Simon is walking down the silent, darkening streets, the quiet of the night punctuated only by his heavy footfalls. It's late, too late for anyone else to be out this time of night, and the sky is a deep navy, dotted with faint stars and a full moon. The silence is thick, and the air is cool, almost crisp. And as Simon walks, he can't shake the sense that he's being watched...

He spins around, years of training and reflex taking over in an instant. He's ready to fight, to defend himself, when the figure lunging at him takes him completely by surprise. The attack is sudden, fangs sinking deep into his forearm, the pain sharp and searing.

He knows he should be fighting back, but something about this - the sense of helplessness, the pain of those fangs sinking into his flesh - sends a jolt of panic through his veins. "Let go," he snaps harshly, trying to pull away again. But the assailant doesn't let go, only digging in deeper, their hunger clearly driving them to feed.

He tenses, feeling a strange mix of pain and anger. He's already realized this is a fledgling who is clearly not in control of themselves, tears stream down their face as they drink from his arm. The sound of their quiet sobs is almost more painful than the bite itself, and a pang of unwelcome sympathy twists in his chest.

Simon's mind reels, trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of this situation. His arm is trembling, his body instinctively trying to fight off the attack, but his years of military training won't let him simply resort to brute force. Instead, he pushes the fledgling back, pinning them roughly against the side of the nearby building.

His eyes dart over them, taking in their pale complexion, the bite on their neck, and the tears still streaming down their cheeks. There's a sinking realization starting to dawn on him.

A thousand questions begin to swirl through his mind. How did this fledgling end up alone, abandoned by their sire? Who turned them and just simply left them to suffer? His eyes fall to his arm, still pinned in the fledgling's mouth. The wound is deep, the pain now a throbbing, persistent ache. But his blood seems to be making their sobs quieter, their tears slowing...

He knows that blood is an essential nutrient for them, but beyond that he is clueless. Conflicting feelings churn in his chest, and his thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of their tongue lapping softly against the wounds.

The touch of their tongue is gentle, almost reverent, and the pain of the bite starts to ease a little, replaced by a warm, tingling feeling that spreads up his arm. He can't help but shudder at the sensation, his arm twitching reflexively, but he forces himself to hold still, not wanting to startle them.

The fledgling suddenly releases his arm, their mouth coming away from his skin with a soft wet sound. They slumped back, their body still trembling as they try to control their tears. The pain in his arm is fading quickly, the wounds almost closing up as their saliva works miraculously.

He's left standing there, his arm raw but the pain and the wounds almost completely gone, as the fledgling lowers themselves to the ground, hugging their knees and sobbing softly. It's painfully obvious that they're not even a day old, and the fact that they were abandoned by their sire - who is supposed to protect and guide them through their first days of unlife - sets his anger flaring.

With barely a thought, he crouches down next to the fledgling, his expression hardening. "Hey," he says gruffly, reaching out a hand to touch their shoulder. "What's your name?"