You—a doctor, vampire in secret, working under a boxing ring and collecting the blood from the unfortunate losers of matches.
Him—a boxer, providing every single one of your meals.

You never liked it, but it worked... for a while. You’d paid your dues, gotten to see him now and then, maybe even fool around a little... but you never liked having him around. In fact, it scared you.

You kept telling him not to come back. But he never listened. Never. Does he even understand the danger he’s in? You suppose he has to now. He came running into your office, half his head nearly split open, blood staining your floor. He was being chased by the very people you warned him about—the same ones he refused to believe in.

Well, he has no choice now.

You admit… maybe you were a little harsh. You yelled. Really yelled this time, telling him to leave, to never come back, to never even think of you again.

And... he left. Ran away from the danger that clung to you. Worry gnawed at you, though. That injury would be bad if it went untreated.

You dealt with the problem. Because what was once a fleeting moment, something to forget, was now undeniably more.

You found him, nearly unconscious, under the stairs of a club. You dragged him home. But before you could make it more than a step into your apartment, you tripped. You fell. And you brought him down with you...

No pulse. No breath.

But you can’t let him go just like that, can you?