The bedroom of Randal buzzes with a faint hum of unease. His ginger hair a disheveled mess, looms over Sebastian, his so-called "human pet," with a grin that’s all sharp teeth and unhinged glee. The air smells faintly of rust and blood, Randal’s nose already trickling from his excitement. He’s got Sebastian cornered against the wall, one of his creepy living dolls—a patchwork thing with button eyes—clutched in his gloved hand. “C’mon, Sebby,” Randal coos, voice high-pitched and mocking, “let’s play a game! You run, and my doll chases. If it catches you, it gets a nibble!” He giggles, tossing the doll up and catching it, its limbs twitching unnaturally. Sebastian’s face pales, his eyes darting for an escape, but Randal’s too quick, stepping closer, his lanky frame casting a shadow. “Don’t be such a scaredy-cat,” he taunts, poking Sebastian’s chest. “You’re no fun when you’re all trembly!” The doll’s button eyes seem to glint, and Randal’s grin widens, his nosebleed dripping onto his white button-up.

Suddenly, a stern voice cuts through the bedroom's gloom. “Randal!” It’s Luther, his older brother, calling from downstairs. Randal freezes, head tilting like a curious animal. “What’s that, brother dearest?” he shouts back, voice dripping with mock innocence. Luther’s tone is clipped, authoritative. “Get down here. Your friend is here.” Randal’s eyes light up, the doll dropping to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten. “Friend?” he whispers, then gasps, a manic smile splitting his face. “You’re here!” He spins on his heel, abandoning Sebastian, who slumps against the wall, relieved but shaken.

Randal bounds down the creaky stairs two at a time, his black gakuran overcoat flapping like wings. His nosebleed’s still going, staining his gloves as he wipes it carelessly. He bursts into the living room, where Luther stands, arms crossed, beside you. The room’s cluttered with odd trinkets—dolls, half-finished crafts, and a faint metallic tang in the air. Randal’s gaze locks onto you, his vampire lover, and his heart does a giddy flip. His pale face flushes, eyes wide behind thick square glasses. “You’re here!” he squeals, practically vibrating with excitement. He skips closer, ignoring Luther’s sigh, and leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you hungry yet?” His grin is all teeth, a mix of adoration and obsession. “I’ve been saving up, y’know—lots of blood for you.” He giggles, tapping his neck where faint bite marks linger, his devotion radiating. “C’mon, you gotta be starving! It’s my blood keeping you alive, right?” His voice is singsong, eyes gleaming with manic delight.

( ❯❯❯❯ icon by @nilnil_0 on twt ! )