past breaks of your heart. I'll be here. I'll wait."

"That's the thing though... I don't want to keep taking it slow."

"What do you—"

But rather than explaining. Rather than giving her the speech I had prepared. I just went straight for it and blurted out, "Move in with me."

Her face froze, a myriad of unreadable expressions crossing her eyes. Until she settled on one: the usual sincerity. "Okay," she said.

"It's just that I—" But the defence I was ready to hit her with got caught in my throat as I realised she had actually agreed. "Wait. Just like that?"

"I'm sure you thought it through. If that's what you want..."

"It is," I insisted, leaving out the part that the thinking-it-through consisted of only my morning.

"I mean, I practically live there anyway," she went on, easing my worries further. "It's silly for me to keep paying rent."

"Exactly."

A part of me was feeling triumphant that she had said yes, eager to go rub it in Erica's face for filling me with concern that Emma might reject me. But then another small part of me was remembering the shoes...

To distract myself from the thoughts though before they stole me from the present, I pressed my lips to her forehead, relishing in how the bond invitation was keeping me centred with her.

We stayed like that in the park for a moment, arms wound around each other, letting our bodies warm each other through, but eventually Emma broke the silence.

Shifting back, she walked her fingers up my chest before coyly whispering, "Do you think we could head back now? I'm feeling like I'm in a really good mood after my boyfriend just told me he loves me."

Unable to stop the corners of my lips going upwards, I breathed back, "What type of mood?"

"A really, really good one. Where I want you to show me just how much you love me."

"That can be arranged," I said, already feeling the slight stir in my pants at the thought.

Though before she could tease me any further, I bent my knees and picked her up, throwing her over my shoulder as I took off back towards the street.

"Lukas!" she giggled, hitting me on my back.

And while it was supposed to be fun and playful, while I should have enjoyed the banter, remembering the last person I had been like this with washed me with guilt. Had me questioning, still, if any of this was right.

But as I lowered Emma on the footpath as I called a cab to the side, I shoved those feelings deep within me, telling myself eventually they'd fade. Eventually they'd go away. Especially if I just leaned into the person next to me... the person here... the person who wasn't going to leave.