DARIAN VS. THE INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER
----------------------------------------
I noticed her immediately.
She was good—not just another amateur trying to tail me, but highly skilled. She knew how to blend into a crowd, how to linger just close enough to observe, but not too close to be obvious.
Her rhythm was off just enough to tip me off. A normal person wouldn’t walk through a crime scene aftermath, taking notes, without being at least a little bothered by the carnage.
So I let her follow.
For days.
Through the city. Into alleyways. Even at the diner where I got my coffee.
I gave her plenty of opportunities to get bored and walk away.
She didn’t.
And now?
She was making her move.
----------------------------------------
THE APPROACH
I sat at my usual table at a 24-hour diner, sipping a black coffee that the waitress had long since stopped charging me for.
She slid into the seat across from me with confidence.
Like she belonged there.
That alone was impressive.
She set a recorder on the table.
“Darian,” she said smoothly.
I took a slow sip of coffee. “That’s a strong opener. You’re not even going to pretend you don’t know who I am?”
She smirked. “Would that work?”
I shrugged. “Probably not. Who are you?”
“Leona Hart,” she said. “Investigative journalist.”
“Should I be flattered or concerned?”
She folded her hands together. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
I sighed, glancing at the recorder. “You’re going to ask me a bunch of questions. Hope I give you some cryptic, dangerous answers. Maybe even an exclusive. Am I close?”
“Very.”
----------------------------------------
THE QUESTIONS BEGIN
Leona leaned forward slightly. “People have been talking about you. The man with no digital footprint. No social security number. No birth certificate. And yet, here you are.”
I took another sip. “Maybe I’m just private.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe. But then there are the stories.”
“Stories?”
“Let’s start small.” She pulled out a notebook, flipping through it with concerning efficiency.
I caught glimpses of crime scene photos, blurry surveillance footage, and witness statements.
She tapped one.
“This is from an incident last month. A warehouse explosion, supposedly gang-related. Official reports say no one survived.”
I nodded. “Tragic.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Except, I have a video—grainy, sure, but clear enough—that shows a man walking out of that fire completely unharmed.”
“Must have been lucky.”
“Must have been you.”
I exhaled. “You ever consider that some things are better left unexplored?”
“That’s a cop-out answer,” she said, unphased. “And I don’t do ‘unexplored.’”
----------------------------------------
THE CAT-AND-MOUSE GAME
Leona leaned back. “Let’s try another one.”
“By all means.”
She flipped another page. “The subway incident two weeks ago. There were reports of a creature—tall, humanoid, many teeth, very fast. NYPD said it was a deranged man on PCP.”
I nodded. “Sounds plausible.”
She smiled. “Except, that’s not what my witnesses said.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“They said it was a monster. A real one. And that you—a man with golden eyes and impossible strength—fought it and snapped its neck.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. “Sounds like an urban legend.”
She smirked. “See, that’s what I thought. Until I started finding more stories.”
She slid five more reports across the table.
Different cities. Different incidents. Different monsters.
Same man.
Me.
Leona Hart was dangerous.
Not because she had proof—not yet. But because she had patterns.
And she was too smart to let this go.
----------------------------------------
THE MOMENT OF TRUTH
I glanced at her recorder. “And what happens if I tell you the truth?”
Leona tilted her head. “Then I have my biggest story yet.”
“And what if I don’t?”
She shrugged. “Then I keep digging.”
I smirked. “You realize that’s dangerous, right?”
“For you?”
“For you.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?”
I chuckled. “No. I don’t do that. I’m just saying… there’s a reason people don’t talk about me.”
Silence.
Then, slowly, she reached for her recorder.
She pressed stop.
I watched her. “Giving up already?”
She smiled. “No. Just realizing that this story is… bigger than I thought.”
I exhaled. “Good call.”
Leona stood, grabbing her notebook.
But before she left, she slid me a business card.
“In case you ever feel like talking.”
I twirled it between my fingers. “And if I don’t?”
She smiled, eyes gleaming.
“Then I’ll find you anyway.”
And just like that, she was gone.
I sighed, finishing my coffee.
Leona Hart.
A problem for another day.
