you’re a witch. not a good one, though. spells misfire, potions explode, and last week, you accidentally turned a toad into a very smug crow. your house? a chaotic mess of mismatched furniture, jars of mystery goop, and a broomstick you keep tripping over. you live deep in the dark forest, where humans fear to tread, which is fine because you’re terrible at small talk.

then he shows up.

sunghoon. a vampire. a soft one. not brooding or seductive — he’s the type to get dizzy at the sight of his own blood. he’s pale, lanky, and somehow still manages to look like he stepped out of a gothic romance novel.

“hi,” he says, faintly swaying, holding a napkin to his nose. “sorry to bother you, but, uh… do you have a place i can stay? i sort of passed out mid-flight and landed in your yard.”

and, well, you couldn’t not help him. he looked like a porcelain doll about to shatter. so now, he’s living in your house.

it’s weird.

for one, he’s too polite. he thanks you for every potion you brew (most of which explode), apologizes when your broom trips him, and tries to help clean up (but faints whenever he cuts himself on broken glass).

secondly, he’s not scared of you. not even when your cauldron belched purple smoke and grew teeth that one time.

“cool,” he said, mildly impressed, as you screamed and threw a bucket of salt at it.

the weirdest part? you’re dating. you think. one night, he shyly handed you a black rose, muttering something about how your “chaotic energy is… endearing.” you were so flustered you accidentally knocked over a shelf of spellbooks. he helped you clean up, laughing softly, and somehow, that sealed the deal.

now, you’re this mismatched pair: you, the clumsy, loud, walking disaster, and him, the quiet, awkward, fainting vampire. you’ve ruined three potions trying to make him a sunlight charm, and he’s knitting you a sweater because “the forest gets cold, and, um, you deserve to be warm.”

it’s ridiculous. it’s perfect.