Human Habits
1675 Words
By the fourth night, Kael stopped pretending their meetings were accidental. That realization should have alarmed him more than it did.
For three centuries, his existence had been built around discipline, predictable, emotional distance. He fed, moved, spoke carefully. Routine preserved survival and attachment.
And yet every night now, sometime after midnight, Kael found himself driving toward the same hospital without fully deciding to. It was absurd. Worse, it was so human.
The thought irritated him enough that he nearly turned the car around twice before finally parking beneath the flickering hospital lights once again.
Rain no longer fell across Jakarta tonight, but the city still carried the scent of yesterday’s storm. Kael entered the convenience store precisely at 1:58 AM.
Mara looked up immediately from behind her sketchbook.
“You’re late,” she said casually.
Kael stopped walking. Late? Interesting word. Not a finally you came back. Not surprise, not even curiosity.
As though somewhere over the past several nights, his presence had quietly become expected.
“Two minutes is hardly late,” Kael replied calmly.
“That’s exactly what late people say.”
Kael sat across from her while Mara continued sketching absentmindedly beside her untouched cup noodles. He glanced toward the paper automatically.
A rough character illustration stared back at him. Sharp cheekbones. Dark clothing. Expression vaguely irritated. Kael narrowed his eyes slightly.
“That looks familiar.”
Mara immediately pulled the sketchbook closer to herself. “It’s fictional.”
“You gave him my face.”
“I gave him emotional damage and insomnia. Your face was incidental.”
Kael almost smiled again. Almost. The expression came easier lately. That alone disturbed him.
Mara’s mother had been moved to a recovery room two floors higher earlier that afternoon. Stable now. Still weak, but improving enough to complain about hospital food and medication schedules, which, according to Mara, meant survival was likely.
“She threatened one of the nurses today,” Mara said while stirring her noodles. “Honestly? Very reassuring.”
Kael listened quietly. He noticed details instinctively around her now.
The way exhaustion lingered beneath her eyes but no longer overwhelmed her completely. The way she tucked loose hair behind her ear whenever concentrating. The tiny crease between her brows whenever she worried about money. Human details. Small things. The kind immortals usually stopped noticing after enough time.
“You’re staring again,” Mara said without looking up.
Kael leaned back slightly. “You notice everything.”
“No,” she replied. “I notice you noticing everything.”
That answer settled strangely inside him. Mara closed the sketchbook after several more pencil strokes and finally looked at him properly.
“You really don’t sleep, huh?”
Kael’s expression remained neutral. “What makes you think that?”
“You always look exactly the same.”
Kael reached for his coffee carefully. “I moisturize.”
Mara snorted loudly enough that the cashier glanced over briefly. “That was the most suspicious answer possible.”
Kael said nothing. Because the truth was infinitely worse.
They ended up leaving the convenience store around three in the morning. Mara claimed she needed actual food before hospital coffee permanently destroyed her internal organs. Kael claimed nothing at all before following her anyway.
The streets outside remained slick from rain while distant traffic hummed endlessly through the sleeping city. A small roadside noodle stall remained open near the corner beneath faded blue tarps and harsh fluorescent lighting.
Mara looked delighted immediately. “Oh, this place survives entirely through health-code violations,” she announced happily.
Kael stared at the stall. Steam rose heavily from boiling broth while exhausted office workers occupied plastic chairs nearby.
Human warmth lingered everywhere. Food. Conversation. Fatigue. Life. It felt strangely intimate.
“You eat here often?” he asked.
“Only when I’m emotionally collapsing.”
“That frequently?”
“Constantly.”
Mara sat without hesitation and pointed toward the opposite chair. Kael remained standing several seconds longer.
Technically, vampires could consume human food. It simply tasted like ash most of the time. One of the many biological sacrifices made during transformation.
Still, refusing too often attracted suspicion. So eventually Kael sat. The elderly vendor approached immediately.
“What can I get you?”
“Two chicken noodle bowls,” Mara answered quickly.
Kael looked at her. “You’re ordering for me?”
“You have the energy of someone who forgets basic self-maintenance.”
Interesting. Because once, centuries ago, someone used to say similar things to him.
A memory surfaced unexpectedly; cold ocean air, wooden docks, his younger sister forcing bread into his hands while scolding him for skipping meals. The memory struck hard enough that Kael momentarily stopped hearing the city around him.
Mara noticed instantly. “There you go again,” she said softly.
Kael blinked once. “Again?”
“You disappear sometimes.”
The concern in her voice felt dangerously genuine. Kael looked away toward passing headlights.
