Chapter 75:Road Trip

The two of them stood before the dusty blue pickup truck, its once-bright paint dulled by years of neglect. The keys were still dangling from the ignition, swaying slightly.

Alaric crossed his arms, eyeing the vehicle with thinly veiled disinterest. "Why don't we just use our speed? This seems... inefficient."

Eric smirked, his fingers lingering on the cold metal. "Because I want to feel human again. Even if it's just for a second."

Alaric scoffed, though there was no real malice in it. "I never once felt human before."

Eric turned to him, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Then we'll feel like it together."

Eric ran a hand over the dusty hood of the truck, his fingers tracing the worn-out emblem with something close to reverence. "Chevy C10, 1972," he muttered, more to himself than to Alaric. "Classic farm truck."

Alaric stood a few feet away, eyeing the vehicle with open disdain. "It looks… primitive." His gaze trailed over the rusted edges, the chipped blue paint, and the dented front bumper. "Like something that should have been left to rot."

Eric smirked, patting the hood. "Yeah, well, these old workhorses don't die easy. Farmers used to run 'em into the ground, and they still kept going."

Alaric narrowed his eyes at him. "You speak of it as if it's alive."

"In a way, it is," Eric said with a grin, stepping back to admire the truck. "You wouldn't get it. This thing's got history—built to last, made for dirt roads and long days in the fields. It's not some fragile little toy."

Alaric scoffed, running a finger along the door. "It looks fragile."

Eric let out a sharp laugh. "You really don't know anything about cars, huh?"

Alaric shot him a flat look. "I was not exactly in a position to study human contraptions."

Eric tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Right. Trapped in a mountain for centuries. No wonder you don't appreciate art when you see it."

Alaric arched a brow. "You call this art?"

"Yeah, in its own way." Eric walked around to the driver's side and swung the heavy door open. The hinges groaned, the scent of old leather and dust filling the air. "Back in the day, a truck like this was a lifeline. It hauled feed, carried livestock, plowed through dirt roads."

Alaric leaned against the side of the truck with his long black hair, watching Eric turn the key in the ignition. The old engine sputtered, coughed, then roared to life, shaking as it settled into a rough, growling idle. Alaric frowned slightly at the sound, feeling the vibrations rattle through the frame.

Eric grinned, gripping the wheel like it meant something. "That's the good stuff. The feel of the wheel, the sound of the engine—it's not just transportation. It's living."

Alaric watched him for a long moment, unreadable. "Living," he repeated, unimpressed.

Eric chuckled, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "Yeah. You wouldn't get it." He shifted the truck into gear when Alaric came in copying Eric's moves and pulling in the door,the tires crunching over gravel as they began to move.

Alaric exhaled through his nose but said nothing. The wind rushed through the open windows, carrying the scent of old metal, dust, and something that almost felt... human.

Eric smirked as he glanced over. "We'll feel like it together.".

Alaric exhaled through his nose, about to scoff, but as he turned back to the open window, something shifted. The truck rumbled beneath them, steady and unhurried, while the wind swept through his hair, carrying the scent of warm earth and distant trees. Compared to the blinding rush of his usual speed, everything outside moved in a way he had never truly seen before.

The fields stretched endlessly, golden under the fading sun. The sky changed in slow gradients, from deep blue to amber, clouds lazily dragging across the horizon. For the first time in centuries, Alaric wasn't just passing through—he was existing within it.

Without realizing it, he leaned against the open window, resting his head against the frame. The cool metal pressed against his temple, grounding him, and for the first time in a long time, he simply let himself be. His eyes drifted shut, and the tension in his body loosened just a fraction.

The sound of the engine, the steady movement, the feeling of wind against his skin—it was nothing like the raw power of supernatural speed. But maybe, just maybe, that wasn't a bad thing.

After a while, Alaric turned away from the scenery and glanced at Eric from the corner of his eye. They had taken clothes from the dead man's room before leaving, loose shirts that fit them both well—more so Eric, whose broader frame filled out the fabric effortlessly.

Eric's body was built like a warrior's—sculpted muscle that spoke of strength earned over years of survival. His arms, gripping the steering wheel, were corded with lean power, veins subtly visible beneath the pale skin that had been drained of warmth.

His dark hair, short and slightly tousled, framed his face in a way that made his features sharper, more striking. And then there were his eyes. Normally, they were an unnatural red, a dead giveaway of what he was. But now, in the dimming light, they looked almost human—a deep brown that only revealed their true color if you stared too long.

Alaric found himself doing exactly that.

He wasn't sure what it was—maybe the dark circles under Eric's eyes, giving him a raw, almost dangerous allure. Maybe the way his sharp jawline tensed slightly every time he focused on the road. Or maybe it was the fact that, despite everything, Eric fit into this world in a way that Alaric never had.

