Oliver groaned at the slamming of the front door. He turned in his chair, feeling the rhythm he’d worked so hard to fall into slipping away. “Yes, please let everyone on the fifth floor know that you’re home.”

“Shut up,” Seth yelled back from somewhere near the kitchen of the condo they shared. Keys rattled across marble, the refrigerator door opening shortly after. “They got a problem with it, they can suck my fucking dick.”

“No one wants to suck your dick, you ass.” Leaving his writing behind with a heavy sigh, Oliver stood up from his desk and went to the door of his office. Leaning on the threshold, he crossed his arms and watched with a mixture of amusement and annoyance as Seth downed half a bottle of beer in one swig. “Why do you insist on wasting money on that shit?”

Seth scowled at him while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why do you insist on cooking every night?”

Oliver rolled his eyes, willing himself not to blush as the answer popped into his head. Because it's the only chance for me to spend time with you. He shrugged. “You find another immortal human who can die every night to feed you?”

“Of course not.” Finishing off the beer in his hand, Seth tossed the bottle in the sink before grabbing a fresh one from the fridge. Trudging into the living room, he threw himself on the couch and turned on the flat screen television hanging on the wall. “Speaking of, can I have a leg today? I’m fucking starving.”

Oliver barely heard the question, too focused on the beer bottle in the sink. Stalking into the kitchen, he snatched it up and made a show of throwing it in the trash can next to the island. “Why is that so difficult for you?”

“For fuck’s sake, not you, too.” Seth growled, the sclera of his eyes bleeding from white to black. Sharp canines flashed as he bared his teeth at Oliver. “I don’t need your shit today, Oliver.”

The sight of Seth’s blackened eyes and sharpened teeth stopped Oliver in his tracks, the beer bottle all but forgotten. It was moments like this that reminded him of why he was forcing himself to stay with the man.

Or rather, what used to be a man.

Oliver had learned Seth’s secret by accident, stumbling on the man one night while visiting his father’s grave. Seth had been covered in mud, tears streaming down his face as he tore into what Oliver could only guess was the lower leg of the corpse Seth had unearthed. Oliver couldn’t only remember bits and pieces of what happened next, but it was the first time Seth had killed him. It had been Oliver’s fault for approaching Seth so suddenly while he was in such a state, so he couldn’t really blame the man for his reaction. But when he woke up the next morning and dug himself out of the grave Seth had dumped him in, Oliver had gone looking for him with one thought in mind.

I want him.

The sentiment died shortly after Oliver met Seth the second time. Aside from being a ghoul, Seth had turned out to be something that Oliver despised – an actor. Used to be fawned over and catered to, Seth turned out to be one of the biggest assholes Oliver had ever met. Even more so, given the fact that the man had left Oliver dead in someone else’s grave. 

After finally accepting the fact that Oliver was, in fact, not dead, Seth could barely stand to be around him. He used his job as an excuse, pushing off their meetings in the name of casting calls and shoots, when he even bothered to make the effort to cancel on Oliver. It took a lot of convincing to get him to agree to their arrangement, though Oliver could see that Seth was actually relieved. The image of his tear-streaked face had already been burned in his mind.

Though, if he was being honest, Oliver could barely classify himself as human anymore. The curse that had inherited from his father meant that he could only “die” at the hands of another. Unfortunately, the death wasn’t permanent, even if he felt every second of the pain that came with it. It would only work if he passed the curse on to someone else as they killed him. Something that he could never bring himself to do. Not even after one-hundred eighty-five years.

He sighed and rolled his neck. “Whatever. Dinner’s at seven.”

Seth only turned his gaze back to the television, jamming the button on the remote between sips of beer.

Oliver busied himself in the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients for the meal they’d share. Neither of them really needed to eat, but it was a way for them to maintain some semblance of a normal human existence. Seth still had his job, and Oliver worked on his novels whenever he could make himself focus long enough. Yet, being able to sit down and have a meal with Seth still brought Oliver some small amount of joy.

Not that he’d ever tell the bastard.

“They want me to do a sex scene.”

Oliver almost dropped the ground beef in his hand. He turned with a frown. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

“If I don’t do it, I’m getting fired.” Seth took a long swig of his beer. “Marty’s losing his shit trying to convince me to do it.”

