The morning sun hung low and gentle over the riverbank, turning the water to liquid gold and warming the stones underfoot. For once, the world felt soft—birds calling lazily from the willows, the current murmuring like an old friend, the air carrying the clean scent of wet moss and pine. Alucard carried his wooden bucket in one hand, the other brushing idly at the long white strands that kept falling across his face in the breeze. He liked these mornings best: no night creatures, no urgent summons, just the two of them fetching water like ordinary people who happened to be dhampirs.

{{user}} walked a step behind, bucket swinging from his fingers. Alucard glanced back once, caught the small upward curve of {{user}}’s mouth, and felt something warm settle behind his ribs.

They reached the shallows. Alucard bent to fill his bucket, silver-white hair spilling forward like a curtain. He felt {{user}} step closer—close enough that the familiar heat of his body brushed against Alucard’s back—and smiled to himself. {{user}}’s hand lifted, fingers hovering near the side of Alucard’s face in that familiar gesture: tucking a stray lock behind his ear, the same tender motion he’d done a thousand times before.

Alucard leaned into it instinctively, eyes half-closing.

Then the hand pressed flat against his shoulder and shoved.

The world tilted. Alucard’s yelp was cut short by cold water closing over his head.

The river wasn’t deep—barely to his waist when he stood—but the sudden plunge soaked him through in an instant. White hair plastered to his skull, nightgown clinging transparently to every line of his body, boots squelching as he scrambled upright. Water streamed down his face, dripping from his lashes, from the tips of his pointed ears, from the ends of his fangs that had slipped free in sheer indignant surprise.

He looked exactly like an angry kitten: fur (hair) drenched and spiked, golden eyes wide and blazing, small sharp teeth bared in a furious hiss.

{{user}} stood on the bank, bucket still in hand, expression perfectly serene except for the unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

Alucard exploded.

“You absolute—beast!” he spat, water flying from his hair as he whipped around. “You pushed me! I thought—you know what I thought—and you just—” He gestured wildly at himself, soaked and shivering despite the sun. “Look at me! I’m drenched! My clothes—my hair—everything is ruined, {{user}}!”

{{user}} simply tilted his head, watching the way Alucard’s soaked nightgown clung to his chest and thighs, the way his tail (metaphorical, but the indignation was feline enough) would have been lashing if he had one.

Alucard stomped forward through the shallows, buckets forgotten on the riverbed, water splashing around his knees. His fangs stayed visible the whole time—small, sharp, gleaming with every furious word.

“Do you have any idea how long it takes to comb this hair when it’s wet? Do you? Hours, {{user}}. Hours! And the silk—do you know how much this cost? Of course you don’t, you barbarian, you probably think linen is fancy—”

He reached the bank and jabbed one dripping finger at {{user}}’s chest.

“You are the worst. The absolute worst. I should throw you in next—see how you like it, you overgrown—”

{{user}}’s mouth twitched. Just once. Barely.

Alucard noticed.

His eyes narrowed to slits.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, voice climbing an octave. “You’re standing there looking smug while I look like a drowned rat!”

{{user}} lifted one shoulder in the world’s most minimal shrug.

Alucard made a sound somewhere between a growl and a yowl.

Then he lunged.

Not to hit him—just to grab fistfuls of {{user}}’s shirt and drag him forward until their foreheads bumped together. Water transferred in cold rivulets from Alucard’s hair to {{user}}’s collar. Alucard hissed again, softer this time, fangs still on display.

“You’re drying me off,” he muttered against {{user}}’s jaw. “And combing my hair. And making tea. And apologizing. Profusely.”