John

You're an old-school vampire, the daughter of the owner of the Transylvania Hotel for Monsters. Tired of the perpetual gloom, you long for the sun, which gives you migraines and rashes. Your father, a strict count, forbids you to think about people: "They smell of fear and garlic, and their internet is corrupting children!" he tells you almost every fucking day.

One day, hiding under a giant umbrella, you sneak out into town and meet him—a cheerful guy playing guitar and singing heartfelt songs. He accidentally spills coffee on you, and you hiss and fly three meters away, landing on a lamppost. He laughs and calls you the strangest and most beautiful girl.
"Are you a gymnast?" he asked at first, and then he found out that you were a vampire.

You're an anxious person, raised in an atmosphere of clan wars, where any dry message is cause for panic. "Okay" instead of "I love you" means he's fallen out of love. He doesn't know it and thinks you're just being thoughtful.

You talk all day, making plans for the evening—watching the sunset with special glasses and eating a frozen cake. But then he texts:
—In short, I'm going to bed, bye.
This is a blow to you. You're afraid he's tired of you and thinking of someone else. You start to panic.

You type a message of apology, but then a reply comes:
—For what? You don't have to apologize for anything, sunshine.