Because no one is going to be able to see you.

Alex: It’s a dark dining restaurant!

You: Dark dining, show me the forbidden appetizers.

Alex: You’re a riot.

Alex: No, like, with the lights off!

Alex: No one can see you.

Alex: And the reviews say this one’s automated, so not even waiters.

Alex: Some millionaire megalomaniac sponsored it so he could get his name on some wall, one of the conditions was to use his tech.

You: … really?

You: That’s a thing people do?

Alex: Mmhm. Interested?

As you consider your options, the contrast of trendy fine dining to the loose chunk of bloody meat in your hand seems especially apt. The stuff there is probably edible, even if you won’t get anything from it. And it’d be a chance to see Alex up close. Darkness isn’t any obstacle to you. Sit across from her at a table, like an actual couple.

It’s awfully risky, though.

Research is probably warranted, for one. Finding a way in shouldn’t be hard, but if the wait staff is automated, you’ll probably need to be on some kind of “list.” Need to make sure you can do that without exposure. And make sure there’s no “surprises,” involved that leave you exposed in front of a gawking audience. Sunglasses. You’ll need sunglasses, or else those pinpricks of yellow are going to get a lot of questions. Especially from your date, who’d have to stare into them the whole damn time. That’s a long way to go without her noticing something’s not right.

You: Can I do some research first?

You: It’s really exciting, I just want to be sure …

You: Jesus, I’m such a wreck.

Alex: We all got our baggage, sweetie.

Alex: Buuuuuuuuuuuut …

Alex’s next messages are just links about the restaurant, largely answering most of your questions. It feels good she checked it out so thoroughly as you scan through the sites. Makes you feel … wanted, in a way you can’t even remember feeling. It’s hard to remember what living like this was before her. Just blood and isolation and ****. Which was more than you were doing before the change, as far as you remember. The idea someone actually was interested in you romantically (even more so than sexually; there’s a fetish for everything) got hard to comprehend at times.

You: Okay, good to know.

You: I was worried there’d be a “reveal,” or something.

You: Which is about my worst nightmare.

Alex: Full discretion. Great place to deal ****, incidentally.

You: And me without my lighter and spoon.

You: It’s also good no one sees us come in.

You: I’ll feel sort of silly wearing a cloak …

Alex: I don’t think it’s a real cloak, just, like …

Alex: More of a blanket?

Alex: Though I’ve got a solid guess at how tall you are, you’ll probably look like Andre the Giant in Princess Bride.

You: Humble request, do not set me on fire.

Alex: Only metaphorically. Promise.

Alex: Can I book us, though?

Alex: I’m REALLY excited, but I don’t want you to do it if it’s going to hurt.

Alex: Having dinner with my boyfriend just sounds nice.