The flat is a nice one. Not as big as the house back in Bristol but still big enough to live nicely on his own. A bit too stylish maybe, too modern with its sleek furniture, but it’s a roof over his head so he won’t complain too much. It’s nothing he wouldn’t be able to change over time if it really bugs him.
The landlady was very quick with giving him the key to the apartment although he doesn’t look like someone who would normally fit into this slightly posh apartment complex. Mitchell should have known that something wasn’t right when she shoved the key into his hands after he signed the tenancy agreement, her smile a bit too bright and too relieved.
He really should have known.
“Another one,” comes a groan from the couch. “Bloody brilliant.”
Mitchell stops for a moment, letting his duffel bag slide down from his shoulder and onto the floor. He closes the door behind himself and drops the key onto the counter, then takes a few steps into the living room so he can look over the back of the couch. With a sigh Mitchell pinches the bridge of his nose where he can feel a headache creeping up.
He really should have known.
“When will they finally stop trying to rent my apartment?” the blond man on the couch groans and sits up with an annoyed huff. “Everyone moves out after a few weeks anyway so why keep trying?”
“Because they don’t know you’re still here,” Mitchell answers, leaning his hip against the counter.
The blond’s head whips around. He stared at Mitchell for a few seconds before a smirk spreads on his lips. “You can see me.”
It’s not a question but Mitchell nods anyway, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I can see you.”
“Good, that makes it much easier.” The blond throws his legs over the side of the couch and stands up, straightens his bright blue sweater absently while walking over to Mitchell and pointing a finger at him. “You will leave. This is my apartment.”
Mitchell shrugs his shoulders. “Not anymore, sorry mate.”
The blond smiles at him, but it’s a sharp smile you’d give someone you want to murder right on the spot. “I died here, I’m pretty sure this is my apartment, mate.”
Mitchell grins at the way the shorter man spits out the last word. “Well, I died in a forest in France and I’m pretty sure I can’t just go there call it my own now.”
“This apartment was mine before I died, dimwit.” There is a pause and a frown appearing on the blond’s face that makes Mitchell grin even more. “Wait, you aren’t dead.”
“I am.” Pushing away from the counter Mitchell grabs his duffel bag from the floor and walks down the hallway to the bedroom. “I’m just not a ghost like you. I’m a vampire.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Mitchell is not surprised to see the blond following him to the bedroom. He sets his bag down onto the king-sized bed and turns to open the wardrobe. “I can see you, can’t I?”
“My brothers can see me too and they aren’t lunatics who claim to be vampires.”
“I don’t claim to be one,” Mitchell huffs, taking a few shirts out of his bag. “I am one.”
“Well then, prove it,” the blond demands, leaning against the doorframe.
Mitchell grumbles and shoves the shirts into the wardrobe before he turns back towards the ghost, eyes bleeding black and fangs out. “Believe me now?”
“Nice trick,” the blond answers completely unimpressed. “Ever considered a career at a ghost train?”
Mitchell stares at him for a moment before he chuckles, willing his eyes back to their usual brown. “No, but thanks for the suggestion. I’m Mitchell, by the way.”
“Anders,” the blond says with a little bow of his head. “Anders Johnson. And it’s still my bedroom you’re standing in.”