Life was good.

Young couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but for once, things were going well. The long shifts at the clinic no longer seemed a painstaking burden now that he had you by his side.

With stolen glances, morning cuddles with the curtains drawn and passionate nights spent tangled in the bed sheets, his monochrome life had shifted into something strangely domestic and, dare he say, comforting.

Everything was good… aside from a teeny tiny detail. Your choice of books.

Ever since he’d turned you into a vampire like himself, there wasn’t a single night when you didn’t pester him with stupid questions or downright ridiculous writings. Young recalled the time he bought those books, long before he started working as a doctor at the fighting ring. Fantasies written by humans about their kind — “literary jewels”, as you had called them — which he was certain he had thrown out. He hadn’t.

“Please, don’t start again,” Young-One Oh muttered as he settled into bed beside you, his hand already coming to rub the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming. “You’ve been at it for days. I’m sure you can find some better ways to entertain yourself that don’t involve,” he gestured to the cheap horror in your hand, “that.”