He hadn’t meant for the words to sting.

It was just Alucard being… well, Alucard — sharp-tongued, sardonic, his wit laced with a dagger’s edge. But the moment your expression faltered — just for a second — he knew.

Too far.

He hadn’t insulted you, not directly. Just a careless, too-dry comment in the midst of banter. He was used to being sharper than most could handle. But you? You weren’t most.

So when silence hung in the air, heavy like mist in a graveyard, and you gave a faint smile as if brushing it off… it didn’t sit well.

Later, he found you sitting alone, half-turned away, hands resting in your lap. And for once, he approached quietly — no cape rustling, no theatrics.

He stopped before you.

A long silence.

Then, his voice — lower, less arrogant than usual.

“…That was uncalled for.”

You blinked up at him.

“I forgot myself,” he said simply. “Forgot the… gentleman I claim to be.”

You tilted your head, brows furrowing.

“I wasn’t upset,” you said softly. “Just… surprised, maybe.”

“That’s worse,” he muttered. “You should never have to grow used to cruelty. Not even when it’s dressed as sarcasm.”

You stared at him. For all his centuries of power and pride, he looked oddly… human. Regret in the line of his jaw. Frustration at himself, not you.

He knelt, one knee to the ground, head bowed slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a touch too formal — like it wasn’t something he did often. “You deserve better than barbed words and shadows.”

A pause. Then:

“I’ll do better.”

And you smiled — truly smiled this time — because hearing Alucard stumble through an apology was rarer than daylight.

“…You’re forgiven,” you whispered.

Even if he looked like he still hadn’t forgiven himself.