AN: A big shout out to those that pointed out the huge format error upon posting this story. It literally looked like someone had thrown up html code all over the screen. That has never happened to me before, but hopefully everything is fixed now.

The space opposite of his office has remained comfortingly empty for the past few weeks. Its former occupant was the chatty type, who more often than not had a phone glued to their ear, and the conversations of which he overheard certainly didn't allude to any customer calling about an insurance claim. It wouldn't have been so awful, if not for how much it impeded his ability to think.

No matter how familiar the forms nor the ingrained motor skills it took to navigate a customer's information, the migraines associated with the constant, loud babble of his workmate's chatter more often than not ended with Arthur yanking himself free of his desk to fetch a cuppa. Too polite to rain down a wrath of artfully placed curse words, and too short-fused to endure it for extended periods of time led to an annoying stalemate with his options. He chose avoidance, in the end. Best not to jeopardize his job security by pummeling his next door neighbor.

The silence following his former coworker's release (and really, he wonders what brought that along) came as a soothing balm to nerves that were too frayed and high strung. The weeks succeeding the vacation of the next door office eased the bone-white tendons that often stuck out against Arthur's hands. The keys of his keyboard must have let out a figurative sigh, no longer the victim of anger he couldn't bring himself to direct at the perpetrator. His breaks sank back into their regular conformity.

Silently, he prayed that no one would come to fill the empty room next to his. He entertained the thought of them converting it into another utility space, perhaps a convenient spot for another copier or scanner.

The rush to complete the growing pile of documents he'd missed during his outings had Arthur exhausting his workload within a few days. It wasn't often that he found himself staring around his office with a vacant expression, drumming his fingers impatiently against the cherry oak of his desk, and not a single manilla folder in sight! He should consider himself lucky, he thinks, but mostly, he's just terribly bored.

There sat, in the far upper corner, a mostly unused television set that seemed to be older than its brethren by at least a decade. A fine layer of dust coated its top and stuck to its screen, tinting the black surface a soft brown if one were to look at it at the right angle. It'd obviously seen more use before Arthur had come to inhabit this office space. He grimaced, noting that he'd have to take a duster to it soon.

Fishing into the right drawer of his desk, he procured the matching remote to it, flicking the television on with a press while its screen crackled to life (and isn't that static just lovely, he thinks). The picture quality was lacking a few hundred pixels, with a color scheme that suggested some devious person had literally sucked the saturation out of it. Or perhaps it was just age and not another idiom conjured up by his mind.

The channels came in clear enough, though the only one that seemed remotely interesting to him was the news. Tossing the remote on his desk and leaning back with his cup of tea - which had begun to cool more than his liking - Arthur absorbed the ongoings of the world around him.

"-of which there will be meetings to discuss the new regime soon. In other news, blood donations are seen to be on the rise, with more and more donors coming forward in the wake of the many drives taking place around London. Statistics point towards a steadier supply for the vampire populace, and experts say that blood-related crime should be expected to decrease over the next few months. We've got analysts standing by to discuss the matter… but after this break."

The camera cut away from the anchor, segwaying into a commercial about insurance; of which the irony was not lost on Arthur. Taking a sip of his tea, and then grimacing subsequently because it was much too cool, he let his minder wander. Idly, his thoughts drifted to the local blood drive located just a few blocks away from his home. He entertained the idea of perhaps dropping by later to donate, though a wince followed that thought, because that obviously meant needles. Urgh.

When he was younger, the nurses had written down in his record that he was prone to passing out and becoming sick during bloodwork. He faintly remembers burying his head into the crook of his mother's shoulder while the nurse slid the needle into his vein, and the violent vertigo and sinking feeling in his stomach that had him calling out for the trashcan just seconds later. When he had come to, at least three of them had been standing over him, with one laughing nervously about how his lips had turned blue and his skin had gone ghastly white.

Of course, that was then, when he was barely old enough to consider himself a teenager. He'd had another set of bloodwork done on him recently, a precautionary step taken since his mother's side had a history of diabetes. He'd fared just fine then, though the initial poke still had his skin crawling and his stomach nearly flopping.

