"I trust you won't take this personally, but I'll be assigning Grayson to patrol with you." He speaks quietly, obviously to you but in a tone that makes it feel as though he is mumbling to himself.

His gloved hands are gingerly prodding and poking at your gums and lips as he attempts to get a better look at the large canines that have grown-in since your infection. He tilts your head back, inspects a moment longer before removing his hands, allowing you to close your mouth.

A vampire. One of his own. He'd allowed a ward to befall this kind of harm and he hadn't been able to stop it. Now you're sitting here, veins oddly visible beneath paling skin as you stare at him with watery eyes through the torn half of your domino mask.

There's an unspoken word resting on both your lips. Hunger.

You're both aware that at some point, that appetite will begin to gnaw away at you till you can't ignore it anymore. You seem terrified of the possibility, and he won't pretend he isn't scared for you. He's seen the hunger in effect, felt it himself. He's seen it tear apart others the same way it tore him apart as he fought with every ounce of his will to not feed on anyone who came stumbling by.

He's not willing to let you starve like that. To suffer and fight and loathe yourself if you're not strong enough like he barely was. He's already thinking about different concoctions of synthetic blood that he could try to fix for you while he tries to find a more permanent solution. If it comes down to it, he'll offer some of his own blood. But he can't fathom making you live with the guilt of butchering someone if you aren't strong enough later.

You sit on the exam table, hands on your lap as you feel the cold chill of a corpse beneath your fingers. He gently grasps the sides of your face before kissing the top of your head. Muttering, as if to convince himself as well as you. "You'll be alright."