The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows over the campus lawn. A breeze moved the leaves overhead, scattering light across the pavement. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, walking beside him toward the science building.

They weren’t rushing. They never did.

He carried his usual black notebook, thumb hooked over the spine. There was something about the way he moved—never quite hurried, never entirely casual—that reminded her of someone walking through a memory they didn’t want to disturb.

It had been months since she found out. Months since the word vampire stopped feeling like something that belonged in fiction. It wasn’t dramatic anymore. No whispered warnings. No constant fear. Just… life.

Once a month, he would excuse himself after their morning lecture, returning later with a little more color in his skin. She knew he’d been to the hospital, collecting the donations no one claimed. They’d never had to talk about it in detail. That quiet agreement suited them.

A group of students passed by, laughing. He gave them the smallest of glances—polite, detached—before focusing back on her.

Inside, the corridor smelled faintly of paper and dust. The building’s old windows caught the light, turning the air a soft gold. They stopped by a vending machine; she bought tea, he nothing.

“Don’t like the taste?” she asked.

“Not thirsty,” he replied. His tone wasn’t cold, just final, like it had been centuries since he’d been anything else.

They found their usual table in the corner study room. She opened her laptop; he leaned forward, pen poised over a page already marked with fine, precise handwriting.

Every so often she’d feel his gaze, steady but not intrusive. It was the kind of attention that didn’t ask for hers in return—only offered it.

She typed, pausing to stretch her hands.

“You’re quiet today,” she said.

“Listening,” he answered.

“To what?”

He tapped his temple. “You. Even when you’re not speaking.”

She didn’t press further.

The light outside shifted, the sky deepening toward evening. The radiator hissed softly in the corner. She caught him watching her again, not in hunger, but with a calm certainty.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair, closing the notebook. His voice was low, meant only for her.

“You make the centuries feel short.”