While his thoughts lingered on needles and blood, the news had apparently resumed its programming. Now the screen was split into three sections, with a person occupying each and debating heatedly about the current 'feeding' situation. Quietly, Arthur sipped his tea as he listened to their droning voices, his eyes flitting between the three analysts; an elderly man berating the government for its more humane treatment of the alternate species, a pale-skinned man with striking gold eyes tearing into the former's accusations, and a middle-aged woman playing auspistice between the two parties.

It was easy to pick out the anomaly amongst them. Porcelain skin, faintly blue branching veins near his temples and neck, ears that didn't have the familiar round curve near the cartilage, and the subtle show of canines that were one-too-many sharp. Arthur found himself listening less to the overlapping arguing and moreso studying the peculiarities of the vampire.

As his mind drifted into theories and technicalities, a quick rap of knuckles sounded at his door. His office always remained open, unless he was servicing customers, so the head that peeked around the frame of his door was expected. Meeting his green eyes was a set of blue ones, and a white smile that contrasted against the tan skin of his face.

"Hey, Artie. You hear the news?" Alfred stepped around the corner, a pastel, plastic box held against his hip as he beamed expectantly at Arthur.

"That depends, Alfred," Arthur murmured quietly, the rim of his cup hiding his mouth as he spoke. "There's a lot going on right now. Could you perhaps try being less vague?"

"What, and spoil the surprise? Nah. And what else is happening that I don't know about?" Alfred readjusts the box against his hip, its sleek surface sliding down the smooth leather of his jacket. The fur lining his wear is damp, unsurprisingly, as early winter London had been assaulted with rain lately. Freezing, ice cold rain.

Arthur wondered how Alfred made it as a delivery man in these conditions. "I would ask how often you watch the news, but I'm afraid I already know the answer."

"Eh, occasionally. Lotta arguing and nonsense, so I try to stay away from it. Brings my mood down." The answer makes Arthur's teacup pause in its ascent to his lips, but only briefly. He shakes his head as he finishes the rest of his tea, his nose scrunching up at the last, cold remnants. "But anyway, I figure I'll go ahead and tell you." He nods his head towards the empty office across the wall, which has Arthur immediately stilling and fixing him with a wary gaze. "You got yourself a new neighbor!"

"Oh," Arthur finds himself uttering, though it quickly follows with a repeat that serves as more of a groan. "Oh. Lovely."

"Now listen," Alfred begins, catching the abysmal tone in the Brit's voice. "I know all about your old neighbor woes, yeah? But I've actually talked to his guy." Arthur raises his head, and Alfred quickly tacks on. "I'm helping bring his stuff up right now, in fact. He's a big material type, but he's pretty nice. Charismatic, even. We talked the entire way over."

"And you've deduced all of this in a single meeting?"

"I'm a delivery man, Artie. My whole deal is being able to talk to people. I gotta read them, y'know? 'Hey, this guy's an asshole, so be really direct and short with him.' Or 'Hey, this lady looks really sad, so try to say something to cheer her up, yeah?' This new guy's a charmer. I think even you'll like him."

Despite his suspicions, Arthur finds himself smirking at the implications. "Did he try to woo you or something?"

"What? No, no… I mean, maybe? But I didn't really feel that whole vibe. If he did, I think he backed off after he realized I wasn't interested. Or maybe that's reading too much into it. Ugh, look at what you've done, you old crank."

"I'm only five years older than you, you sod."

"Everyone knows that twenty and twenty-five are like… night and day. You're basically almost middle-aged."

That prompts Arthur to roll his eyes. "Your views of my life expectancy are dismal, you know."

At that, Alfred's smile slides back into place. "Crankiness is a terminal disease, man. It's stated to repel at least a hundred people a year. Crazy how science works."

Arthur hums, amusedly, a small noise of recognition. He slides his hand over to his drawer, seemingly in the process of fishing something out before he retracts his hand, only to reveal his middle finger to be raised. "Ah, yes. I thought I left your invitation around here. And here it is! Your invitation to fuck right off."

