Caius closes Faust’s apartment door behind him a click. He turns the key in the lock - it’s still dark inside, even though the sun has risen, dark curtains drawn over the windows.

Faust must be asleep. Caius sets the bag with the books he had bought, as well as another bag with groceries, on the counter. He turns the light on in the kitchen with a quiet noise. The electric stove comes quietly to life. He fries eggs and sausage in a pan, the sizzling sound echoing through the small and empty apartment.

He eats his fill - even with the noise Faust hasn’t emerged. Caius knocks on his door and goes in, intending to wake him.

To his surprise, Faust isn’t sleeping normally in his bed. He’s fallen asleep at his desk, slumped over a stack of papers. His face is pale and smooth, but doesn’t seem to be calm. There’s a slight furrow between his sharp brows. There are photos scattered under his arms. His laptop is open to the side of the desk, plugged in, but the screen is black. His glasses are folded and put aside. A half-cup of cold coffee sits by his hand, and a police radio set is stacked haphazardly on the corner of the table - its volume is turned very low, and there’s no distinguishable communication coming through now, only the sound of white static.

Caius sighs in the dark. He decides to let the other man sleep for a while longer. He enters the bathroom and showers, then changes into a fresh set of clothes that he’d had the foresight to bring. When he returns to the bedroom, hair damp and humid air spilling from the doorway to the shower, Faust is still sleeping.

Caius reaches out. He shakes him gently by the shoulder. Faust is usually a light sleeper, and must have been tired to sleep through the noise, but he’s the kind of person who dislikes being woken.

Faust’s eyes flicker. Caius watches him - he still hasn’t gotten used to the odd color of his eyes. They almost glow golden in the dim light, shining through the slits of his eyelids.

He catches sight of Caius and groans.

“I should have left you to the vampires,” he mutters, not moving his head, letting his eyes fall closed again.

“If you’d done that, there would be no one to make you breakfast.” Caius says, undaunted.

Faust opens his eyes again and frowns. The residual humidity from the bathroom seems to reach his skin.

“Did you use my shower?” He says, an edge of incredulity creeping through the drowsiness. “You’ve gotten way too comfortable in someone else’s apartment.”

“I almost bled to death in that bed right there,” Caius says, gesturing to Faust’s empty mattress, “so I don’t think there’s any need to hold myself back.”

Faust rolls his eyes. He sits up, almost knocking the mug of cold coffee dregs over with one hand. He glares at it, then turns the sullen expression to the files he’s been sleeping on. There’s a red imprint on his cheek from where it had been pressed into a glossy photograph.

Caius looks at the documents over Faust’s shoulder. It’s a haphazard mess of newspaper clippings, crime scene photographs, autopsy reports, and scattered yellow sticky notes. He frowns.

“I don’t know how you could fall asleep reading this kind of stuff,” he says. “It’s kind of… gory.”

As the casual words leave his mouth, he recognizes some of the information - the newspaper clippings are all documenting the seemingly random throat-ripping killings that have been haunting the city, spurring rumors of a serial killer stalking the streets.

“Why are you reading about those?” Caius asks.

“None of your business.” Faust says, his words carrying a tone of finality, as he stuffs his papers into a conveniently located manila folder. He rises suddenly, his desk chair rolling back behind him - Caius leans back. Faust turns to him. “More importantly, you said there was breakfast.”

He leaves for the kitchen before Caius can say anything. Caius, not to be dissuaded, picks up Faust’s discarded coffee mug from the previous night and follows.

“And coffee.” He says, setting the dirty mug in the sink. “Are those killings vampire killings?”

Faust, in the middle of pouring hot water on top of fresh instant coffee grinds, sighs.

“You’re too insistent.” He mutters. Caius nods, trying to contain his determination. Faust glances at him. “That’s not a compliment.”

“I’m your student now,” Caius replies, not backing down. “I need to learn everything I can about vampire hunting, and the vampires in Gallus City, as quickly as I can.”

Faust opens his mouth to repl, but, after a moment, seems to deem it useless. He looks like he’s resisting letting out another sigh. His gaze tracks to the countertop, where the bag from Olivarius Books is sitting.

“What did you buy?” He asks, changing the subject, leaning back on the stove and taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh, that’s right.” Caius says, turning around, opening the bag. “Faust, have you ever been to the bookstore across the square?”

Faust scoffs.

“No,” he says, swirling his coffee in his mug with a small movement of his wrist. “Why would I spend my free time in bookstores? Everything I could need to know about history is already in the University’s libraries, and everything I could need to know about vampires is in my family’s archives.”

Caius looks up, surprised.

“Is your family involved in vampire hunting?” He asks. 

A frown flickers across Faust’s brow. He doesn’t reply, turning to the side to eat a sausage straight out of the frying pan on the stove he’s leaning on.