“You shouldn’t pay that much attention to strangers.”
Mara leaned her chin lightly against one hand. “Well, you stopped feeling like a stranger around night three.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Because Kael realized, with growing discomfort, that she was right.
The noodles arrived steaming hot several minutes later. Mara immediately began eating while Kael stared down at the bowl in front of him.
“You’re not touching yours.”
“I’m considering my life choices.”
"It is only noodles, not a blood oath.”
Kael nearly choked internally at the accidental wording. Mara noticed the expression immediately. “…Okay, now you definitely look suspicious.”
Kael picked up the chopsticks calmly and forced himself to take a bite carefully, Then paused. He could sense the warmt, flavor, faint, but undeniably present.
Kael went completely still. That had not happened in decades. Human food normally tasted dull at best, just texture without meaning. A memory of flavor rather than flavor itself.
But this; salty broth, pepper, ginger, heat, he could taste it. Not fully, but enough. Fear moved quietly through him.
The Softening. The thought arrived immediately. Rare stories existed among older vampires about biological instability developing after centuries of survival. Ancient predators regaining suppressed human traits before eventual system collapse. Most dismissed the stories as myth.
“You okay?” Mara asked carefully.
Kael realized too late he had frozen mid-bite. “Yes.”
“Seems the noodles just revealed government secrets that surprise you.”
Kael set the chopsticks down slowly. The warmth beneath his skin suddenly felt wrong. Too noticeable. Too alive.
By the time they left the food stall, dawn approached faintly at the horizon. The city softened before sunrise. Traffic thinned. The air cooled. Even Jakarta’s endless noise seemed briefly quieter.
Mara walked beside him down the sidewalk while carrying her sketchbook beneath one arm.
“You know,” she said eventually, “you’re weird.”
Kael glanced sideways at her. “That’s hardly new information.”
“No, I mean specifically weird.”
“That clarified nothing.”
Mara smiled faintly. “You listen too carefully.”
Kael remained silent.
“And you always look like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”
The observation landed uncomfortably close to truth. Because predators survived by anticipating danger constantly.
Every crowded room, unfamiliar face, security camera. Kael had spent centuries preparing for threats before they appeared. Relaxation became impossible after enough time.
Mara looked ahead thoughtfully. “My grandfather used to look like that after the war.”
Kael’s gaze shifted toward her instantly. “What war?”
“The riots back when I was little.” She shrugged lightly. “He survived, but after that he always sat facing doors.”
Interesting. Trauma recognized trauma. Even across species. Kael realized suddenly that Mara observed people the same way he did. Quietly. Carefully. Without announcing it.
Maybe that was why she unsettled him so much. She noticed things other humans ignored.
They stopped near Mara’s apartment building just as the first traces of sunrise began touching the distant skyline. Kael instinctively stepped backward beneath the shadows of an overhanging awning.
Mara noticed immediately. “You really hate mornings.”
“You have no idea.”
She studied him curiously for a second before smiling faintly.
“You know, most people would’ve stopped showing up by now.”
Kael looked at her calmly.
“Most people probably weren’t called cryptids repeatedly.”
“That’s fair.”
A comfortable silence settled briefly between them. Then Mara spoke again. “Thank you.”
Kael frowned slightly. “For what?”
She looked genuinely surprised by the question. “For staying.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Because Kael suddenly realized how long it had been since someone thanked him simply for existing beside them. Not for protection, violence, nor for survival. Just for his presence.
Mara shifted her sketchbook beneath one arm before heading toward the apartment entrance. “Goodnight, creepy cyber-security man.”
Kael watched her climb the stairs. “Goodnight, woman with catastrophic dietary choices.”
She laughed softly before disappearing inside. Kael remained where he stood long after the door closed. Listening. Heartbeat steady behind concrete walls. Alive. Safe.
The sensation moving through him afterward felt unfamiliar enough to be frightening. Contentment.
Later that night, Kael stood alone inside his apartment bathroom staring at blood running slowly down his side. The wound stretched across his ribs in a thin shallow line. Not severe. A knife injury from an altercation earlier with one of the rogue vampires connected to the stolen hospital blood network.
Normally, the cut should have healed instantly. Instead, it remained open. Only for several seconds. But several seconds mattered.
Kael pressed trembling fingers against the wound as cold realization spread slowly through him. Then the skin finally closed. Too slow. Far too slow.
For the first time in over a century, Kael felt fear crawl quietly beneath his skin. Because monsters were not supposed to become human again.
- Writer
