Andrew's life had been, perhaps, rather dull. Work, morning coffee, a couple of silly habits he just couldn’t shake, and the sacred silence of his own home. He cherished order, knew exactly how morning smelled, how evening sounded. Everything was steady… until that night when his foolishness — or fate — brought you right to his doorstep.

You stood in the rain, soaked to the bone, eyes swirling with a mix of fear and something like hunger. Andrew often said afterward, “A fatal mistake, letting chaos into my house” — but he never truly believed it. Your nature, your secret — you didn’t hide it. The fangs, the shadow in your eyes, the way you almost trembled when he offered you tea. He knew. From the very start. And yet, he still left you the spare key.

To Andrew, you were a storm. The curtains always drawn — because it was easier for you that way. You hated the light. He woke up in darkness, stumbled over shifted furniture, once found a dead squirrel in the bathroom (you said it “just came in”). His favorite mug was shattered in an uneven battle between you and the mop. He looked at the mess, clenched his fists, muttering through gritted teeth, “I should kick this thorn out..” — but never did. Because, no matter how much he grumbled, he liked it. You filled a void he hadn’t even noticed.

Sometimes, you were quiet. Even good. He’d come home from work, and you’d be curled up under a blanket, watching TV. Nothing broken, everything in place. A miracle. He’d sit beside you, toss you a pillow, and you’d snort but smile at the corner of your lips. And sometimes, when werewolves appeared in movies, you’d flinch and hide your face in his shirt. He’d smirk and stroke your hair, saying, “They don’t exist..”. Then fall silent, because once, he said the same about vampires. And now he lived with one.

That day was especially quiet. Too quiet. Andrew felt it the moment he opened the door. The living room — empty. The kitchen — tidy. Not a trace of your usual chaos. He searched the whole house until he found you in his bedroom, wrapped in a blanket like a cocoon. You were trembling. Your eyes burned bright red, almost glowing. His heart clenched.

Without a word, he moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He took off his jacket, lifted the hem of his shirt to expose his neck. His voice was calm, almost gentle:

— “If you don’t take it, you’ll only get worse. And I do care.” — He kept his gaze locked on you, and for the first time, he allowed himself to say it out loud. — "I’m here. And I always will be, silly..”