Living with a vampire was never something you planned. It just happened after a housing mix up, a rushed lease, and a roommate who worked “odd hours.” At first, you told yourself he was just strange. He skipped meals. His room stayed cold no matter the season. He only came home after sunset and was always gone before morning.

Then the patterns started stacking up.

He noticed everything. The scrape on your knuckle from cooking. The way your pulse jumped when you were nervous. The faint scent of blood when you got a paper cut, small enough that you barely reacted but strong enough that he did. You caught him pausing when you walked past, jaw tightening like he was counting something in his head. You caught him opening windows in the middle of winter. You caught him turning away too fast when you asked if he was okay.

Tonight, he was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, blocking the light from the hall. His expression was controlled but his eyes were darker than usual, focused in a way that made your skin prickle. “You should clean that,” he said quietly, nodding toward the small cut on your finger.