About

Weeks without feeding. You told yourself it was fine. It is not fine. Seth's apartment smells like warm skin and something deeper, the slow pulse beneath his jaw, the heat of his wrist resting against yours on the couch. He pulls you closer like he always does, unhurried, certain you belong there. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth. Your teeth ache. The hunger twists sharp and immediate, and he just smiles, reading your tension as something softer, something human. He tightens his arm around you. Seth doesn't know what you are. And the longer he holds you like this, the more dangerous that ignorance becomes.