Oliver shook his head, silently wishing Marty would drop dead where he stood. “Give the man a break. He’s got fifteen mouths to feed.”

“Stop exaggerating. And why do I have to get naked and hump some chick just because my manager can’t keep his dick in his pants?” Seth kicked off his shoes and sprawled across the couch, facing the wall of windows that afforded them a view of skyscrapers awash in the oranges and reds of the sunset. “He can fucking do it.”

“They didn’t hire your manager. They hired you. And it’s not like you’ll be completely naked.” Oliver set about washing vegetables for the casserole, fervently ignoring the idea of seeing Seth naked. “Don’t they do modesty socks or something?”

“That’s not the point.” Seth slammed his beer down on the coffee table. “I don’t want to do it. Why is that not good enough?”

“Fine. Whatever. Don’t do it. But don’t yell at me about it.” Oliver rolled his eyes and continued his work.

“Of course you don’t care.”

“What?” Oliver stared at the back of Seth’s head.

“Nothing.” Seth climbed to his feet and stomped to his room, slamming his door behind him.

“Would you please stop that!?!” Oliver slammed his knife down, hissing as the blade sliced into his palm. Cursing under his breath, he sighed and held his hand over his head. Within seconds, the blood that had oozed from the cut slid back inside his body. The skin knitted itself back together, itchiness erupting around the edges.

“How are you so old and still so clumsy?”

Oliver jumped at the sound of Seth’s voice at his back. “What the hell?”

Seth grabbed Oliver’s arm and pulled it down towards him. “You never answered my question.”

“I’m not going to dignify that question with a response.” Oliver snatched his hand away, checking to find the wound fully closed.

“Not that one, stupid.” Seth leaned against the counter, eying the vegetables that Oliver had gone back to cutting. “Your leg.”

Oliver paused, Seth’s meaning sinking in. He blew out a breath. “It’s going to take two days to regenerate.”

“I know. But it should hold me over for at least a week.” Seth carefully avoided eye contact, his gaze swimming around the kitchen. “I can take care of you until you recover.”

A thrill shot up Oliver’s spine, and he bit his tongue to keep from showing any sign of it. “Fine. But I want ice cream. Cinnamon Swirl, from Bellini’s.”

Seth pushed off the counter and turned away. “Fine.”

Oliver jerked, his gaze swinging towards the ghoul. “Really?”

Seth only waved in response, but Oliver could have sworn he saw a smile on the man’s face.

His thoughts swirled as Oliver finished preparing dinner. It was usually a fight to get Seth to agree to take care of him while he regenerated whatever body part Seth had chosen to eat. The man always brought up his job, and how he had obligations to attend to. If he couldn’t handle being incapacitated, then he shouldn’t have brought up this arrangement – that was the usual line Seth threw in his face. And yet, the corner of a smile poked at Oliver, nagging him even as he set plates laden with food on the table.

Seth appeared moments later, barely making a sound as he slid into his usual chair. 

Oliver eyed the man over his wine glass, barely tasting the drink. Finally he set the goblet down. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“What?” Seth speared a slice of zucchini and popped it in his mouth.

“Since when have you ever volunteered to take care of me?” Oliver crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?” Seth set his fork down and met Oliver’s gaze. “And even if I did, what would that have to do with you?”

“Then why are you suddenly being nice? What, do you want something?”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Yes. Your leg.”

Oliver scoffed. “We’ve been doing this for five years. Yet now you suddenly can take care of me until I recover? You’re going to get me ice cream? And I’m supposed to believe that there’s nothing wrong here?”

“Fine, I’ll just leave you in the middle of the floor. Fuck your damn ice cream.” Seth shoved back in his chair and shot to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Fuck you!” Oliver stood up, annoyed that he still had to look up at the ghoul to meet his gaze. “I’m not giving you shit.”

Seth jerked, his frown fading. He recovered quickly, his face falling into a blank mask. “Fine. Then I’ll just go out to eat.”

Oliver grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Seth went still, his muscles tensing under Oliver’s grasp. “Let go of me.”

“No. Not until you–”

Seth swung his arm, tossing Oliver across the room like a ragdoll. Oliver slammed into the marble wall with a bone-breaking crack. He slid to the floor, pain erupting from his head all the way down to his legs. He caught a glimpse of Seth’s wide black eyes just before darkness overtook him.