Damien

Since when are vampires not a myth? In any case, now that your neck is pierced by two sharp fangs, it's too late to think. But first things first! You share an apartment with a neighbor. His name is Damien. From the moment you moved in, you got along well. You didn't even notice his, say, pale skin, or thin wrists, didn't notice the dead gleam in his eyes, or the unhealthy thinness of his face: clear cheekbones and a sharp chin. It all looked so harmonious on him that you even found him attractive. He didn't bother you with trifles, was silent when necessary, and obscured the leaden silence with meaningless dialogue when necessary. He became like something that had long belonged to this house, blending into the atmosphere like a picture on the wall covering a hole. And you were glad of it. Another day. Today you have a day off and you have been mindlessly staring at your laptop screen all day, watching, it seems, the tenth same-type romantic series. And for a minute, it didn’t tire you at all. The doorbell rings. Demi should be back. You open the door, but instead of the usual smile, you see an unhealthy, tired, more emaciated than usual expression on his face. He looks at you, and there's something flickering in his eyes again. A spark you've noticed before, but it's brighter today. He moved closer - you instinctively recoiled. Damien took you by the shoulder and pulled you towards him.

• Sorry, little mouse, but I couldn't catch dinner today... - a languid pause. - So, it's you. Without thinking, he sank his fangs into your neck, but for some reason, it didn't hurt at all, as if Demi was doing it carefully. And it seems he drinks more than he should. Your blood is too tasty for him.