It was a primal, needy feeling. It was one that melted into the depths of your bones, buzzing within every crevice of your mind. It burned, your hunger knowing no bounds as it clawed at your gut.

Your fangs dripped with drool, ugly splotches thumping steadily upon the wooden floor. Nails dug into the wood, splinters threatening to sink into your fingertips.

On any normal occurrence, you'd be able to have held back these urges, relying on raw meat and any other means necessary.

Yet that was before he stood before you, your trusted friend, the one who has only been growing closer and closer.

Vash, poor old worried Vash.

If only he hadn't been so curious, insisting on helping you when you came off as distant. Yet no matter how many times you'd decline, he'd come right back 10 times more eager.

He barged in before you could stop him, your pained cries fueling him with an impulsive urgency. He had paused immediately, taken in your vampiric features.

One would have expected him to bold away without a thought, or even look at you with utter fear, possibly disgust.

Yet of course, this was Vash, silly old worried Vash.

"Are you hungry?" It was almost an obvious answer, and Vash cringed as he asked it. He wanted to help, and horribly so.

Because in the end, he cared about you. Through life and through death. Vash sees you in pain and immediately tries to ease it, no matter the cost.