Behind their backs, the bar filled with noise: palms slapping tables, the clink of glasses, delighted shouts.
One of the young vampires collapsed onto the sofa, soaking his shirt in scarlet.
Nina shook her head.
Ethan silently grabbed a towel.
My turn to help the local bloodsuckers. God, I'm so tired…
He wiped the counter in slow, circular motions, watching the overheated guests begin to gather their things.
Someone was already taking selfies with empty glasses, someone else laughed—unsteadily, too loudly, too confident in their immortality.
"Same thing every night," Nina murmured.
"And they don't even get hangovers."
Ethan walked over to the table where a dark-crimson puddle was spreading like a miniature catastrophe.
The drops soaked into the wood as if they belonged there.
He helped the young vampire up; the guy could barely stand, but he grinned widely and sincerely, flashing his fangs.
"You're cool… human bartender with a heart!"
"More like with wear and tear," Ethan replied dryly.
He gathered the empty glasses onto the tray and watched the departing guests with his eyes.
The bar gradually exhaled the tension of the night.
A sign blinked on the door:
"Good night, bleeding hearts."
One of the vampires at the exit turned around:
"Hey, bartender! You should try what you're pouring! It's paradise!"
"No thanks. Work's enough for me," Ethan scratched the back of his head, not even trying to sound polite.
The door slammed shut.
The bar fell silent.
Nina switched off one of the neon lamps; the light became softer, warmer, as if the place had suddenly remembered it used to be an ordinary bar.
On the tables—stains, napkins, wet rings from glasses like chaotic symbols.
"You're too calm, Ethan," Nina said quietly. "Someday it'll kill you."
"Better than working here," he smiled at the corner of his mouth.
Their laughter sounded unusually alive—two humans in a bar where even the air smelled of blood.
Ethan put away the last glass and tossed the towel onto the counter.
Nina handed him his jacket:
"Go already. It's your anniversary today, right?"
Ethan nodded.
"Yeah. I'm supposed to meet her tonight."
He stepped out the back door.
The little bell rang—short, almost tender.
Then silence.
He walked along wet asphalt, hands shoved in pockets, collar turned up.
The city around him lived its nighttime life—signs shimmered, holograms flickered, passersby hurried past like reflections, as though each one was just another shadow.
Advertisements flared red, then cold blue, painting his face in foreign colors.
God, I'm so tired…
He passed a huge screen advertising a donor center:
"Share your blood — give hope!"
Next to it—another image: a vampire and a human holding hands.
"Equality is a choice."
Ethan saw his own reflection, distorted by both ads. He just shook his head.
So much advertising about good vampires… And it's all just whitewashing. They sell faces the same way we sell coffee.
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
Opened it.
The ring gleamed under the neon—quietly, coldly, almost foreign.
What am I even going to say to her? I can't just hand her the ring…
Need something… spectacular.
Scenes played out in his head:
He stands in front of Maria, holding a bouquet like an actor in the final scene of a romantic comedy. In the background—an orchestra of street musicians, off-key and dragging the melody.
Ethan drops to one knee.
"Maria, you're my light, my morning caffeine addiction, and the reason I put up with this city!" — his imaginary self declares.
The musicians hit a note that could shatter glass, and a pigeon, like a director's cruel joke, lands right on his head.
No, too much. Pure theater of the absurd. She'll think I've finally lost it, he grimaces inwardly.
They sit on a bench. He's serious as if reading a will, holds out the ring.
"Marry me. While we still have time."
Maria recoils in shock:
"Is this a proposal or a threat?"
Ethan only sighs heavily.
Yeah, Ethan! Romance at funeral-home level.
Imagination doesn't give up.
Now he tries to hide the ring box inside a slice of cake. Maria bites, chokes.
"Don't swallow, don't swallow! It's a diamond, not a nut!"
The ending is obvious: no registry office—just an ambulance.
He smirks, puts the box away, and slips it back into his pocket.
Okay. I'll just tell her straight. No fireworks, no theater. Just us.
A deep breath. Shoulders straighten.
If she could fall in love with a barista with no future, then maybe anything's possible.
In front of him—the park. Leaves swirl in the wind, streetlamps reflect in puddles like a mirror sun laid out upside-down beneath his feet. The city behind him fades.
We met here… She was painting an old bench, and I said she painted shadows more beautifully than light. She laughed… and that's when I knew nothing else mattered.
Ethan walks down the street where neon stabs the eyes and wet asphalt mirrors hurrying humans and vampires—equally indifferent, equally self-absorbed.
"Where is she?" he mutters.
Shop windows flash with ads for blood, donor programs, bonus points.
"Share — and get rewarded."
"God… just let this stop jumping out at me," he snaps irritably, turning away.
He takes the ring box from his pocket and whispers:
"The best night of my life… and hers too, I hope."
The leaves seem to slow, falling more gently than usual.
Puddles catch the light and turn it into fragile colored shards.
"That exact spot… She has to be here," he says almost in a whisper, closing the box as if protecting it.
He steps inside. The lamps grow softer, the trees lean in as though listening.
Maria sits on a bench, bent over her canvas.
Her white dress shimmers under the streetlamp. She's painting a stained-glass window—bright lines of color spreading like molten cracks across glass.
Beside her—backpack, thermos, box of brushes.
God… she dragged all this here, he smiles warmly to himself.
He approaches quietly, places his hands on her shoulders. Carefully, as if this were her dream.
She smiles without turning:
"You smell like coffee."
"I am your favorite caffeine blend," he whispers.
Maria lifts a hand, brushes his face with her fingertips.
"You're twenty minutes late. I was starting to think the job finally swallowed you whole."
He sits beside her.
"It would have… if someone hadn't kicked me out and reminded me about the anniversary."
Maria laughs—quiet, genuine.
He looks at the canvas: the park in glassy shades, as though the light is trying to break free.
"How do you do this?"
"Maybe because someone helps me see," she winks.
His cheeks warm; their fingers intertwine.
"I missed you," she admits.
"Me too… even though we saw each other this morning."
She rests her head on his shoulder.
He slowly takes out the box. His voice trembles just slightly:
"Maria Olson… do you want to spend the rest of my human life with me?"
Maria freezes. Her eyes brighten, as if reflecting the very streetlamp.
"You're serious…?"
"Serious enough to be terrified of the answer," he smiles.
She nods, holding back tears:
"Yes, you idiot."
"That's the best 'yes' of my life."
They embrace; the ring gleams in their joined hands.
They walk down the alley, laughing, stumbling over stray leaves, as though the world has grown lighter.
"Imagine our wedding… what it'll be like," Maria says dreamily.
"Gonna invite all your girlfriends?" Ethan laughs.
She shakes her head:
"You're too cynical."
"And you're too kind. Perfect combination for us," he replies.
They sit on the fountain steps.
Somewhere in the distance—someone else's laughter.
Maria laces her fingers with his.
"Promise you won't stop believing in us."
"As long as you're here… no one's tearing us apart," he says quietly.
And suddenly there is complete silence.
At the far end of the park, shadows flicker. From a narrow alley a group of young vampires emerges—their figures smeared against the night lights like moving patches of cold.
"Shit," Ethan exhales, squeezing Maria's hand.
"I completely forgot that places like this can have… interruptions. Want to go to a restaurant? It's safer there."
Maria gives a faint smile:
"I'd love to."
They stand and take one step toward the exit when several silhouettes lazily block their path.
The vampires draw closer. Expensive suits, the smell of alcohol, empty gleam in their eyes—predators wrapped in party clothes.