In the morning, Aph only brought up the night before to make sure Lydia had explained things to me. “She did,” I said. Then the day carried on like normal.

Well, up until Lydia arrived just before midday.

“Couldn’t wait?” I said, trying to keep my smile natural.

She softly laughed, the light tones like music to my ears. “I thought I could take you to lunch—if your mother doesn’t mind,” she said, her focus shifting to Aph at the end.

“Pray do not fret, I know well your temperament,” Aph said, a knowing smile lingering behind.

My gay-as-fuck brain kept trying to tell me it was sexual tension between them, and I started imagining the forbidden mother-daughter role play they got up to when they lived together.

I didn’t know where Lydia was taking me, mostly because she was holding my hand and I was loving it, loving how freeing it felt to walk around without a care. Too busy watching how no one stared at us.

The place we ended up was pretty much a closet, this tiny restaurant that only had one table, the waiter talking to us through a sliding window in the wall.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought some privacy would be nice,” she said, making me realise how quiet the room was.

“It’s nice and cosy.” I hoped I sounded genuine because I really did like it, still unlearning my fears. Since we were alone, I looked forward to some thigh rubbing and flirting, a few kisses.

After all, we were dating, right? There was no way she’d take me somewhere kinda fancy to turn me down.

While we waited for our food, I started things off. “So, last night happened,” I said.

She smiled, a bit complicated. “It did.”

My hand crawled over the table, then I tapped her fingernails with mine. “Are you going to take responsibility for my feelings?”

She sort of tensed, confusing me, making me think she still felt guilty. But I waited for her to tell me instead of assuming I knew her. “I want to, but I thought a lot about my situation and so think that… I should explain it better to you.”

I heard her vulnerability from just saying that and reined in my expectations for a flirty lunch. “If it’s too soon, I don’t mind waiting,” I said.

She let out a hollow chuckle. “Rather than waiting, would you be willing to tell me about your circumstances? I ask as I know that we who end up at Paphos do not do so by mistake. Of course, if it is too much or too recent, I understand and I, too, do not mind waiting.”

There was a strange air between us after that. It reminded me a lot of talking to other lesbians or queer people online, this kind of superficial closeness that came from knowing that, even if our struggles weren’t exactly the same, we had struggled and that we had the same dreams of being true to ourselves and freely loving who we loved.

So the words came easily to me, knowing she’d understand or at least empathise.

“I come from… very far away. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like we’re not allowed to be queer, if that makes sense. When my mother found out, it was all about how I still needed to marry a man. They needed a son-in-law because I was their only daughter and daughters can’t support their parents when they get old.”

While I sorted out my thoughts, she eventually said, “So you ran away?”

I chuckled, wondering if throwing myself into a river counted. Nodding, I said, “She threw away my notebook.”

Honestly, I expected her to laugh at me, such a childish reason. But she didn’t. She held my hand and squeezed it and said, “I can tell how much your new notebook means to you, so I cannot imagine the feelings and hopes and dreams your old one held.”

Fuck, I didn’t want to cry. “Everything,” I whispered, afraid what I’d sound like if I spoke any louder.

She gave me space to calm down, her hand keeping mine company. Once I was back together, I said, “Anyway, I know that’s pretty mild, but… I spoke to older queer people and knew it didn’t get better. I was going to end up married to some man I could never love, have to indulge him, have his children, trapped.”

“It is not a matter of degree, anyone who has their freedom taken deserves better, so I am glad you found your way here.”

I took a deep, shuddery breath, then nodded, squeezing her hand. “Thanks for listening.”

She lifted my hand and leant in, kissing the back of it. “Thank you for sharing.”

We took a moment to decompress and reflect, having a few sips of water that thankfully wasn’t contaminated with industrial waste. Then I looked at her and she nodded.

“Vampirism is actually an… intersex condition. That is, I have genitals which are neither entirely male nor female, but, by tasting a certain sex, I come to resemble them.”

She paused there, probably for my benefit as it was quite a bombshell. But this was a fantasy-ish world and I’d come across stuff on intersex people in my online reading of queer issues. “That must have been hard for you growing up.”

A flicker of surprise, then she softly smiled. “It was. The situation with my family spiralled down in my teenage years until I fled at fifteen, coming to the city. Along the way, I met a woman called Saf who gave me directions to her sister and told me I would be welcome there.”

After waiting to see if she would continued, I said, “Aph?”

“Yes. Aph took me in, introduced me to other vampires and to women who I could taste, and showered me with maternal affection. That was five years ago.”

Mental maths, that put her around twenty. I wasn’t too worried about age differences, but it was good to know that it wouldn’t be a problem for others. Once I was done with that, my mind turned cheeky and I walked my fingers a little up her arm. “Then, shall I call you sister?” I asked, a naughty whisper.