Instead of taking it personally, Alfred just laughs, his figure hunching slightly as his free hand clutches at his stomach. He seems to wipe a tear away before making a finger gun at Arthur. "Alright, alright. You got me good there. I'll give that one to you. But hey, for real. The guy should be on his way up anytime. Think he's down on the first floor, taking care of formalities or something. I've gotta finish moving his stuff up, so don't be a stranger, yeah? Make a truce or something."

"You know I only burn bridges." Arthur remarks.

"That's how I know you're actually British."

Alfred slinks away, across to the other side of the hall. Arthur gives a roll of his eyes, his fingers coming to play with the rim of his teacup as the room goes silent once more, save for the droning television. As time passes, he catches himself listening to the rest of the insurance building intensely, every creak in the floor or opening door fueling his anticipation. Alfred said his new neighbor would be charming, but then again, his and Alfred's expectations of charming were seemingly polar opposites.

He sees Alfred's signature jacket cross the mouth of his door various times. Each trip has him returning with more gaudy boxes, more colorful trinkets that would otherwise seem out of place in an office. It's not as if he shuns decoration or personalization of the workplace. Arthur has quite a few knick knacks lying around himself; ranging from primitives customized with snarky phrases and sayings, to the spare teaset he keeps in the glass case on the far wall. Even his writing utensils are packed with personality, some mimicking the designs of old fountain pens. He even has customized parchment meant to resemble those of the old Victorian era.

It's aesthetic, and he respects that.

However, a set of wine glasses? In the workplace? The social implications are enough to have him balking. Was he going to be working with an alcoholic? Not to mention the floral desk covers, or even the silken curtains that he spied moving into the room. How much did one need before their office became less of a workspace and more of a home lounge? Whoever his new coworker was, they were certainly… well, avant garde.

While Arthur is busy formulating reasonable answers to his own questions, he misses the streak of long, tied back blonde hair that flashes across his peripheral. Only the sound of Alfred's voice calling out has him refocusing on the office next door, though he can only see Alfred from his doorway.

"I think that about does it! I got a lot of the heavier stuff up here, but I didn't try to situate them anywhere. Didn't wanna mess with your, uh… feng shui or whatever."

Arthur finds himself leaning forward, his hands bracing themselves on the lip of his desk as he tries to listen more clearly.

"Oh, non, this is magnifique. Merci. Your work is appreciated!"

"Hey, cool stuff! Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then. Gonna pop by Artie's and say goodbye." There's a pause, and then very harsh and suspiciously loud whispering from Alfred. "I swear, he doesn't bite. But the guy's got this cold shoulder vibe. You just gotta get to know him."

"Oh? I will take your word, then."

Arthur is relaxing back into his chair by the time Alfred peaks into his office again, seemingly straightening the lapels of his jacket and eyeing his computer screen with feigned interest. "I'm heading out!" The blonde flashes him a wave of his gloved hand, and promptly disappears before Arthur can get a single word out.

"Don't crash your bloody lorry!" He calls out, his voice carrying down the hallway. The echo of Alfred's laugh reaches him faintly. It's with a sigh that he deflates, resting his arms against the sides of his office chair. He spares his workspace a quick onceover, before reaching for the remote to shut the television off.

There's audible shuffling and tampering happening from the newly occupied office space next door, but nothing terribly distracting or grating to his nerves. There's the soft tapping of footsteps, and then, after a short while, the pleasant humming of his new coworker as he (at least Arthur assumes it's a man, even with a voice so operatic) sets to work on unpacking his things. He imagines that if it were the office's old inhabitant, the humming would have had drove him absolutely mad, but there's something undeniably cordial about it, captivating even.

Even as Arthur checks his email to find newer documents to fill out, the humming serves as a quaint background noise, something to help him through the lull of work as the afternoon progresses. By the time his office grew dim with the early winter night, he'd found himself memorizing the loops and chorus of the stranger's song, tapping his fingers gently against his mouse as he concluded the last bit of today's work.

As he'd leant over to flick off his lamp while his computer went through the motions of shutting down, he'd momentarily turned his head enough to peak across the hallway. There, greeting him, was his new coworker's desk, facing the doorway and boasting a fancier and pricier computer than his own. Mindless of his manners at the moment, he'd been content to wait and stare as the task manager prompted him once more about saving his data before shutting the computer off.

