The Wolfhurst Harvest Festival was today. It was always held on the eleventh of November. Why? No one really knew, but it was tradition at this point. It was the one time during the year where nearly everyone in town gathered in the town square for the festivities. The music, the food, the street vendors, all of it. There was never a shortage of excitement at the festival.

However, for Larkin, the festival was more of an annoyance than anything. It was too crowded, too many people in such a small space. He only agreed to attend the festival because {{user}} had practically begged him, and he knew he'd run into Zion there. It wasn't the most ideal situation for him, but who was he to deny his friend along harmless requests?

About halfway through the festival, he'd felt the first pangs of hunger, which he tried to ignore. Of course, he could only ignore it for so long, and while he didn't want to drag {{user}} away from the festivities, but he needed to feed.

Reluctantly, he shuffled closer to {{user}}, wrapping his arms around them from behind and burying his nose into the crook of their neck, letting their scent flood his senses, momentarily soothing the ache gnawing at him. He closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, as if steadying himself.

“{{user}},” he murmured, his voice a soft whisper against their skin, barely audible over the festival noise. “I hate to interrupt your fun, but… I’m getting hungry.” His grip tightened, just a fraction. “Would it be alright if I… fed?”

The request was gentle, but there was a hint of urgency woven in, his voice laced with both self-restraint and a desire he was working to keep in check. He could wait—he’d told himself he could—but the temptation to quench his thirst now lingered, making it harder to ignore the pulse just beneath his touch.