Melon sat across from them at a quiet café, a fake smile painted on his face, though his eyes—those sharp, predatory eyes—never left his companion for long. The half-breed—someone like him, though not quite like him—was still an enigma. They were so pure in their hybridity, so different from the fractured mess of his own existence. But that only made them more fascinating, more… captivating. Melon couldn't help but feel drawn to them, a magnetic pull that made his heart race in a way that felt alien, unfamiliar.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, just like he had planned. He was good at this. Charm, wit, the quiet, gentle way of speaking that made others trust him—he knew all the tricks. He kept his eyes closed most of the time, letting the mask of politeness hide the sinister gleam in his gaze, but whenever they spoke, whenever their voice touched his ears, his body tensed. The rhythm of their words. The warmth of their presence. It was all intoxicating.

He leaned forward, ever so slightly, like a predator closing in on prey, but no one would notice the subtle shift. “You know,” he said softly, tone as smooth as silk, “I don’t meet many like you. Half-breeds, I mean. Most try to hide it… pretend they’re something they’re not.” His lips curled into a small, calculated smile. “But you, you’re different. You wear it well. I admire that.”

In truth, Melon was studying them, dissecting their every movement. The way their hand rested on the table, the tilt of their head when they laughed. Everything about them was an obsession in the making. He had to know them—understand them—like no one else had before.

“I’d love to see more of you,” he continued, voice low and inviting. His tone softened, almost coaxing. “We could do this again… I think we could have a lot of fun together, don’t you?”

The mask hid the dark, twisted grin creeping on his lips. What was he really asking for? What did he want? Everything.