The laughter was bouncing round Jankowski’s.

The football was louder and the back slapping more robust and the beer had flown plentiful. There was Nik, hand on the shoulder of a man who’s name he couldn't remember, as drunk as he had been in years and laughing his ass off with them.

Is this real? He thought to himself, still trying to breathe through the laughter, has this really gone this well?

SMASH.

A safety decimated an unsuspecting wide receiver and the bar gave a collective ‘ooooh.’ That musta hurt.

The receiver bounced up and headed off the pitch, trying hard to show no ill effects, but as the camera closed in on him he spat out his mouth guard, revealing a cut lip and a bit of the red stuff.

One of the locals, a mousy man with pinched features and eyes slightly rolling from the drink, turned to Nik, smiling widely, “You’ll like all that, huh? Bloodsports.”

Nik didn’t flinch, he didn’t give himself time to react, he just spoke, “I’ll like the crisp fifty you’re gonna give me when the Bills choke asshat.”

The few men in the bar split into peals of laughter as Nik took another mouthful of beer, his head swimming with intoxication and his eyes struggling to focus on the game without drifting across the screen.

I’m one of the guys.

----------

Connor’s flat was a dump. Not that it couldn't be nice, it could be nice, but he struggled to keep it clean and he struggled to put nice stuff in it and his ability to do so had taken a hit recently.

The crushed beer cans were scattered across the small table he had in front of the TV, he’d got through four, maybe five by now, and the drooping of his eyelids and the slouch back into the couch showed it had taken its effect. 

He had another in his hand, as he watched the news roll by.

“The attempted letting today in Brighton Park, Chicago, is part of a more worrying trend.”

Connor’s face twisted slightly at the sight of the attack. Fucking v’s. 

A round man in his mid forties came on screen, hair greased back, collar bright white and untouched, he was clearly making an effort for the cameras.

“This is yet another case of young American v’s, born and raised in this country, attempting lettings on American soil after being radicalised online by members of The Coven. This extremist thinking of vampire only states and the extermination of all humans, sorry, ‘Sapiens’, as we now must call ourselves apparently, this is coming into this country via all kinds of social media.”

Connor sat forward in his seat, a more permanent scowl now fixed to his face. He took a long draft of his beer and watched more intently as the news anchor flashed back onto screen.

“This is just the latest worrying chapter in the ongoing struggle against vampiric extremism in the United States, and around the world.”

—————

I don't. I am. I mean. MMMMMMmmmmmmm.

The pavement was spinning beneath Nik as he stumbled out of the bar. He was trying hard to focus upon the barman as he locked the door and wanted to state his thanks to him, but all he could muster was a wave and a stupid smile.

The guy he was leaning on wasn’t much use, stumbling all over the shop, shouting at Nik to stay upright.

I am staying upright if you’d just. You’d juuussssssstttt.

The sound was satisfying to make in Nik’s head so he started making it with his mouth too. It made a comforting hum on his teeth. He took a couple of steps forward and his newfound drinking buddy started up at full pelt.

“Oh DaNnNY Booooy. ThE PiPes, The piPes aRe CaaaallIIIiinnG.”

They stumbled onward in their quest to find home.

I’m not drunk, thought Nik, as he tried desperately to read the branding on a fast food wrapper someone had tossed into the gutter earlier.

—————

Connor had been up before his alarm. 

It wasn’t particularly bright and it wasn't particularly loud but he had been up. 

He had set the alarm three times. Both alarms in fact, but still, his brain could not stop thinking that he would sleep through them and he couldn’t allow that.

So he was up. Early. Looking in the mirror.

The shirt looks new, right? He adjusted his collar in the mirror. I mean, it wasn't new, it was nowhere near new but his Mom had starched it and it looked pretty clean and no one would really be noticing that anyway, right?

The tie took him a while. He always struggled to get it the right length and this time was no different as it kept either being halfway up his chest or swinging way below his dick. Nothing in between. 

I fucking hate ties.

But today, he had to wear one. It’s required, he thought.

He styled his hair. Again. It looked exactly as it had done the last three times he had restyled it. 

Deep breath. Deep breath.

He exhaled. Long and heavy. He called out over his shoulder and out of the door, “Adam. Come on.”

No response. Typical.

He walked across the corridor and flung open the door, the curtains were already open from the last time he had been there and all he saw was a small lump piled up underneath the duvet. “Come on Adam, time to get up.” The lump lay there, unmoved. “Adam.”

Nothing.

It was time for decisive action.

Connor launched at the lump, thrust his hands beneath the duvet and started to tickle. The small boy’s laughter was accompanied by the desperate wriggling of a child trying to escape his certain fate. They rolled, Adam laughed, Connor tickled.

Connor wrested a breath between laughs, “Stop it, stop it.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Stop it.”

“I thought you were asleep though.”

“Stop it. Stop. I don’t like it.”

“So why you laughing then?” 

“I’m not.”

Connor stopped the tickling and looked at his young son. “Are you not? Are you not laughing?”

“No.”

Another tickle, another laugh from the boy.

“What’s that then? What’s that? C’mon, breakfast. Come on”

Connor headed out of the room and towards the kitchen, but the mirror in the corridor caught his eye. Is that tie straight? It looks straight, right? Right.

By this point Adam was past him and into the kitchen. When his father joined him he was sat at the table clumsily pouring milk into his cereal. During the pour he spoke up, “I don’t want to go to school.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“Too hard.”

Connor couldn’t help but smile. He grabbed his mug of coffee and sat down opposite his son, who was now pushing the cereal around his bowl, using the milk to watch it float from side to side.

