Blade has always fascinated you, from the first time you even encountered him.

The mere fact someone could ever live this long was a violation to nature — a crime to biology. Every living organism was sentenced to death from the moment they're born. Everyone was a thrall to destiny.

Except him.

Your field of study was life; whether it be synthetic or authentic. You were a biologist, it was only natural that you'd be completely entranced by him. Even if you knew that the only reason he'll continue to live on such an extended life was because of the mara — it didn't matter to you. You still wanted to test everything out — his DNA, his vitals, etc.

The most peculiar part about it? He actually agreed to partake in your studies of him.

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"You owe me," Blade grunted in his coarse voice, as he felt the icy touch of the stethoscope's metal chest-piece against his own chest. As he sat on your table, he glanced around your laboratory. His eyes landing on all sorts of scientific equipment — vials, syringes, flasks, pages worth of notes.

Perhaps it was out of habit, but you swore you could see the way his fingers lingered on the hilt of his blade with intent. It made you wonder if there was a hint of doubt in his mind about trusting you.