She chuckled, her other hand coming over to stop my mischievous fingers. “Given how different we look, people would rather think us followers of the Old Church than deviants,” she said calmly.

Pouting, I gave up. That was enough humour to lighten the mood anyway. “I’m really sorry you had to go through all of that, and I’m so thankful you felt comfortable sharing it with me,” I said.

“I am thankful you listened and think no less of me for it,” she whispered back.

“You proved you’re worth me thinking a lot about.”

Music to my ears, she giggled, sliding her fingers between mine. “Aren’t you just a charmer? To think, when we met, you could barely manage a sentence.”

“I just needed to warm up to you and grinding against your hand was pretty hot, not gonna lie.”

Before she could respond, our waiter politely cleared his throat. “Your lunch is served.” After putting down the plates, he silently slid the window closed. Even with her dark skin, I knew she was blushing, could practically feel the heat from where I was sitting.

We ate slowly in silence, both of us having a lot to think about. Well, not really me—I didn’t want to fixate on her story because it was unusual. Denied my curiosity. Instead, I tried to control my expectations. This was obviously not something she told everyone, but she did make it sound like she wanted a serious relationship, getting this out the way first.

Was that what I wanted?

I loved my night out, loved how it had ended—minus the minor freak out. But I loved her too. I mean, I wasn’t in love with her, but she was amazing even before that night, loving her aesthetic, her body, loving the little chats we had, how she liked my poetry.

Remembering that, I chuckled.

“Something funny?” she asked—not upset, more curious.

“Well, I thought you were straight until last night,” I said.

She lowered an eyebrow. “Really? I thought my flirting was quite obvious, no?”

“That’s why,” I said, then I realised I needed to explain. “I told you my place was, like, not queer friendly? So only straight girls who can’t even comprehend lesbians exist talk like that.”

“I see…. That sounds horribly confusing,” she said.

Chuckling, I nodded. “If I thought someone was gay, I had to, like, ask her special questions to check. Or if she wanted to move abroad after college, that was a freebie.”

She nodded along. “Curious,” she mumbled.

“I much prefer it here,” I said, looking into her eyes.

My message easy to understand, her beautiful smile bloomed. “I much prefer you here too.”

“See? You act like I’m good at this, but it’s all about the other person setting you up,” I said.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the last of her food. “We should get back soon.”

I didn’t know if she had a job to get to, so didn’t argue. Once we were both finished, we set off, holding hands, walking even closer together. But we didn’t quite make it back to Paphos, stopping at the end of the street.

“Now that you know, I wish to know how you feel about… us,” she said softly.

“Well, I like you a lot. It’s just that… I’m new here and want to, um, experience the nightclubs. Is something like an open relationship okay with you?”

After a couple of seconds, she whispered, “An open relationship? That is a curious way to put it.”

Thinking she didn’t understand, I said, “What I mean is, like, I might be physically intimate with other people, but not emotionally intimate. Am I making sense?”

She chuckled, the beautiful sound calming me. “Yes. It is just that such relationships are usually described as courting, a show of interest without making a commitment. What you say is like a commitment to a commitment?”

“Not really? An open relationship is a commitment. It’s like… we agree to not be jealous. That’s why I’m asking if you’re okay with it, otherwise I’ll think more about it.”

“This would… extend to both of us?” she asked.

I nodded. “You can totally get other women off in nightclub bathrooms. Honestly, I’d really like to watch, but we can have that discussion another time.”

Chuckling again, she reached over to my hand and squeezed it. I took that as a really good sign. “This would be forever or would we ‘close’ the relationship at some point?”

“I mean, if we both like having it open, we can keep it like that? But if you want to be exclusive after a month or two, I don’t mind either.”

“Somehow, you have made this relationship rather complicated,” she said lightly.

Squeezing her hand, I giggled. “I think… bespoke fits better? Changing the rules to suit us better.”

Silent for a while, she eventually said, “Pray let me think it over some more.”

“As long as you need.”

While she still visited the store every day, it was four days later that she had an answer. Instead of ordering her tea, she asked, “May we talk outside?”

I turned to the back and shouted, “Can I take a break?”

“As long as my children need,” Aph replied, the sound of her footsteps approaching.

“Well, you heard her,” I said to Lydia, smiling. She smiled back.

We walked outside and sat on the benches there, a few people walking past us. Though I still felt a bit prickly about doing it in public, I held her hand and quickly settled, both because it was calming to hold her hand and because no one cared.

“I thought about this a lot; however, I cannot really tell if… I would feel jealous,” she said softly.

“The thought of me, um, being with someone else doesn’t upset you?” I tentatively asked.

She nodded. “While it isn’t exactly an answer, I thought that the best way may be to… try it. Go out together one night and see how we feel.”

Honestly, just that much felt like a huge weight off my chest. “That’s a great idea.”

“Are you free this Friday?” she asked.

“So free.”

“Then, it’s a date.”