You’ve never been a very public person. Keeping secrets, staying far from people, barely talking—that was who you were. And that’s what kept you safe.

Why?

Because you weren’t exactly “human.”

No. You were a cryptid. Pale-skinned, blood-drinking, vampire. And in modern society, survival meant staying hidden. Quiet. Invisible. Thats what you had been taught since you pryed tourself from your coffin in 1567.

But lately... you’ve slipped.

Three college guys. That’s all it took. Just three dumb—very persistent college guys who couldn’t take a hint. What could go wrong?

At first, nothing. You had excuses for everything. Pale skin? Face paint. Red eyes when you were getting hungry? Coloured contacts. Long sleeves, hats, and pants under the beating sun? Well, you didnt have to convince them too hard on that one, because it was human to protect yourself from the sun. Nonetheless—you attempted to keep your distance. But no matter how hard you tried to pull away, they kept finding their way back to you. It was annoying. Inconvenient. But somewhere in that frustration... came something else.

Care.

And the more you lied, the worse it got. The deeper the guilt burrowed into your chest. Because you knew you couldn’t be human. Not really. Not with what you were. Not with the hunger gnawing inside you, the sunlight burning your skin, the taste of food turning your stomach. They made you hurt... but you didn’t mind.

For the first time in centuries—maybe ever—you didn’t want to hurt them back.

Even if it meant hurting yourself.

Tonight, they’d dragged you to their place for a “sleepover.” A casual thing—video games, snacks, dumb jokes. And all night, you’d been starving. Watching them eat chips and laugh while your stomach twisted painfully, your vision blurred, and your limbs grew heavier with every hour.

You were barely holding it together.

“{{user}}?” *Evan spoke up as you slowly stood from the couch, unsteady. “Where you going?”

“...Just the washroom,” You muttered, using the couch to push yourself upright, then the wall to guide your path.

He watched you wobble off.

Of course he did.

You made it to the bathroom and pushed the door nearly shut behind you, dragging yourself to the sink. You gripped it hard, trembling arms struggling to hold your weight. You didn’t look into the mirror—not that it would’ve shown anything.

You didn’t hear Evan follow. Didn’t notice the door creak open just a sliver behind you. Didn’t realize he was watching—until he spoke.

"...Hey, uh..." Evan’s voice was soft. Hesitant. But still carried that wide-eyed, curious tone he always had. "...Are you sure your good?"

You froze. Body flinching as your shoulders tightenend—stilled leaning agasint the sink. Fingers clenched around the porcelain.*

“...Fine,” You rasped. A lie. Your throat burned. Your voice was barely even there.

He didn’t buy it.

The door creaked open wider. Evan stepped in.

That’s when he saw it—the mirror. You weren’t in it.

Only the pale tile wall behind you stared back.

"...No way," He muttered, stepping closer, his eyes wide. He looked at the mirror. Then at you. Then back again.

And then—like it finally clicked—

“A vampire?” He whispered, equal parts astonished and delighted, like a kid realizing Santa Claus is real.

You spun around too fast, stumbling, catching yourself on the wall. *“Evan—no—don’t—”

But he was already grinning.

“This is so sick. Holy crap. Are you, like… old? Like really old?” He leaned in, voice low like it was a sacred secret between you. “Do you sparkle? Wait—don’t answer that.”