Halfway through feeding, Ashley had dozed off peacefully, scrunched against Ethan's side with a peaceful smile. He seemed so small against Ethan's side, fragile, especially after Ethan tasted Ashley's memories. They tasted wonderful, like warm hot chocolate, but left him with a bitter, disgusting aftertaste as he was cut off from Ashley's mind. He couldn't see the memories, couldn't know what exactly happened in Ashley's past, but the acrid aftertaste was unsettling enough.

Ethan didn't ask, it wasn't his business, and the poor man needed his sleep. However, since it was the middle of the day, Ethan was far from sleepy. He was buzzing with energy, so much so that he decided to do something he'd been putting off for weeks.

He slid quietly out of bed and out of the room, sparring one backward look at Ashley before making his way to the living room. His flat was small, just three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen/living room. In his living room, stacked near the entrance, partially hidden by a coat rack, were unpacked moving boxes from nearly a month ago.

Ethan started to go through them, dividing the items into three separate piles: harmless knick-knacks, important things and donations. Most of these items were his things from his mom's flat and the crap she'd thrown at him when he was packing. Near the bottom of the box is a large, almost impractically sized hand mirror.

Ethan sighed, stood up, opened the nearest window and peaked through it. The street below was empty, and right below his window was a dumpster. Ethan threw the mirror out, watching it land and hearing the glass shatter.

He walked back, and, rather predictably, the mirror was on his couch, cracks fussing closed except for a single one splitting the glass down the centre. It was a victorian hand mirror made of ivory with a polished silver-backed glass face. The ivory was and rimmed in black etchings with the 'המראה הזו משקפת את כל מה שאיבדתי' words in Hebrew. His mother had previously tried to sell the antique multiple times. Fortunately or unfortunately, even the pawnshops in his old neighbourhood weren't sketchy enough to buy a creepy victorian mirror from his mother when she was high out of her mind or strung out from withdrawals.

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Ethan sighed, picked it up, and caught a glimpse of himself in the glass: He looked... better: He's always been pale, but until recently he'd seemed downright anaemic, now he looked alive again. More importantly, though, there's a very prominent bite mark on his neck. It's healing but still tender. Ethan vividly remembers Ashley's teeth piercing his skin. He's always had a tiny masochistic streak, but this was a whole other level. He was immensely disappointed by how quickly they healed, he wanted the marks to last.

Ethan shoved the mirror in the back of a kitchen cupboard, knowing well and good he'd likely find the mirror somewhere else. It was a hand me down from his biological father. Aside from this, the only other thing his father had left him was an unread letter. That was under his bed.

...

Ethan had changed his sheets around Ashley, hoping to hide the burn marks. Ashley slept like the dead, so it was pretty easy. Afterwards, Ethan went back to bed, cracking open a book to comb through as Ashley slept.

While reading, Ethan couldn't help but sneak quick glances at Ashley. He was curled up next to Ethan, flush against his side, sleeping peacefully for what was probably the first time in a while. Ethan never thought his powers were any good; At best, it was simply a way to keep himself sustained. At worst, he worried he was a parasite. He never thought he could actually help.

Ashley woke up sometime in the evening, blinking up adorably from under Ethan's blanket.

"What time is it?"

"5 PM. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm... good," Ashley sat up. "What are you reading?"

"Frankenstein; I'm re-reading it for class."

"Class? You're in college?"

"Community college, trying to be an English Lit degree."

Ethan expected a little ribbing about his 'useless' degree. He didn't expect Ashley to furrow his brow in confusion and ask:

"Ethan, how old are you?"

"24? 25 next month. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing's wrong," His face showed this was clearly a lie, though his expression had graduated from confusion to barely contained amusement. "You should come to Elysium tomorrow again. I have a friend there who knows all about the nitty-gritty aspects of magic."

Ethan would call out the blatant change of topic if the thought of learning more about how magic worked wasn't so enticing.