The thought unsettled him.

Heat crawled up Alaric's neck, unbidden and unfamiliar. He forced himself to look away, but his face betrayed him, a faint pink dusting his usually pale skin. He frowned, crossing his arms tighter over his chest as if that could hide it.

Eric, of course, noticed.

"You keep staring at me like that, Alaric," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "people might start thinking you actually like me."

Alaric scoffed, turning his face back toward the window, but the warmth in his cheeks only deepened. "Don't flatter yourself."

Eric let out a low chuckle, deep and amused, before turning his attention back to the road. The truck rumbled on, steady and slow, and Alaric, against his better judgment, stole one last glance.

Alaric shifted against the worn leather seat, the wind brushing against his face as he leaned his head slightly out of the open window.

Still, curiosity gnawed at him. He turned his head slightly, stealing another glance at Eric, who had one hand resting on the wheel and the other lazily draped over the gear shift.

Alaric cleared his throat, pretending it wasn't because he had been staring too long. "So," he began, his voice deliberately casual, "before all of this… what was your life like?"

Eric didn't answer immediately. His fingers drummed against the wheel, a slow, rhythmic beat. His dark eyes—now a muted brown in the light, only showing their true red hue when he turned just the right way—remained fixed on the road ahead.

"I had a normal life," he finally said, the words smooth, but not entirely natural. "Middle-class home. Top of my class. Good job at a well-known company." He gave a small shrug. "Nothing special."

Alaric frowned. There were several things in that sentence that meant very little to him. "Middle-class?" he repeated, testing the term as if it were a foreign language.

Eric glanced at him, amused. "Just… not rich, not poor. Comfortable."

Alaric nodded slowly, though the idea still felt vague. "And this 'well-known company'… what exactly did you do there?"

Eric hesitated, gripping the wheel just a little tighter. "It doesn't matter now," he said, brushing the question off. "It was just a job."

Alaric, however, was too perceptive to let it go unnoticed. He leaned back against the seat, eyes still on Eric. "You sound tense," he observed. "Like you don't want to talk about it."

Eric exhaled through his nose, a quiet scoff. "There's not much to talk about."

"That's not true." Alaric tilted his head, studying him. "You said your life was normal. But was that really what you wanted?"

There was the slightest flicker in Eric's expression. A brief pause. His grip on the wheel didn't tighten this time, but his knuckles still twitched, his jaw shifting in the smallest movement.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You think you have me figured out already?" he mused, the lightest trace of amusement lacing his tone.

Alaric smirked, tilting his head lazily against the seat. "No. But I know the look of someone who doesn't miss what they left behind."

Eric's expression didn't change, but Alaric caught the way his shoulders lifted slightly before relaxing again—like he had been preparing to tense but forced himself not to.

The silence stretched between them, only the hum of the engine and the wind rushing past filling the space.

Finally, Eric let out a slow breath, his fingers loosening around the wheel. "Maybe normal was just easy," he admitted. "Predictable."

Alaric's smirk deepened. "And boring?"

Eric gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Sometimes."

Alaric turned his gaze back to the window, feeling the wind again. "Then maybe it's good you're not normal anymore."

Eric didn't respond, but as the truck rumbled down the road, the tension in his posture seemed just a little lighter than before.

Alaric had been quiet for a while now, but his gaze hadn't left Eric. The steady hum of the truck filled the silence between them, the occasional creak of the old vehicle as it rolled down the uneven road.

Finally, Alaric spoke. "You were married." It wasn't a question, but a statement—one he had pieced together from past fragments of conversation.

Eric exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing together as if debating whether to answer. Then, with a sigh, he gave in. "Yeah," he admitted, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I met Isabella in high school."

Alaric arched a brow. "High school?" Another term that meant little to him, though he'd heard it in passing before.

Eric smirked slightly at Alaric's confusion but didn't bother explaining. Instead, his fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he continued. "We were just kids. At first, she was just another girl, but she had this way about her—like she could see right through me. And she wasn't like the others."

He let out a soft chuckle, one filled with something almost nostalgic. "Most girls back then… they liked me for the usual reasons. I was popular, I had good grades, I looked good enough. It was easy. I didn't have to try." He paused for a moment, his expression shifting. "But Isabella… she didn't care about any of that. She wasn't impressed by the things that made everyone else look at me."

Alaric tilted his head slightly, watching him closely. "Then what did she see?"

Eric's grip on the wheel tightened for a brief second before relaxing again. "She saw me," he said simply. "Not the perfect guy everyone else thought I was. Just… me."

There was a weight in his voice, something deeper beneath the words.

"We weren't together back then," he continued, his tone quieter now. "Not officially. But I always thought… maybe if we had been, maybe if I had held onto her, then—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening slightly before he shook his head. "Doesn't matter now."

