Memento Mori = "Remember that you must die."
James Barnes is a mysterious and handsome newcomer to the sleepy town of Graybrooke. Rumor has it that he's come to take over running the town's popular flower shop after the mysterious illness and disapp...
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CW: Discussions of addiction and alcoholism, discussions of death, discussions of the impact of drunk driving (there are more notes at the bottom about this), vampire!Bucky is a big fucking flirt.
There are more notes at the bottom. I'm also sorry about that.
"The town cares for devil's work no more than it cares for God's or man's. It knew darkness. And darkness was enough." - Stephen King, "Salem's Lot"
𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟔
This place smells like death. It's in the air. It's not just the scent of decaying leaves, there's something more sinister. There's a history of death here, it's almost like it's in the bones of the buildings and poured into the very concrete and cobblestone that lines the roads.
It's in the trees and the plants, and as beautiful as they are, they too carry that weight. The trees lean over the roads, branches like long crooked fingers that ache to touch a beating heart or a few inches of warm, sunkissed skin.
Just like him.
James could feel at home here.
They park their bikes in front of the large castle-like house on the hill and walk up the driveway, shiny black boots clicking against the stone. Steve kicks down the FOR SALE sign as they walk, snapping it in half.
"Talk about a cliche, huh?" Steve murmurs.
Thaddeus's estate is an enormous house is literally on a goddamn hill that overlooks Greybrooke.
James hates cliches, and yet, as a vampire, he's the embodiment of at least a handful of them.
"Yeah, something like that."
They approach the door and he pulls a large skeleton key from his pocket. Steve groans.
"You're kidding."
"Like you said, cliche," James murmurs.
He slides the key into the lock and twists until a deep and ominous click rings through the bones of the building. The sound almost shakes the ground, and James pushes the door open. They both cough and cover their mouths with the sleeves of their jackets as they head inside. James closes the door behind him. None of the lights work, but that doesn't matter. They can both see in the dark.
James sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Dust kicks up as his shiny black boots thunk against the floor with each step he takes. Bugs and mice skitter into the darkest corners of the house every time they move something that's been blocking a hallway for half a century. Every object holds a secret to how the old man lived here. Fortunately, James already knows most of those secrets that Thaddeus has tried to keep buried.