DARIAN & ARIAS VS. THE PERSISTENT WAITER
----------------------------------------
Arias and I sat at a ridiculously fancy restaurant, the kind where they fold your napkin for you and act like water is a premium experience.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
I hadn’t wanted to come here.
Arias had insisted.
“Come on, brother,” he had said. “Let’s enjoy some fine dining.”
Now, I regretted it.
Not because of the restaurant.
But because of the waiter.
----------------------------------------
THE ASSUMPTIONS BEGIN
The waiter approached with the eagerness of a man who already had an entire fanfiction plotted out in his head.
He was tall, well-dressed, and had a knowing smirk.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said smoothly. “Date night?”
I blinked.
Arias, without missing a beat, smirked. “Every meal with me is an experience.”
The waiter nodded approvingly. “A charming one, aren’t we?”
I sighed. “We’re not a couple.”
The waiter smirked harder.
“Oh,” he said, “of course.”
He didn’t believe me.
Arias was enjoying this too much.
----------------------------------------
THE WINE DISASTER
“Would you like to start with a wine selection?” the waiter continued, flipping open a leather-bound wine list.
Arias leaned back. “I’ll let my partner decide.”
I turned to glare at him.
The waiter’s smirk intensified.
“Oh, how sweet.”
I exhaled slowly. “We’re not—”
Arias cut in. “We’ll take the red.”
The waiter winked at me.
WINKED.
“An excellent choice, sir,” he said, “for a man with such refined tastes.”
Arias was dying internally from how hard he was trying not to laugh.
I considered flipping the table.
----------------------------------------
THE MEAL BECOMES A SPECTACLE
By the time our meals arrived, it was clear that the waiter had decided to make us the romantic highlight of his evening.
He lit a candle and placed it between us.
Arias picked up his wine and swirled it dramatically. “To us,” he said, holding up his glass.
The waiter swooned.
I stared at him.
Arias raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to toast me?”
I grabbed my glass with visible irritation.
“To your suffering.”
The waiter gasped. “Oh! You two have a playful dynamic. That’s adorable.”
Arias grinned. “Isn’t it?”
I took a very long sip of wine.
----------------------------------------
THE UNRAVELING
Every few minutes, the waiter returned.
To check in.
To adjust the candle.
To "make sure we were having a romantic evening."
At one point, he brought a violinist.
“Sir,” I said, as the musician started playing something obnoxiously romantic, “I am begging you to stop.”
The waiter smiled sympathetically. “Oh, I know how it is. Not everyone is comfortable with public affection.”
I rubbed my temples. “That is NOT what’s happening.”
Arias, looking far too pleased with himself, leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand.
“Oh, darling,” he purred, “you always get so grumpy when people notice our love.”
The violinist played louder.
The table next to us sighed dreamily.
I considered burning the restaurant down.
----------------------------------------
THE GRAND FINALE
When it was time for dessert, I prayed for it to be quick.
I was so wrong.
The waiter arrived with a flourish.
And in his hands—
A heart-shaped cake.
With “TO MANY YEARS OF LOVE” written in chocolate.
Arias burst out laughing.
I stared at the cake.
I stared at the waiter.
I stared at Arias, who was wiping away tears of laughter.
I inhaled deeply.
“Check, please.”
----------------------------------------
THE AFTERMATH
As we left the restaurant, Arias patted my shoulder.
“That,” he said, grinning like a demon, “was fantastic.”
I sighed. “I hate you.”
A group of bystanders watched us leave, whispering excitedly about how romantic we were.
Arias threw an arm around my shoulder.
“Shall we go home, my love?”
I shoved him into traffic.
Darian & Arias vs. Their First "Normal" Vacation
----------------------------------------
After six months of utter chaos, Darian and Arias decided it was time for a break. A real break. A normal vacation where no one tried to kill them, no gods intervened, and nothing exploded.
The destination? The Caribbean. Sun, sand, and cocktails. What could possibly go wrong?
They spent weeks planning the details—first-class flights, luxury resorts, and a schedule that consisted of exactly nothing. Darian had even packed extra books, expecting to finally have uninterrupted reading time. Arias, meanwhile, had prepared for the trip by purchasing entirely too many floral shirts and sunglasses, already envisioning himself as a carefree beach icon.
