Good old Monday morning

As George pulled open the doors of his wardrobe, he froze, his eyes widening in surprise. The chaos he had expected – the jumbled mess of clothes he'd neglected for months – was nowhere to be seen. Instead, neat rows of pressed shirts hung in perfect alignment, pants were folded with military precision, and even his ties were arranged by color.

"What the..." George breathed, running his fingers along the crisp fabric of a nearby shirt. "Nebula, you've outdone yourself."

He shook his head in disbelief, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment washing over him. It wasn't just that Nebula had cleaned his house; she had systematically put his entire life back in order while he laid unconscious.

With a sigh, George began rifling through the immaculate wardrobe, searching for his go-to Monday outfit. His hands fell upon a familiar dark blue pant suit – a classic ensemble he'd worn countless times to important meetings and presentations. He pulled it out, holding it up to the light.

The suit was a deep navy, almost black in certain lights. Its subtle pinstripes gave it an air of sophistication, while the cut – tailored to his frame – had always made him feel confident and capable. It was more than just clothing; it was armor for the corporate battlefield.

George laid the suit on his bed and began to try it on. He slipped on the crisp white shirt, his fingers working the buttons with practiced ease. But as he reached for the pants, a frown creased his brow. The waistband felt snug as he pulled them up, the fabric straining slightly across his thighs.

"What the hell?" George muttered, struggling to fasten the button. "These fit perfectly few months back."

Confused, he turned to face the full-length mirror on his closet door. His jaw dropped at the reflection staring back at him.

The man in the mirror was undeniably George Morgan, but... different. His previously gaunt face had filled out, the hollow cheeks replaced by a healthier fullness. But it wasn't just his face. George's gaze traveled down to his arms, where the shirt sleeves strained against newly developed muscle.

"I'm... buff?" he said incredulously, flexing an arm experimentally. The movement caused the shirt to tighten further, threatening to split at the seams.

George quickly shed the too-tight clothing, standing before the mirror in just his underwear. He turned left and then right, marveling at the transformation his body had undergone. Where once there had been a skinny, grief-stricken man, there now stood a figure of big muscles and vitality.

"Is this... is this because of the vampire thing?" George wondered aloud, running a hand over his newly defined abs.

But as he leaned in closer to the mirror, he noticed other, more unsettling changes. His skin, while smooth and unblemished, had a pallor to it that spoke of illness rather than health. It was as if all the color had been leached from his complexion, leaving behind an almost ghostly white. He was still looking pale.

And his eyes... George peered at his reflection, a chill running down his spine. The warm brown irises he'd known all his life seemed darker somehow, with an odd, shadowy quality that he couldn't quite place. They weren't inhuman, exactly, but there was something... off about them.

"Okay, George," he said to his reflection, trying to inject some confidence into his voice. "You can do this. You're still you, just... version 2.0."

Turning away from the mirror, George began the process of finding something – anything – that would fit his new physique. He pulled out pair after pair of pants, each one fitting more snugly than the last. Shirts that had once hung loosely on his frame now clung to his chest and arms, buttons straining with each movement.

"Come on," he muttered, tossing aside yet another ill-fitting outfit. "There's got to be something here that works."

After what felt like hours of trying on and discarding clothes, George finally cobbled together an acceptable ensemble. A pair of dark gray slacks that, while snug, at least fastened without threatening to burst. A light blue button-down shirt that, when left untucked, disguised the fact that it was a size too small. And a charcoal blazer that, thankfully, still fit reasonably well over his broader shoulders.

George stood before the mirror once more, adjusting his tie with nervous fingers. The man staring back at him looked professional, put-together... and utterly foreign.

"It'll have to do," he sighed, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it.

With his wardrobe crisis somewhat resolved, George sank onto his bed, the reality of the day ahead crashing over him like a wave. He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand – 9:30 PM. The sun wouldn't be up for some hours.

"Okay, game plan," he said to himself, ticking off points on his fingers. "Leave before sunrise. Get to the office early. Stay inside all day. Avoid windows. Act normal."

He paused, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Right. Normal. Because there's nothing abnormal about a vampire accountant trying to blend in with the living."

As he sat there, mentally rehearsing how to navigate the day ahead, a new worry gnawed at the edges of his mind. What if he got hungry? The thought of the blood-filled bottles Nebula had left him made his stomach churn, but an undeniable thirst tickled the back of his throat.

"No," George said firmly, shaking his head. "I can control this. I have to."

He lay down on his bed to sleep. The walls seemed to close in around him, the weight of his new reality pressing down on his shoulders. For a moment, the urge to hide from the world was almost overwhelming.

But then his eyes fell on the framed photo of Carmen on his nightstand. Her smile, frozen in time, seemed to reach out to him across the void of loss and transformation. George picked up the frame, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.

"What would you say if you could see me now, love?" he whispered, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "Probably something wise and comforting, followed by a terrible pun to make me laugh."

He set the photo back down gently, taking a deep breath. "I can do this," he said, injecting as much conviction into his voice as he could muster. "For you, for me, for the life we built together. I won't let this... condition... define me."

With renewed determination, George closed his eyes and finally gave in to natures call - he fell asleep.