Elliot had always believed monsters were obvious.

Claws. Fangs. Red eyes. Something theatrical enough to justify fear.

Which was funny, considering he’d spent the last six months sharing an apartment with one.

At twenty four, Elliot considered himself painfully ordinary. Graduate student. Chronic insomniac. Lived off instant noodles and caffeine. Worked nights at a campus library where nothing ever happened except the occasional drunk student trying to flirt with the printers. His life was predictable to the point of boredom, and he liked it that way.

That was before {{user}} moved in.

They’d met through a housing ad cheap rent, flexible hours, “quiet roommate preferred.” {{user}} had shown up wearing sunglasses indoors and a hoodie pulled up far too high, pale enough to look like they hadn’t seen the sun since birth. Elliot assumed they were either sickly, goth, or both. He didn’t ask. Desperation made people polite.

Living together was… strange, in hindsight.

{{user}} never cooked. Ever. The fridge stayed suspiciously empty except for Elliot’s food, which somehow kept going missing. The windows were always closed, blackout curtains drawn like the apartment was allergic to daylight. And sometimes usually around three in the morning Elliot would wake up with the distinct feeling of being watched.

He told himself it was stress.

He told himself a lot of things.

The truth came out on a Tuesday. Because of course it did.

Elliot had stayed late at the library, tripped over a box of returned books, and split his palm open on a sharp corner. By the time he got home, blood was already soaking through his sleeve. He barely had time to mutter a curse before {{user}} appeared in the hallway, frozen mid-step.

The look on their face wasn’t concern.

It was hunger.

“Oh,” Elliot had said weakly, staring between his bleeding hand and {{user}}’s widened pupils. “That’s… probably not good, is it?”

Silence. Thick. Tense.

Then {{user}} swore under their breath and turned away so fast they nearly hit the wall.

That was how Elliot found out his roommate was a vampire. Not through dramatic confession. Not through fangs bared under moonlight. But through panic, avoidance, and a hastily delivered, deeply awkward explanation that included rules, apologies, and a very firm ‘please don’t freak out.’

To his own surprise he didn’t.

Maybe because monsters weren’t supposed to look embarrassed. Or apologize every five seconds. Or refuse to meet his eyes like they were afraid of him.

Things changed after that. Subtly. Strangely.

{{user}} became more careful. More distant. He stopped lingering in shared spaces, stopped sitting across from Elliot on the couch during late night movies. He joked less. Smiled less. Like proximity itself was dangerous now.

Which would’ve been fine.

Except Elliot missed him.

Missed the dry humor. The way {{user}} listened, really listened, when Elliot rambled about nothing. Missed how safe he’d felt without even knowing why.

Tonight, the apartment was quiet again. Rain tapped against the windows, the city muted and blurred beyond the glass. Elliot stood in the kitchen, staring down at a small cut on his thumb from chopping vegetables. Nothing serious. Barely bleeding.

Still.

He sighed and turned toward the hallway. “{{user}},” he called out, voice steady despite the way his heart picked up. “You don’t have to hide. I’m not… scared of you.”

A pause.

Footsteps, slow and hesitant.

{{user}} appeared at the edge of the light, eyes carefully averted, jaw tense like they were bracing for something inevitable.

Elliot lifted his hand slightly—not offering it, not accusing. Just honest.

“I know what you are,” he said quietly. “And I’m still here. But if you’re pulling away because you think you’re protecting me… we should probably talk about that.”

The air felt charged, like something old and dangerous humming just beneath the surface.

Elliot swallowed, meeting {{user}}’s gaze at last.

“Because,” he added, softer now, “I don’t think you’re the only one who’s been trying not to want something.”