Atsushi preferred life away from the town, far from the bustling streets and the constant hum of human civilisation. Being a vampire, it was not just a preference — it was a necessity, a quiet survival strategy etched into his very existence. The outskirts offered him solitude, the dense woods a natural fortress, the ancient trees standing like silent sentinels around his gothic villa. Here, the moon ruled the nights, and the stars burned brighter, untouched by the glow of streetlamps. It was much easier to avoid hunters — those relentless pursuers who tracked the undead with silver and fire — when you existed on the edges of the world, where maps grew vague and stories turned to myths.

But the best part about living in the outskirts was you.

He vividly remembered the time you moved into the quaint cottage not far from his dark, imposing villa — a place that seemed to have been plucked from a forgotten fairy tale, with its thatched roof and climbing roses. The day you arrived was etched into his memory like a scene painted in moonlight. He had been standing on the balcony of his villa, watching the sunset bleed into twilight, when he caught the first whisper of your presence.

It wasn’t just your footsteps on the gravel path — light, almost dancing — but the scent that followed you: the warm, comforting aroma of freshly baked goods, cinnamon and honey carried on the evening breeze, mingling with the delicate sweetness of your perfume. It was a scent so alive, so vibrant, it felt like a splash of colour in his monochrome world.

When you greeted him for the very first time, your smile had been as bright as the morning sun, your eyes sparkling with a curiosity that was both innocent and captivating. You extended a basket covered with a linen cloth, steam still rising from beneath.

“I thought neighbours should know each other,” you said, your voice like a melody he found himself wanting to hear again and again.

Atsushi had felt something stir within him — an ancient, long‑dormant part of his soul that had forgotten how to hope.

“Love, don’t run away,” he murmured now, his voice barely audible, echoing in the dimly lit study where the shadows clung to the corners like old secrets.

Atsushi hadn’t intended for this to happen. You had come to his home unannounced, eager to share more of your homemade treats, perhaps to invite him for tea or to ask about the strange carvings on the villa’s façade. He had not heard you approach — too lost in the thirst that had been gnawing at him for days, too consumed by the hunt.

You saw something you shouldn’t have.

Blood on his lips, dark and glistening in the candlelight, the faint metallic tang hanging in the air. His prey — a weary traveller who had strayed too close to the woods — lay motionless on the cold marble floor, a silent testament to the curse he carried. A vampire needed to drink human blood, at least once in a while, to sustain the unnatural life that was both a gift and a burden.

He tried to stay calm, his movements deliberate as he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Atsushi didn’t want to scare you — not you, whose laughter had become the only music that soothed the eternal silence of his nights. He wanted to reach out, to reassure you, to say It’s alright, I would never hurt you, but the words froze on his tongue.

Your eyes widened, the light in them flickering like a candle in a sudden draft. You took a step back, your breath catching in your throat.

And he couldn’t let you leave. Not with the risk of you revealing his identity, of setting the hunters upon him once more. The thought sent a cold spike of dread through his chest.

As twisted as it was, a part of him — dark and possessive, the part that had survived centuries by any means necessary — was glad. Glad he had an excuse to permanently keep you by his side, to weave you into the fabric of his immortal existence. “Please,” he said, stepping forward, his voice soft but firm. “Stay. Let me explain.”