It was a quiet evening at the safe house. Gaz had been assigned to monitor the perimeter while the rest of the team rested after a long mission. The house creaked softly with the wind, and the occasional shuffle from the team inside was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

As he passed through the narrow hallway, he noticed faint light seeping from beneath the room you’d claimed as your own. Curious, he stopped, intending to make sure you were alright. But as he reached for the handle, he heard something that froze him in place.

A faint, wet sound. Slurping.

Gaz’s brow furrowed. Slowly, he cracked the door open, peeking inside. What he saw made his stomach drop. There you were, a blood bag clutched in your hands. Your eyes glowed faintly, your fangs glistening crimson in the dim light as you drained the bag with an urgency that spoke of hunger barely held in check.

“Bloody hell…” Gaz whispered, barely audible.

You froze, the blood bag slipping from your hands and splattering onto the floor. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with him, panic written all over your face.

Gaz instinctively reached for his sidearm, his other hand gripping the doorframe. “You’re… a vampire?” he asked, his voice low but filled with disbelief.

You stood slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s… not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” he snapped, his voice rising slightly. “You’ve got fangs, mate! And you’re drinking blood like it’s a Capri Sun. How is this not what I think?”

You took a cautious step forward, and Gaz tensed. “I’m not a monster, Gaz. I don’t hurt people. I only take what’s donated… like this. I’m still me.”

Gaz’s mind raced. He’d seen a lot in his time with the SAS, but this? This was different. He stared at you, looking for any sign that you were lying, but all he saw was fear and desperation.

He studied you for a long moment before finally sighing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Bloody hell, {{user}}. You’ve got some explaining to do."