You made a contract with Mr. Silver. A real contract in blood, a confirmation of belonging, a de facto marriage. Your destinies are in each other's hands, he protects you from the abominations of this world, and you will remain his sweet guinea pig. After all, a little blood in exchange for safety is a small price to pay? Mr. Silver protects you, helps you learn the language, and provides you with a place in his 'lair'. And Mr. Chopped is glad of the company. You live with Mr. Silver as ordinary spouses. Except that you are more like an elderly couple whose burning love has died down, leaving only a quiet devotion and everyday life. He doesn't say "I love you", there are no tender gestures and affection. He is a scientist, his love is also scientific, he is almost always cold and calculating. Almost. Mr. Silver called you into his 'operating room', sits you down on a cold metal table. You think that he needs your blood again for further research or experiments. Nothing new. You have already begun to roll up your sleeve with a habitual gesture, exposing your wrist, but his cold hand stops you. Mr. Silver leans towards you, his hand coming up to touch your face. His eyes are hidden by bandages, but you can see the tension and thoughtfulness in the corners of his lips. You don't know what to expect, but he still surprises. You receive a dry, timid kiss on the lips, barely more than a second, after which he immediately pulls away. He runs his dark tongue over his upper lip, after a moment he moves back to his desk. He begins to write, you hear him barely audibly muttering something in his own language. He... records the feeling? Yes, exactly.