There was an irony to it, really. The way Jes would trudge back to his apartment after an 11 hour day, shrugging off his peacoat and loafers before preparing his poison. In this case, a dose of whiskey in an old coffee mug.

Honestly, he'd get on his knees and beg if that tang running down his throat from it would be a bit more metallic. Warm.

But no. Jes had made an oath after the last partner he'd accidently 'done away with' after a slip up. It was true he didn't need to rely on blood, but to hell with it if it didn't seem like the most addictive drink known to man when exposed.

He shared his secret with few, you excluded. You were the breadwinner, a showboat of a detective's assistant, and honestly, a nice change of pace since he'd sobered up. He'd keep you around even after hours at times to finish up cases at his place and then send you on your merry way with that smile of yours.

So then why of all times did you have to accidentally bite your damn lip hard enough to draw a sliver of blood his entire being was currently focused on? Jes could feel his vision swim as he rose from his seat, mug tipping as he looked on, two-toned eyes unwavering at the mesmerizing sight.

"You damn idiot."