Fan Service

by Rosie Danan

It was nice to be appreciated for the embarrassing number of hours she spent meticulously cataloging the minute details of a television show Entertainment Weekly called “a poor man’s Twilight Zone with excessive homoerotic tension.”

“Reboots are cool now. Kids today are obsessed with shit from the nineties and early aughts.” He wasn’t a hundo percent confident he’d pronounced that last word correctly, but Jade hadn’t flinched, so probably “aughts” did rhyme with “tots.”

Can a werewolf get a vampire pregnant? the first question read. Apparently, user Nathaniel’sJuiceBox99 was writing a fic and wanted to feature something called “mpreg.” What the fuck was that? Devin knew about fan fiction in the abstract. They were little stories people wrote about the characters. Occasionally someone brought a printed-out copy of one to a convention for him to sign. From what he gathered, most of them were real horny. He kept scrolling. Man, these people had a lot of questions about werewolf dicks. And some of this stuff sounded painful.

A wildly accurate description of fan fiction.

What else had happened on the show to force a shift? “We could try making out,” he suggested tentatively. Wait, who said that? To be fair, lust was a massive trigger for Colby on the show, especially in the season 4 two-part special. But still. Immediately, Alex pulled a face. “Absolutely not.” Christ. The ego hits just kept on coming. “You know, for someone who used to have a crush on me, you’re pretty rude.”

Devin: Lotta these involve magic or other supernatural creatures. Alex: Werewolves don’t usually spontaneously appear in isolation Devin: you saying I’m special? Alex: That’s one word for it

Being a werewolf was probably like doing mushrooms. If you let yourself lose it, you were definitely gonna have a bad time.

What could he say? Hello, sir, sorry you found me loitering on your property but something above your garage smells really good and I’m pretty sure I want to eat and/or fuck it?

“So what if you make a bad first impression?” In that case it was simple. “You just need to get people to take a second look.” Alex scoffed. “Trust me. I have lived here almost my entire life. They’ve looked plenty. Half the guys I went to high school with still call me ‘Casper, the Unfuckable Ghost.’ ”

She wasn’t proud of knowing all the tricks to finding his most obscure interviews. But being a fandom archivist was like riding a bike: strange and unnatural.

There had been a degree of safety knowing that she was the one who wouldn’t let anything happen between them. If Devin was suddenly responsible for keeping them from ruining their professional relationship by fucking…Shit, they were totally gonna ruin their professional relationship by fucking.

“You can still be mad at me,” Devin said, quiet and gravely serious as he reached over and swiped at her tear tracks with his warm thumb. “If it’s easier. If it helps.” Alex threaded her arm through Devin’s and leaned her head on his warm, sturdy shoulder. “I couldn’t,” she said honestly, “even if I wanted to. And I don’t.”

“I owe you one.” This town would never look at her the same way. “One what?” Devin was looking at her lips. Alex swayed toward him a little. “Whatever you want.” “Yeah?” He brushed her cheek with his thumb and then let the pad linger at the corner of her mouth. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Alex softened at his obvious embarrassment. “I won’t.” “Fine.” Devin sighed. “You smell…” he began, then mumbled, “like you were made for me.”

“You think she’s avoiding me because she likes me?” he asked Rowen, watching her go. They shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand the mating rituals of millennials.” “I’m actually Gen X.” Rowen stared at him blankly. “Never heard of it.”

“I can’t wear your shirt.” “Why?” She lowered her voice. “It’s intimate.” Was she fucking kidding? “Alex, I had your come dripping down my chin, like, twelve hours ago.” “That’s different.”

There were many things Devin didn’t know. If he’d work again. What would happen if he didn’t. How to be a real person instead of a character brought to life in carefully crafted vignettes. How to love someone. How to ask them to love you back. But he knew he could be good for her. That he wanted to be. Tonight. For as long as she let him.

“When you decide to give someone everything, whoever that person is, they’re gonna be really lucky,” he said, gently nudging her aside to put their plates in the dishwasher. What he meant was, Let it be me.

“Whatever’s happened to me, whatever I am now, I want you more than any human ever could.”

“Fuck the moon,” Devin said, kissing her cheek, her neck, the hollow of her throat. “I’d like to spend the rest of my life howling at your door.”

The truth was, Devin Ashwood didn’t measure up to her expectations. He was more, in every sense of the word. Flawed in ways she never imagined, perfect in ways she didn’t anticipate. And whatever falling in love with him smelled like—juniper or pink pepper or cedar—Alex hoped, as they lay there together in bed, that he couldn’t parse it apart from all the other ways she wanted him.

“You okay here by yourself? You need help?” The wolf had a vague idea that Rowen was part of Alex’s pack and in need of looking after. “I’m sixteen,” Rowen said, like that meant something. “Yeah?” When Devin was sixteen, he had about ten different people taking advantage of him and, if that therapist he spoke to was right, an undiagnosed case of anxiety. “I’m good,” they said with authority.

She’d never gotten into video games. She lacked the hand-eye coordination. Also, they made you do battle too much when she just wanted to romance the fussy bisexual vampire.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for contributing to your idea that you aren’t good enough.” Devin cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing the crest of her cheek. “Because while it’s true that you’re one hundred percent a stone-cold weirdo, I am so fucking into it.” “What?” Alex said, half laugh, half croak. “You’re scary”—he kissed her brow—“and mean”—the underside of her chin—“and obsessive”—the tip of her nose. “And I cannot get enough of you.” “You’re so bad at this,” she said fondly.

“I don’t know if it was the moon or fate or the universe that made me a werewolf, but, baby, you made me human.”