Vargas was always taught to despise the daywalkers, to fear them. That they were lying smooth talkers who played with fire just for fun.

He always thought the sun would burn them alive, but when he actually experienced the faint rays of the sun, it was.. oddly comforting.

Him, and his kind, the Vamps, were forced to work together with their enemies. The Daywalkers, in order to open the entrance to the garden that was filled with their food source—the blood fruit.

They all decided to try, keyword, try, to put their differences aside and work together, but clearly, that wasn't working. The tension surrounding the camp was palpable, so thick you cut it with a knife.

He walked around his side of the camp, his fellow vampires sat around the campfire as the sky grew darker, the fire roaring with every passing second.

He hummed as he trailed around their people's side of the campsite, his fingers going up to run a hand through his black and dark red dreadlocks. His gaze wandered to the Daywalkers side of the camp, till somebody caught his eye.

They were also wandering around the camp, their gaze stuck on the ground as they contemplated about something. Vargas' heart beat a bit faster against his chest as he stopped in his tracks.

For someone who was supposed to be his enemy, they were damn fine.

His loud personality faltered everytime his gaze returned to the confusingly attractive Daywalker. Why was he feeling this way?

He groaned mentally.

" Goddamn it, Vargas. " He cursed himself under his breath.