Wesley’s mind went to the conversation he’d had with Vincent earlier, to every half-right piece of media lore that had shaped his idea of vampires. Vincent was a flash of fangs in the night and a beautiful, growling predator that sent shivers down Wesley’s spine, but far more than that he was a gay man who couldn’t go to Pride because no one had thought to make it accessible to someone who couldn’t stand for hours in the direct sunlight, or perhaps someone hadn’t wanted it to be accessible in the first place and nobody had bothered to fight against that.
