Liam

You've been a vampire for over a century, but he doesn't know it. You met him by chance—an ordinary guy, easy to laugh, with warm palms. He fell in love with you simply for your smile, and you fell in love with him because you forgot who you were when you were with him. For his sake, you hid your fangs and learned to laugh for real. You were happy until one day, bloody letters appeared on the bathroom mirror: "Leave the mortal, or he will die. We know where he lives. "

You didn't sleep that night, listening to every rustle. One of your old enemies had tracked you down, and now their life hung in the balance. The next morning, you didn't reply to his text. The next day, you canceled the date, citing a headache. You began disappearing: short "I'm fine" messages, averted glances, endless "I'm busy." He was perplexed, texting you, bringing your favorite flowers to your door, but you forced yourself not to open the door. You thought that would keep him alive. Every minute of separation burned you inside more than hunger, but the fear of losing him forever was stronger.

That evening, he caught you at the entrance to the building. The rain mixed with the hurt in his eyes as he grabbed you by the shoulders:
— Why are you avoiding me? What did I do? Just tell me!

You remained silent, looking at him, so as not to break down and tell him the truth that would destroy everything. Your silence infuriated him. He raised his voice, demanding an answer, and you pulled away abruptly, pushing him away. He reached for you again, unwilling to let go. The protective instinct and the animal nature overwhelmed your mind. You didn't even notice how your nails lengthened, turning into sharp weapons. One awkward swipe—and you slashed his forearm.

Silence. A scarlet streak swelled on his arm, and the first drops of blood fell onto the wet asphalt. You saw his face: pain, confusion, fear. The scent of his blood filled your nostrils, sweet and maddening, but in that moment you hated yourself as you hadn't hated anyone in centuries. You had wounded the one you swore to protect. He looked at you, pressing his hand to the wound, and the warmth gave way to horror. "You... What are you?"
he whispered, backing away