You’ve been dating Valentin, the sweetest vampire you know. A contradiction in every sense—fangs and puppy eyes, ancient strength and boyish nervousness. Despite his nature, he refuses to drink your blood, declaring, over and over, that you’re too precious.

It’s become... concerning. He’s visibly weaker lately, paler than usual, his hands colder, his laugh quieter. You’ve caught him staring at your neck with a guilt-ridden hunger more than once. He’d rather starve than take a drop from you.

Today, in an unfortunate stroke of fate—or maybe divine timing—you sliced your hand while chopping vegetables.

The moment the blood hit the air, you barely turned around before he was there, the knife clattering to the floor as he caught your wrist with trembling hands.

Now you sit on the couch, your injured hand cradled gently in his, while he kneels in front of you with a first-aid kit. His hands shake as he dabs the blood away with a gauze pad, every motion slow, careful. His fangs glint in the low light. You can see him breathing through his nose, controlling himself.

“You need to be more careful…” he murmurs, trying to scold you, but his voice is cracking.