But reality had other plans.
----------------------------------------
THE FLIGHT INCIDENT
It took exactly three hours for their "normal" vacation to derail. The flight had been uneventful—until Arias, unable to sit still, started chatting a little too loudly about past adventures. Normally, this wouldn’t have been an issue, except he’d caught the attention of a supernatural stowaway hiding in the cargo hold.
The creature—a shadowy entity with too many eyes and not enough solid form—decided mid-flight was the perfect time for a brawl. Darian, who just wanted to read his book in peace, ended up knocking the thing unconscious with the in-flight safety manual. Arias, meanwhile, got way too into the fight, flipping over seats and accidentally launching a flight attendant’s cart down the aisle.
Passengers screamed. A child clapped enthusiastically, kicking their feet against the seat in front of them. "That was awesome! Do it again!" their parent, looking absolutely done with life, muttered something about switching seats. The flight attendants, unfazed professionals that they were, continued serving drinks as if this was just another Tuesday.
When the fight ended, the flight crew was not amused.
“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
Arias blinked. “We’re thirty thousand feet in the air.”
The pilot sighed. “We’re making an emergency landing.”
Darian rubbed his temples. “I told you to stop talking.”
After a very awkward landing, a few stern conversations with airport security, and an undisclosed amount of bribery, they were back on track. Sort of.
----------------------------------------
THE BEACH BATTLE
After bribing their way out of airport security questioning (Darian always carried emergency bribe money), they finally made it to a secluded Caribbean beach. The sun was warm, the ocean breeze was perfect, and for a moment, it seemed like they had actually won this vacation.
Then the sea monster arrived.
It wasn’t even a particularly big sea monster—more of a glorified overgrown eel with too many teeth. But it was aggressive, and Arias, still restless from being forcibly removed from an airplane, took it very personally.
“This is our vacation!” he shouted, tackling the thing into the shallows.
Darian, sipping a tropical drink from a coconut, sighed. “Can’t we have one day off?”
Between Arias' stubborn refusal to let the sea monster win and Darian’s begrudging participation, the fight lasted fifteen minutes tops. The monster, realizing it had made a terrible mistake, slithered back into the depths, thoroughly beaten.
A local vendor, who had witnessed the entire battle while grilling fresh fish nearby, gave them a slow, approving nod. “You boys want some food?”
Arias, soaking wet and covered in sand, grinned. “Hell yes.”
They spent the next hour eating the best seafood they’d had in decades, chatting with locals, and—finally—relaxing.
----------------------------------------
THE ACTUAL VACATION (FINALLY)
Miraculously, nothing else interrupted their day. No supernatural assassins. No rogue gods. No world-ending catastrophes.
For the first time in what felt like years, Darian and Arias simply existed. They lounged in the sun. They drank cocktails. They watched the waves roll in without a single life-or-death struggle involved.
Darian even managed to read an entire chapter of his book without interruption, which, in his opinion, was the greatest achievement of the trip. Considering the last time he’d tried to read, he’d been interrupted by a bar fight, a collapsing building, and an angry god demanding a debate on existential philosophy, this was practically a miracle.
Arias built an elaborate sandcastle, complete with tiny defenses in case of "hostile invasion." He meticulously dug trenches around the perimeter, positioned small seashells as makeshift barricades, and even fashioned tiny stick warriors to stand guard. At one point, he debated enchanting the structure for additional security, but Darian threatened to bury him in the sand if he turned their vacation into another magical disaster. It lasted twenty minutes before a crab claimed it as its new home, leading to a very intense negotiation.
As the sun set, the two brothers sat quietly, watching the sky turn orange and gold.
Darian leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. “I think we finally did it.”
Arias lazily sipped his drink. “Yep. First normal vacation ever.”
A pause.
“…We should probably leave before something else happens.”
Darian sighed. “Agreed.”
And for once, nothing did happen—at least, not until they tried boarding their return flight. It should have been simple. But then there was the incident with the cursed luggage, the extremely vengeful parrot, and whatever eldritch thing was pretending to be a flight attendant.
But that was a problem for future them.