It's week two of your investigation when the two of you finally decide to hit the books, a task made easier by his employment at the library. You had convinced yourself that whatever you were missing had to be somewhere, a subtype of vampire you weren't aware of or something entirely more obscure. Your quest for knowledge led to the both of you laying on the floor and reading endlessly searching for the thing you so desperately think is missing. Wilbur, unknowingly to you, spends most of these 'study sessions' watching you, peering over his book or simply pretending to read. He watches as your eyes move back and forth skimming pages, he watches as you lick your finger to turn the page easier, and he watches as that cross necklace you wear shifts with your movement.
Currently, he is holding himself up with his hands and somehow your head has ended up in his lap, using him as a makeshift pillow to more comfortably read.
"What a joke," he laughs as he moves to show you something in one of the many books. It read 'vampires must count all grains of spilled rice if spilled in front of them'. "Have you happened to try this?"
"I can't say I have," your head tilts back to view him, lips revealing a smile. He never thought his plan would be ruined by something so stupid, something as stupid as you. "If a vampire is coming at me I'd rather use a stake than a superstition,"
"Maybe we can leave rice everywhere," he jokes and you careen your head again, pushing at him where you can reach. He relishes every moment your gaze finds him but with the stretching of your neck he's surprised he can control himself with you remaining none the wiser. "I'll be the first superstition hunter," he winks and you huff.
"Have you found anything of use?" you ask, sitting up, leeching your heat from his body. He wasn't supposed to miss your closeness for any reason but the stolen sound of your beating heart in his ears but he finds himself yearning for your scent lingering so close or the warmth of your skin felt even when it was through the layers of your clothes.
"Not really," he bites at the inside of his cheek as you tilt your head. You eyes catch on the book he's been reading, on the various dog-tagged pages that make you crinkle up your nose.
"More of the same for tomorrow I guess," you say with a heavy sigh and he nods, subtly placing the book out of your line of sight.
"Where are you staying? Maybe it'd be faster if I met you there if I hear anything?" he offers and you nod.
"You're probably right," and everything you've done with him tells you that you can trust him even when in the past you would advise against telling anyone where you were sleeping. Still you offer the information. "I'm staying at the Sparrow at the edge of town." he nods and your stomach turns.
Wilbur knows he needs to end this game if it was ever to end at all with your death instead of his.
Still, he invites you out to drink even when he shouldn't in a text that gives you the address to a local bar.
You come because of course you do. The bar is quaint and small. It's quiet except for the low muffle of conversation and the occasional clack of pool balls. You meet the sight of him with a flush, he's dressed as nice as he always is but the black button-down isn't paired with a sweater. It's not your fault that your eyes linger on the four opened buttons that reveal the skin of his chest. His gaze runs up and down your frame before he turns and takes a drink from whatever dark liquor was in his glass.
"Hey," you say, casual, jumping just slightly to sit on the stool beside him at the counter.
"Hey, I thought it may be nice to see each other outside of 'work'" he puts quotation marks around work with his hands, a gesture that relaxes you as much as it makes you giggle.
