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The air in the Diaz house resets itself over the next seventy-two hours, thick and familiar once more with the comforting drone of the television and the scent of seasoned ground beef. Three nights pass, and the absolute impossibility of that silver-blue December night begins to erode under the weight of daylight routine. Edmundo "Eddie" Diaz convinces himself it was a hallucination born of exhaustion—a waking nightmare fueled by leftover combat hypervigilance and a father’s deepest anxieties. He did not tackle a marble statue. He was not thrown against a wall by a man who floated. And he certainly wasn't kissed by a creature with lips like icy velvet.
It was just an odd dream.
At precisely 9:15 PM, Eddie stands in the doorway of Christopher’s room, watching his son wiggle beneath the dark blue quilt. Christopher doesn't mention his midnight friend. He talks instead about his day, his voice a rhythmic, sleepy drone that settles Eddie’s remaining nerves. Eddie steps forward, reaching out to gently slide the glasses off the bridge of Christopher’s nose. He places them on the nightstand with a quiet click.
"Want the hall light on tonight, mijo?" Eddie asks, leaning down to press a kiss to his son's forehead.
Christopher shakes his head against the pillow, his eyes already half-closed. "No, it's okay, Daddy. The moon is bright enough."
Eddie smiles, pulling the quilt up to Christopher's shoulders. He takes a slow breath of the normal, warm air, completely unaware of the shadow stretching unnaturally long in the corner of the room, blending perfectly into the dark slats of the blinds. Satisfied that safety has returned to his home, Eddie walks down the hall to his own room and climbs into bed.
In the deep velvet dark of Christopher's bedroom, Buck waits. He counts the seconds as they tick away in the quiet house. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.
With a movement that displaces no air, Buck slips from the heavy shadows and glides to the side of the mattress. He leans down, his sapphire eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he gently rouses the boy just before he can sink into a deep, unshakeable slumber.
"Hey, Superman," Buck whispers, his melodic voice cutting through the quiet.
Christopher’s eyes flutter open, and a brilliant smile instantly lights up his face. He isn't afraid; he is overjoyed. But his eyes go even wider when Buck gestures toward the center of the room. Resting silently against the wall is a gleaming, brand-new recumbent bicycle, its three wheels perfectly balanced, built to distribute weight and handle with ease.
"You got it!" Christopher hushes his voice, though his excitement vibrates through the room. He looks up at Buck, leaning in to share the latest news. "My gym teacher didn't even care about the hand crank anymore. He won the lottery and quit teaching so he could go live in Brussels." Christopher wrinkles his nose in pure confusion. "I don't know why anyone would want to live in the place where sprouts come from."
Buck lets out a fond, low laugh, the sound rich and warm despite the chill in his skin. "Maybe he just really likes vegetables, Superman." Buck tilts his head, his damp curls catching the silver light. "How about I come back this weekend to show you how to properly ride it?"
Christopher agrees immediately, his small chest puffing with confidence. "Yes, please. Since you and Daddy are friends now."
The soft, subdued murmur of voices carries down the hallway, slicing through Eddie's light sleep. His eyes snap open. The hypervigilance is back in an instant, a cold sweat breaking across his skin as he realizes he wasn't crazy three nights ago. Eddie slips out of bed, moving with practiced combat silence until he reaches the threshold of his son’s room. He peers around the doorframe. The sight stops the breath in his throat. The tall, impossibly broad stranger is kneeling at Christopher's bedside, his posture surprisingly gentle. And parked right there on the blue carpet is a sleek, specialized bicycle.
Before Eddie can intervene, Buck smoothly moves to tuck Christopher back into the heavy quilt, smoothing the edges with careful hands.
"Before you sleep, you need a story," Buck says softly, keeping his eyes on the boy. "Once upon a time, there was a rogue Brussels sprout who came to life. He had a tiny mustache and a grand plan to take over the whole world. But just as he was about to declare himself king, a magnificent supercat bounded into the room, gobbled him up in one bite, and saved the day."
Christopher lets out a sleepy, satisfied hum. Buck leans down, pressing his cool lips gently to the boy's forehead. Within seconds, Christopher’s eyes go slack, instantly claimed by the deep, protected sleep Buck always leaves in his wake.
Buck stands up with feline grace, turning slowly to face the doorway. His gaze locks directly onto Eddie, who is still frozen in the shadows. "You know," Buck says, his voice a casual, low purr as he strikes up a conversation as if they are old friends sharing a drink, "eavesdropping isn't very polite, Eddie."
Eddie steps into the room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He is trapped in a dizzying paradox: every survival instinct he possesses is screaming that this creature is a lethal predator, yet looking at Buck’s striking face, at the intense sapphire of his eyes, Eddie feels completely smitten. The dangerous charm radiates off the vampire like heat from a furnace.
"You brought him a bike," Eddie manages to say, his voice a little rough, his eyes darting to the machine and back to Buck.
"I told you I would," Buck replies smoothly, taking a single, effortless step closer. The scent of sandalwood and winter air follows him. "Christopher needs to learn how to ride it properly. I'm going to come over on Saturday afternoon to teach him. That's alright with you, isn't it?" The way Buck says it isn't an ultimatum, but the velvet cadence of his voice carries an intoxicating weight, an implicit command wrapped in a devastating smile.
"Yeah," Eddie breathes out, nodding faintly. "Yeah, Saturday is fine."
The words leave his mouth before his brain can fully process the permission he's just granted to a supernatural intruder. A rakish, boyish wink flashes across Buck's face, completely shattering the terrifying aura of the ancient predator.
"Awesome. See you Saturday, Eddie."
Eddie blinks, and in the span of that single heartbeat, the space in front of him is empty. The shadow near the bed is gone. Buck has vanished into the dark December night, leaving Eddie standing alone in the quiet room, his pulse racing and a strange, lingering warmth blooming in his chest.