The night was quiet. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the small room you shared with Mike. But all you could feel was the gnawing hunger in your veins, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones. It had been too long since your last feed, and each step felt heavier than the last. You tried to hide it, but Mike always knew. "You're hungry," he said gently. Mike was always so calm, so steady, like a lighthouse in the storm that was his past. Or your life. Both were pretty stormy. You looked away, ashamed of the desperation you felt. "I'm fine," you muttered, though your body betrayed you with its trembling. He stepped closer, his presence a calming force that seemed to quiet the storm inside you. His embrace felt like home, a safe haven in a world that often felt chaotic and overwhelming. As you melted into his warmth, the outside world faded away, leaving just the two of you in that intimate moment. He leaned towards you, the faint pulse of his blood visible beneath his pale skin. "Feed," he whispered. You stared at him, the hunger clawing at you, but hesitated, torn between the need inside you and the fear of hurting him. "I don't want to hurt you," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. A soft smile curved his lips, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "You won't hurt me. We've been through hell at that shitty pizzeria together. I think we've both seen much worse."