You befriend the one goth kid at your school; after a bit of bonding and sleepovers, you find out he’s actually a 300,000 year old lich king who kind of gave up on the whole undead necromancer business.
“So, what?” You ask when he’s finished his tale. “You just got tired of haunting the moors, threatening heroes, and raising the distraught dead from the peat?”
He looks down at his clasped hands. You’d elected to stand, but he’s sitting at one of the student tables like he’s about to be executed. “I don’t think you understand how bad of a place the moors are.”
“I’m sure,” you say. You don’t know what your voice sounds like, reeling from the shock of finding out your friend is 300,000 years old, but he flinches.
“I knew it,” he says, the words growling up his throat. He swings his dark bangs out of his eyes. “You’re horrified by my past. The evilness of my talents. The tales of my conquests and misdeeds. All of it repulses you. You regret being friends with me.”
You hesitate. You’d sort of planned to go home and think about this first, but if he wants to have the conversation now, you can have it now. “Look, can I be honest with you?”
He nods miserably, playing with his spiked bracelets.
“It’s none of that,” you confess. You grimace. “Would I like to say I morally object to being friends with a murderous, vengeful, necromancer? For sure, my parents aren’t going to be super stoked about me not freaking about that.”
He jerks, alarmed. “You’re going to tell your parents?! I’ll be mobbed—“
“Shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You know I tell my parents everything. We’re tight like that.” You steam roll past his horrified expression. “I just have…some concerns. Not related to the murder or the undead part or even your kingdom of undead servants somewhere in Scotland.”
“Tell me,” he says, swallowing hard. “I—I don’t want you to be afraid of me. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.”
“Let’s work on that,” you suggest. You don’t want to be this guys only friend anymore. It’s gotten weird. “It’s just…your hundred of thousands of years old, right?”
He nods, wringing his hands. His silver wrongs clack together.
“Capable of raising the dead and going on hellish crusades for land?” You clarify.
He nods.
You suck on your teeth. “Capable of shapeshifting?”
“Into anything,” he confesses.
“Right.” You rub your hands on your jeans. “I get why you wanted a normal life, I do. I just—why high school, man? It’s pretty fucking weird, given all those things, that you’d choose to be a highschooler.”
“I wanted a fresh start,” he says, spreading out his hands. “You understand, right?”
“Sure,” you agree, even though you really don’t. “It’s just…I’m not super comfortable? With you being suuuper old and like, socializing? With 17 year olds?”
He gapes at you. “What?”
You put your hands on your hips. “Don’t act surprised, dude, you were at the same internet safety class I was. They warned us about older people trying to take advantage of us online.”
“Taking advantage of?” He looks genuinely hurt. “I would never! I just feel like I fit in better here than anywhere else. I found you here.” He smiles at you, that sweet smile you used to find so endearing.
It’s not so sweet anymore.
You rub the chills out of your arms. “It’s fuxking weird dude. Especially your crush on the volleyball captain? That’s—that’s gotta stop. You can’t have a crush on someone literally 299,984 years younger than you.”
“Why?” He asks. “I’m not hurting them and I genuinely feel like we’d be a good match.”
“No,” you say firmly. You look around and find a stack of homework on the desk to your right. You pick it up, roll it into a tube, and then smack him with it. “Bad! That’s exactly what a fucking pedophile would say. If we are still going to be friends, you can’t be a pedophile. Somewhat obviously.”
He rubs his head where you hit him. “But I’m lonely,” he whines. His shoulders droop.
It’s hard to see him sad, even now. “I know, man. But I can’t support you going after kids.” You have a great idea. “You can’t be the only supernatural creaature in the world. I bet there are a lot of awesome, older vampires or something you can date!”
“Are vampires even real?”
“Maybe!” You’re on a roll now. “I’ll help you find them, dude, it’ll be sick.”
He looks doubtful. “I,” he says carefully, “would prefer to tend to my crush in the volleyball—ow!”
You brandish your homework club threateningly. “That’s what happens every time you’re a pedophile. Either get on board with the vampire idea or I’m going to light you on fire until not even your bones can look in a teenagers direction.”
“Wow,” he says, “can’t wait to find those vampires. Thanks, best friend.” He flinches as If expecting another blow.
You smile beautifically. “Anything for my friends.” You’re going to get a better club to hit him with. You can see in his eyes that he’s not completely on board with. But he will be.
Or he’ll be on fire.
His call.
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