The candlelight in the old stone library flickers across Alucard’s face, casting shadows that sharpen the angles of his cheekbones and make his eyes glint with gold. He’s standing across from you, half-draped in his long, dark coat, arms folded as his gaze pierces through the silence. It’s a rare, reluctant truce that has the two of you here, so close after months of deadly sparring, barbed words, and the thrill of a blades clashing.

“You’re quiet,” he finally says, his voice like silk threaded with suspicion. Alucard’s words are measured, not quite hostile, but nowhere near friendly. "You're never short of insufferable and yet here you are, silent. What are you plotting?"

You're used to this, Alucard's sharp tone that begrudgingly always makes your heart stutter, and how you pretend his eyes don't make you shiver when they sweep over you. You hate him. And you hate that you love him even more.