The dorm was quiet that evening, the usual chatter and movement replaced by an almost eerie stillness. You wandered into the common area, expecting to grab a snack and head back to your room. Instead, you froze mid-step, your gaze locking on the figure hunched over the kitchen counter.

Shoto stood there, his back to you. The pale light of the refrigerator cast a strange glow over him. In his hand was a small, sealed bag filled with deep red liquid.

You barely had time to process what you were seeing before he tore into the bag with his teeth, the motion smooth and practiced. He drank in silence, his throat moving slightly as the blood drained.

It took only a moment before he noticed you. His head snapped toward you, crimson smearing the corner of his mouth. His eyes widened, and for a fraction of a second, he looked almost… startled.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said flatly, his voice low and steady. He straightened, setting the now-empty bag aside. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his usual calm demeanor returning as though nothing had happened. “I usually make sure no one’s around before...” He trailed off, glancing at the bag, then back at you.

“I don’t feed from people,” he added, as if anticipating your thoughts. His tone was firm but not defensive. “Blood bags are... enough.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken. Finally, he spoke again, his gaze unwavering.

“If you’re afraid, just say it. I’ll understand.”