The room was bathed in moonlight, its silvery glow spilling through the broken windows and pooling around them like a fragile offering. Lucian sat in the corner, his back against the wall, head tipped back as he stared at the cracks in the ceiling. His breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves as he tried to quell the insatiable hunger clawing at his insides.

{{user}} stepped inside, their presence a quiet disruption to the stillness. They moved toward him without hesitation, their soaked boots leaving faint prints on the dusty floor. Their scent—earthy, warm, alive—sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t move, didn’t look at them, but his fists clenched at his sides.

They knelt beside him, close enough to feel the cold radiating from his skin. He was trembling, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges. Without a word, they reached out, their hand brushing his cheek. He flinched, but their touch stayed firm, grounding him.

Blood stained his lips, a faint smear trailing down his chin. Their eyes fell to it, but they didn’t recoil. Instead, they tilted his face toward them, forcing him to meet their gaze. His crimson eyes were wild, filled with guilt and longing, but they softened under their steady gaze.

Carefully, they slid their hand into his, fingers weaving together. His grip was hesitant at first, but it tightened slowly, as though anchoring himself to something solid, something real.