A light, lavender blouse covered mostly by a cream colored cardigan came into view as the man across the hallway bent over his desk, straightening its items to perfection as the tone of his song winded down. Shoulder length blonde hair eclipsed the curve of his jawline, though the majority of it seemed to be held in place by a silken tie. Even from here, Arthur could make out a dusting of fine, groomed facial hair. It's light color would have contrasted against anyone's face if not for how strikingly pale the man was.

Mouse all but forgotten and left hovering over the 'shut down anyway' tab, Arthur rested his cheek against his hand, unashamedly eavesdropping from afar until he could get a better look at the newcomer's face. It was one of those menial curiosities that didn't mean much of anything, but he'd feel better knowing he got a good look at the other before heading home tonight. If his items didn't explain him very clearly, then maybe his physical traits would. Arthur would know what to expect when he came in tomorrow morning.

After long, dragging minutes of anticipation, the man had finally decided to step around his desk, his back facing Arthur for only a moment before he promptly seated himself. Even then, the monitor of his computer served as yet another obstacle, and Arthur actually found himself grimacing over the matter.

Just as he was about to call it a fruitless effort, his new coworker would rise from his seat just a bit, so that his eyes were peeking over the top of his computer. Arthur's computer gave a last, final hum of power as he finally gave it permission to shut off, but not before he'd caught the other's gaze with his own.

Their line of sight remained in sync for a few long seconds, with Arthur taking note that the man's eyes were blue, and ungodly almost. A shade you'd see more on someone photoshopped in a magazine than someone standing face to face with you. If Alfred's eyes were blue, then there needed to be a new word to describe the shade of this man's eyes. At least, Arthur thought so.

Seeming to notice his intent staring, the newest occupant of the office would lean slightly over, enough to reveal the rest of his face. It was here that Arthur decided that the pigmentation of his skin was truly pallid, and not just a trick of the overhead light. However, it was far from unhealthy looking. Oh, no. In fact, it was almost… strikingly handsome, if Arthur had to be perfectly honest. Otherwordly in all the right ways. The only blemishes he could make out were the slight shadows lining the bottom of his eyes, but even then, it almost appeared as if someone had purposely airbrushed them on. Angular jawline, thin, pointed nose… they were all qualities that would have anyone sweating after a bit.

This was from a distance, mind you. He paled to think of what the man was like at close proximity. It had him swallowing thickly, finding his throat to be dry despite having not been thirsty just a few minutes ago.

The distant silence must have grown to be uncomfortable between them, because now the man had raised his hand and was sending a small wave towards Arthur's office. His lips spread into a friendly smile, of which soon became a toothy grin as Arthur awkwardly returned the gesture in the form of a half-hearted nod of recognition.

The man seemed to laugh at that, and it was here that Arthur's attention was snagged the hardest. The man's head had tilted back just enough, baring a good portion of not only his throat, but the seemingly perfect, white teeth he had as well. His front teeth were blunt and aligned, but the next two sets of teeth proceeding them grew sharp and glinting. Quad spires of needle sharp utensils designed for breaking flesh apart easily. Arthur had seen these before in the mouths of waiters and cashiers and even some of his clients. He'd seen it on the news today, during the heated discussion of how ethical it was for the government to be feeding their kind.

Breaking his gaze away from the office across the hall, he'd reach down to grab the strap of his messenger bag, hauling it over his shoulder and hastily pushing his seat into his desk. In his haste to vacate his office, his foot would tangle haphazardly with a spare cord running across the room, nearly sending him sprawling into the glass case holding his teaset.

A few hefty swears would leave him as he yanked his foot free, scuffing the rug up and earning a frustrated growl as he used his foot to spread it flat once more. From the other side of the hall, he could hear faint laughing, breathy noises that suggested the perpetrator was trying to muffle it somewhat.

Face flushing and skin prickling with annoyance, Arthur would stomp away from his workspace, shoving his phone into his pocket and clocking out with just a bit too much vigor, earning the concerned stares of his other coworkers as he pushed past the revolving doors of the firm.

What a lovely first impression, he thinks.