Alaric watched him, intrigued by the unspoken words lingering between them. "You think she could've filled the emptiness," he mused.

Eric huffed a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "I thought maybe… if she loved me enough, I wouldn't feel like I had this huge fucking hole in my chest." He tapped his fingers against his sternum absentmindedly, as if acknowledging something invisible there.

Alaric considered that for a moment, then smirked slightly. "Did it work?"

Eric's silence was answer enough.

The road stretched out ahead of them, endless and quiet, the air between them thick with things neither of them had the will to say.

Eric's voice broke the silence again, softer this time, as if confessing something even to himself. "No," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his tone distant, almost detached. "The thought of her… I don't feel anything anymore. I always felt nothing. Just… boredom. Empty. Like it was all a game I wasn't really playing."

Alaric tilted his head, lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He didn't say anything—just let the quiet settle again as his gaze shifted back to the road, but the weight of Eric's words lingered in the air.

Eric, however, wasn't finished. His voice was barely above a whisper, as though speaking the words aloud made them more real. "But with you… I don't feel that hole."

Alaric froze, his heart skipping a beat. He didn't say anything, but his body seemed to tense, caught off guard by the raw honesty of it. The vulnerability in Eric's voice. He felt his pulse quicken slightly as the words sank in, and before he could stop himself, his eyes moved to the side, catching a glimpse of Eric's neck. A deep flush began to spread across his face—he couldn't help but notice how it seemed to grow with the confession.

Alaric's breath hitched for a moment, a surprising warmth creeping up his own neck. He wasn't used to being caught off guard, but something about Eric's presence… the way he said it, so casually, but with that hidden meaning, unsettled him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Eric's sharp eyes caught the subtle change in Alaric's expression, the way his gaze flickered to his neck. A genuine, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back in the seat, a soft chuckle escaping him.

"Didn't think I'd get you to blush, Alaric," Eric teased lightly, his grin widening as he watched the faint flush deepen along the vampire's neck.

Alaric huffed, trying to hide the sudden flush from his face, but he couldn't completely stifle the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Shut up," he muttered, though there was no heat in his words, just a hint of playful embarrassment.

They continued on the road in silence after that.The hours stretched into the night, the only sound inside the truck the steady hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind outside. But then, through the darkness, a neon sign flickered ahead—Diner.

Eric's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement flashing across his face. He leaned forward in his seat, glancing at Alaric with an almost eager grin. "Hey, let's stop here," he suggested, his voice tinged with a rare sense of enthusiasm. "I haven't had real food since the moment I was turned. I'm craving something… human."

At the mention of food, Alaric's mind wandered immediately to the red, dripping flesh of a freshly slaughtered human. The thought of blood made his lips part, and for a brief, dangerous moment, his tongue darted across them, as if he could almost taste it. The hunger for it surged within him, his mind going back to his darker instincts.

Eric caught the subtle shift in Alaric's demeanor, his gaze following the way Alaric's expression darkened for just a second. His lips curled into a playful smirk as he leaned back, amused by the way Alaric's thoughts visibly wandered. "No, not that type of food," Eric chuckled, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "You've got to be kidding. You really thought I meant that?"

Alaric blinked, his eyes widening in slight embarrassment when he realized how obvious it must have been.

Eric couldn't help but laugh, clearly entertained by Alaric's small, unintentional display of disappointment. "It's cute, though," Eric teased, voice light and almost affectionate as he leaned back, smirking at the vampire's reaction. "You look so disappointed. It's like you've never even had a real meal before."

Alaric's face flushed again, this time more out of embarrassment than anything else. "Don't get too cocky, Eric," he muttered under his breath, though the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips, despite his attempt to remain aloof.

Eric's laughter was soft but genuine, a warmth that seemed to linger in the air as the truck coasted toward the diner. For a moment, the strange tension between them seemed to fade, replaced by a lightheartedness that neither of them had anticipated.

Eric was already unbuckling his seatbelt before they had fully stopped. "Alright," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Let's go see what real food tastes like again. Maybe I'll even let you get a coffee."

Alaric let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes lingering on the diner's sign as he brought the truck to a full stop. "Yeah, yeah. But don't think I've forgotten about what you were really thinking about."

Eric smirked, unbothered. "Yeah, yeah. You keep dreaming of your steak. Just try not to bite anyone this time, alright?"

Alaric gave him an almost mischievous look as they both got out of the truck. "We'll see," he muttered under his breath, the door clicking shut with a soft thud. The night air was cool as they walked toward the diner, the strange connection between them still humming under the surface, but for now, they were just two men looking for a meal.

And maybe, just for a little while, they would forget about everything else.