There wasn't much in his apartment. Harry found some PopTarts, a few cans of warm Coke, and some coldcuts (that were fast becoming luke-warm cuts with the fridge powered down). He scarfed down the PopTarts, but made the pastrami into sandwiches and brought them back nextdoor.
At John's inquisitive eyebrow, Harry said, "Makes no sense to waste the light. Might as well share." He held out a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel. "You eat people food too?"
John stared down at the offering. "You didn't put garlic in it in some immature attempt to kill the monster next door, did you? Because I don't appreciate such cliches."
"Pastrami and provolone on white, I promise."
So somehow they ended up on the sofa eating. John only had one half of his sandwich, claiming to not require more fuel than that. Harry would've questioned further, but he was hungry and glad to have more for himself.
It was getting cold. Chicago in late winter was chilly and the A/Cs had been out for almost a day now. Harry was dressed warmly, but the temperature continued to drop. John eyed him keenly as he stuck his hands in his pockets. "A moment," he said, then left the room, steps certain in the black.
John brought a thick blanket back, handing it off to Harry. It was cushy in his hands, likely a comforter of some sort. He thanked John and nudged off his shoes, curling his legs up on the sofa and laying the blanket over him. "Lemme guess, you don't do the whole cold thing?"
"Correct," John said, taking his seat next to Harry again. "I feel heat and cold, but it doesn't hurt me as it does you. I don't have need to keep my core temperature around 98.6 as you do."
"How'd it... happen? Have you been alive for centuries or something?"
John smiled, sharp teeth unabashedly on display. "No. I was overseas with my troop on a peacekeeping operation about... fifteen years ago, I suppose. I worked closely with our local liaison and translator. We became friendly."
"And he bit you?"
"He saved my life. I'd taken a bullet and was bleeding out. He turned me so I wouldn't die."
"Oh." Harry went quiet again, looking down at the blanket. He caught some frayed threads between his fingers and started braiding them absently. "I'm... sorry? I guess? I'm not sure what to say."
The vampire shrugged. "It's fine. I haven't lived long enough to be discontent with my supernatural immunity. I'm fine with my situation."
John, the friendly neighborhood super-well-adjusted vampire. Harry shook his head, smiling.
yeah yeah, Fill 3/?
At John's inquisitive eyebrow, Harry said, "Makes no sense to waste the light. Might as well share." He held out a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel. "You eat people food too?"
John stared down at the offering. "You didn't put garlic in it in some immature attempt to kill the monster next door, did you? Because I don't appreciate such cliches."
"Pastrami and provolone on white, I promise."
So somehow they ended up on the sofa eating. John only had one half of his sandwich, claiming to not require more fuel than that. Harry would've questioned further, but he was hungry and glad to have more for himself.
It was getting cold. Chicago in late winter was chilly and the A/Cs had been out for almost a day now. Harry was dressed warmly, but the temperature continued to drop. John eyed him keenly as he stuck his hands in his pockets. "A moment," he said, then left the room, steps certain in the black.
John brought a thick blanket back, handing it off to Harry. It was cushy in his hands, likely a comforter of some sort. He thanked John and nudged off his shoes, curling his legs up on the sofa and laying the blanket over him. "Lemme guess, you don't do the whole cold thing?"
"Correct," John said, taking his seat next to Harry again. "I feel heat and cold, but it doesn't hurt me as it does you. I don't have need to keep my core temperature around 98.6 as you do."
"How'd it... happen? Have you been alive for centuries or something?"
John smiled, sharp teeth unabashedly on display. "No. I was overseas with my troop on a peacekeeping operation about... fifteen years ago, I suppose. I worked closely with our local liaison and translator. We became friendly."
"And he bit you?"
"He saved my life. I'd taken a bullet and was bleeding out. He turned me so I wouldn't die."
"Oh." Harry went quiet again, looking down at the blanket. He caught some frayed threads between his fingers and started braiding them absently. "I'm... sorry? I guess? I'm not sure what to say."
The vampire shrugged. "It's fine. I haven't lived long enough to be discontent with my supernatural immunity. I'm fine with my situation."
John, the friendly neighborhood super-well-adjusted vampire. Harry shook his head, smiling.