Charlie wanted to perish.
He knew what he must look like—standing in the doorway like some discount Dracula in yesterday's wrinkled clothes, staring with what was definitely not normal intensity, fangs visible and pupils blown wide and dark.
"You're staring," Simon said.
It wasn't a question.
"I wasn't—I was just?—"
Simon raised an eyebrow, and somehow that tiny gesture made Charlie feel more exposed than being caught red-handed.
"Being weird," Simon finished for him. "You're not getting more of my blood if that's what you're after."
Heat flooded Charlie's face. "I wouldn't—that's not—" He took a step backward, his shoulder hitting the doorframe. "I was thinking about food. Human food. That I should eat."
"Right." Simon tossed the towel over his shoulder. "Human food."
"Yes."
"The human food you can't digest anymore."
Charlie opened his mouth. Closed it. His stomach chose that moment to make a sound like a dying whale, which really didn't help his case.
"I should… kitchen." He fled before Simon could respond, putting the counter between them like it might somehow block the scent of warm, sweaty skin and pumping blood.
He yanked open the refrigerator, almost pulling the door off its hinges in his desperation for distraction.
But the sight that greeted him somehow made everything worse.
Rows of identical protein shakes stood like soldiers at attention. One sad jar of pickles lurked in the back. And there, on the door shelf, a single bottle of reduced-sodium soy sauce.
"Why?" The word escaped before Charlie could stop it.
"Why what?" Simon had followed him to the kitchen, keeping a careful distance. Like Charlie was a skittish animal that might bolt.
Which wasn't entirely wrong.
Charlie held up the soy sauce like evidence of a crime. "Protein shakes and… soy sauce?"
"Sometimes I get sushi." Simon grabbed one of the protein shakes, cracking it open with the same efficiency he seemed to bring to everything. "I like the kind with the cucumbers."
"Kappa maki," Charlie said automatically.
"Yes, exactly," Simon said as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
"So that's it?" Charlie asked. "Protein shakes and cucumber sushi?"
"It's efficient."
"It's sad." Charlie put the soy sauce back, closing the refrigerator door. "Food's supposed to be... I don't know. Good. Enjoyable. Social."
"I eat alone."
"Yeah, I noticed." Charlie took another look at the empty apartment. "My friend Brent and I used to get sushi every Thursday. He'd always order way too much, then complain he was too full for the gym after."
The memory hit harder than expected. Three weeks ago—God, was it really only three weeks?—he'd been sitting across from Brent at their usual place, arguing about whether rainbow rolls were superior to dragon rolls. Brent had been stealing pieces off Charlie's plate while insisting he was too full to finish his own.
Now Charlie couldn't even eat rice without his body rejecting it.
