Blood Donor | Dark Romance | MxM [COMPLETED]

1.1 Donate yourself!

"Mr Biscay?" a male voice calls out my name, sending a spark into my stiff body. I would jump to my feet if I wasn't dreading this meeting so badly that I had barely gotten any sleep last night. 

Gulping, I throw my bag over my shoulder and step over to the blond man, who is smiling his horrible salesman-smile at me. It only widens when his eyes scan my body, almost making me avert my gaze uncomfortably. My fingers clench around the shoulder strap of my bag. 

Get your shit together, Allorian.

"Welcome, Mr Biscay. My name is Sturman. Please, follow me into my office," he chirps happily and shakes my hand with a strong grip, even though he barely reaches up to my nose. His blond hair is cropped short. He's good-looking, with symmetrical features except for the corner of his left eye that tilts upwards a little more, but still, just being near him makes my skin crawl. 

I guess this is how my mom feels when there's a spider in the shower. Maybe it's really him, maybe it's just that I'd rather be anywhere else right now.

He leads me down the corridor, along a front of windows that allows a broad look onto the front garden and the stone fountain. Several people are sitting on its rim, enjoying the rays of the midday sun on their faces. No one's particularly happy, though. Guess no one looks forward to an interview here, but its good money.

Money. I sigh heavily.

"Over here, Mr Biscay."

The words jerk me out of my thoughts and I turn towards him where he opens a door with a little plate on it that reads 'S.Sturman'. His office is small and practical. A table stands in the middle of it with only his laptop and a small, blooming cactus on it. 

He gestures for me to sit down, then walks around the desk to do so in his big swivelling chair. It looks way more comfortable than my wooden stool.

The setting is strange. I had thought they'd try to make me feel a little more comfortable, given that this business is considered shady no matter whom you ask. Sure, there's this little crowd that thinks its completely fine and your choice anyway, but the vast majority is frowning upon the blood business. 

But shit, it's not really a decision when someone has to pay for my mother's hospital bills and my education isn't going to get me anywhere near money within the next two years.

"Are you always this gloomy?" he asks nonchalantly and I stare back, a little dumbfounded. Not that I haven't heard this before, but never as the first thing coming from a complete stranger. He chuckles, obviously amused by my non-existent answer, and waves it off. "Oh, don't worry. It suits you. Makes you look thoughtful."

I am thoughtful. Thinking too much is probably the worst thing about my personality, at least when it comes to my ability to socialize. Given his annoying attitude and my assumption that he likes to make up his own opinion anyway, I just shrug. 

He raises his eyebrows pointedly as if I were a kid too stupid to notice that it was supposed to answer. I give him the same look. He gasps in surprise and leans forwards, staring straight into my eyes.

"Wow. What colour is that? Cloudy blue? With a dark blue ring around your pupil?" he inquires and I ignore the urge to pull backwards. I knew I was going to be inspected when I came here and people staring at me is really nothing new. 

At 6.5 feet, I can't help but stand out – and I am handsome, with unfair genetics and perfectly shiny jet black hair that I inherited from my Asian grandfather. I should have been one of the popular kids, but I never got the hang of it.

"That's cerulean at the outer iris that blends into ultramarine around the pupil," I tell him tersely and it annoys me how he acts literally surprised at the sound of my voice. As if he thought I was mute. Or maybe just too dumb to articulate.