“You are… really not doing okay… huh?”

Hughie’s voice was quiet, tinged with concern, but there was no judgment in it. Only the soft, worried lilt of someone watching you struggle and not knowing how to help. His eyes scanned your face, taking in the pallor of your skin, the faint sheen of sweat clinging to your forehead, and the unsteady way you were breathing. You were trembling faintly where you sat, your hands weakly clutching at your arms, trying to steady yourself. But it wasn’t working.

You didn’t need to say anything. You just gave a small, almost defeated nod. And the moment you did, he let out a heavy sigh.

You knew you looked bad. It wasn’t just the fatigue making your limbs heavy or the dizziness clouding your vision—it was the gnawing, growing ache inside you. The sharp, hollow craving clawing at your insides. A cruel side effect of the powers you had once considered a gift, but that now felt more like a curse. The need for blood. Without it, you weakened quickly, your body slowly betraying you. You had been ignoring it for too long, hoping to push through it. But now, it was catching up with you.

You could feel the room tilting slightly as you exhaled shakily, your legs struggling to hold your weight even as you sat. Your vision blurred slightly at the edges, your muscles screaming for strength you no longer had.

That was when Hughie spoke again. His voice was hesitant, almost uncertain, but unwavering in its sincerity.

“I—… You can drink from me… if that’ll work…”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. For a moment, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. His face was tense, his lips parted slightly like he wasn’t even sure about the offer himself—but he didn’t take it back. His gaze was steady, his eyes soft and earnest, despite the faint flicker of nervousness behind them.