“If we only did easy stuff life would be boring.”

“I don’t like it.”

Connor caught himself looking down at his shirt and tie. This ain’t you, he thought, who the fuck is this guy you’re trying to be? He took another drink from his coffee.

“Sometimes in life we’ve gotta do things we don’t want to do. Eat up. We’ll be late.”

----------

By the time Adam had finished eating and brushed his teeth and got dressed and whatever the hell else he did that seemed to take so Goddamned long, they were running late.

Connor was striding along the street, holding Adam’s hand, hoping that by setting the pace he could somehow make his son’s little strides go faster.

What he didn’t need, what he certainly did not need right now, was a debate about the merits of brushing teeth. But that is in fact what he was having.

“You don’t brush your teeth, the tooth fairy won't give you money for them.”

“Jaro says the tooth fairy isn’t real.”

“Jaro’s an asshole.”

“Jaro’s my friend.”

“Oh. Well friends can be assholes too.”

They turned into the school entrance and buzzed for entrance at the intercom by the large sign at the gate: Higginson/Lewis K-8.

They were buzzed in and Connor rushed them towards the Kindergarten, not just because he didn’t want Adam to be late again, but also because today, he had places to be.

Connor took Adam’s coat as he ushered him into the usual chaos of the classroom and he went and found the peg with his name and little photo by it.

With the coat safely stowed and the threat of being late now lifted, Connor went in to wave his goodbyes.

The hipster classroom assistant who once gave him his band’s soundcloud address nodded a hello at him and Connor gave him one in return. Still ain’t gonna listen to your shitty music son.

He saw the circle of the classmates, small, pale and with pronounced incisors poking out of their mouths. They were thirstily tucking into their small packets of plas, the red, sticky contents being gulped down, but not without leaving a large trace around their lips. Kids will be kids after all, no matter which branch of the evolutionary tree they were on.

Connor sat there, happily sucking away at the straw poking out from his carton of milk, the only non v in the circle. He spotted his Dad and gave a wave and a smile. Connor waved back then had to go. He didn’t want to be late.

----------

Nik was regretting his life choices. 

Right now, with this brutal hangover, he saw very little light in the world.

Water. I need water.

He dragged his carcass from the bed and stumbled to the kitchen, each shuffled step a slight jolt to a headache that needed no encouragement. 

He got to the sink. The sweet, sweet sink with sweet, sweet relief, and filled a glass to the brim.

It was drunk without pause and while the last of it still travelled his gullet he was refilling the glass.

Glass. Drunk. Glass. Drunk. Glass.

He placed it down in the sink. The next part of the plan had to be put into action.

He shuffled his way into the bathroom and pissed like a thoroughbred, flushing the yellowed water away and washing his hands.

As he was about to leave a thought caught him. Drugs. I need drugs.

He opened the small cupboard above the sink, making sure not to catch his reflection in the mirrored surface, because, Christ, he would look terrible, without question. He rifled his way through the contents, pushing to the side various boxes of band aids and the like and finally got to what he came for.

Advil. You fucking miracle.

He went to close the door but at the last second something else caught his eye.

Really? Have I really stooped that low?

He had.

He went back to the sink and refilled the glass. He looked at the clear liquid it contained. Pure. Still. Everything I’m fucking not right now.

He dropped a vitamin C tablet into it and watched it fizz a satisfying orange. Then in went the Advil, fizzing even more. There was something soothing about the sound it made and the freshness of the bubbles and when it subsided he looked at his last ingredient.

‘Rehydralyte - replaces the salts and sugars lost through diarrhoea and vomiting.’

Really man? Really? Is that where we’ve got to?

He poured it in. It was where he had got to.

He picked up a spoon from the counter, stirred away and downed it in one go.

This’d better fucking work.

A snippet of laughter caught his attention. It was gone as fast as it came.

In any normal circumstances Nik would have trusted his ears. But these were not normal circumstances.

More laughter. No doubt this time.

Nik stood and headed out of the kitchen.

He walked into his sister’s room unannounced. She was 16, sure, but she was still his little sister. He flung the door open with the righteous rage of a protective older sibling only to find her, half naked, on top of a man.

At least he thought it was a man, because as soon as the sight seared across his eyeballs, he looked away. He had kind of expected to see something like this, but you actually see it? Ew.

“Oh. This is. Oh God.”

“Get out. OUT.”

“Why are you? Oh God.”

“OUT!”

Nik closed the door and leant back against it, taking deep breaths which were, somehow, supposed to clean him of what he had just witnessed. He had just about regained some level of composure when the realisation hit him: hang on, I’m in the right here.

Re-emboldened he opened the door again, this time delighted to see his sister had covered herself. This time he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the topless man and dragged him out of his sister’s room.

“Hey, what are you-”

Nik pulled him into the corridor and finally got to have a look at him - skinny, tousled brown hair, slightly older he’d guess but not by much. Every inch the kind of awful person your teenage sister decides to start a relationship with. The boy stared at Nik with an expression of terror.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

Iva had quickly dressed herself and now joined them, “Nik, put him down.”

Nik didn’t put him down, he moved him by the collar of his hastily applied shirt, towards the front door. Iva followed him, pleading, “Nik, you can’t do this. You have no right to.”

The boy decided to take a different route, “I wish we’d met under different circumstances”, he was close to the door now, “I’m actually a lot nicer than this seems.”

Iva finally grabbed onto her brother’s arm, the abruptness of the action finally getting Nik’s attention. “Nik, alright, listen. They spat at us. They spat at us.”