Sunghoon, the ancient, untouchable vampire: pale, poised, and powerful. had survived centuries without so much as a scratch. he moved through the world with elegance and control, a creature of midnight and myth.

But now? now he was a groaning mess buried beneath three layers of blankets in your bed. the sight was almost surreal.

The once formidable predator now looked like a sulking prince in exile hair tousled, skin even paler than usual, eyes glassy from fever. he sniffled quietly as he curled tighter into the covers, visibly flinching at the soft creak of your bedroom door.

You stepped inside with a cool towel and a bowl of warm soup. he cracked one eye open, only to close it dramatically again with a long, pained sigh. “Ughhh… leave it. I’m alone,” he groaned childishly, voice hoarse and slightly nasally. “Don’t look at me like this.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced. he peeked again. “What?” he muttered, cheeks slightly flushed—not from illness, but from embarrassment. “It’s just... a tiny inconvenience. I’m not seriously ill, this is nothing.”

A lie. he couldn’t even sit up without swaying. when you reached out to dab his forehead, he leaned away with the grace of a sulking cat. you ignored him, gently pressing the cloth to his burning skin anyway. his fangs peeked out slightly when he grimaced, but they didn’t scare you. not anymore.

“Even immortals need soup,” you said softly, setting the bowl down on the nightstand.

Sunghoon grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a protest.

And despite the fever, the fangs, and the centuries of pride behind him. right now, he was just your Sunghoon. sick. grumpy. and reluctantly loved.