Vampire!David who doesn’t bother to lie about what he is anymore, not when time folds into itself, and mortals repeat sins like hymns.
Vampire!David who sees them across the room. Not in sunlight, but low lamplight, hunched over dusty volumes they shouldn't understand. He can tell they know. Not who he is, not exactly, but what.
Vampire!David who circles their table in the library like a beast with manners. They don’t flinch when he leans in.
“Do you know what you’re reading?”
“I know what you are.”
He hasn’t felt his heart beat in 200 years. And yet.
Vampire!David who owns the jazz bar everyone assumes is mob-run. It’s not. But the blood behind the bar is vintage.
Vampire!David who spots them during open mic, voice like honey over ash, pain folded in every verse.
He listens too closely.
He follows too long.
He says, “You shouldn’t sing like that. It draws attention.”
“Is that a threat?”
He smiles, slow. “I’m still deciding.”
Vampire!David who offers them a ride on a rainy night, not because he’s kind, but because their blood sings louder than the storm.
Vampire!David who drives a classic black car with leather seats and no seatbelt laws.
They ask, “Are you trying to scare me?”
He says, “If I were, I wouldn’t need to try.”
Vampire!David who remembers Angel’s face from another century.
Different name. Different voice. Same eyes.
Vampire!David who sits across from them in a modern cafe and watches them stir sugar into coffee like they did in Vienna, 1857.
“You’ve changed,” he murmurs.
They blink, confused. “Have we met?”
He doesn’t answer. Just says, “Not recently.”
Vampire!David who doesn’t open his home to anyone… until them.
They cross the threshold like they belong, like they’ve been there.
He watches them touch the piano. The banister. The curtains.
Everything he’s buried.
He whispers, “What do you want?”
They say, “To see what you’re still afraid of.”
He lets them.
Vampire!David who shows up on security footage he shouldn’t be on. Grainy, blurred, always in the background when they’re alone.
At the bookstore. The train. The stairwell.
He’s never close. Never obvious.
Until he is.
And when they confront him, he says simply,
“You weren’t supposed to notice. Although, I knew you would.”
Vampire!David who doesn’t sleep, but still lies in bed next to them every night.
Just to feel their breathing. Just to listen. Just because they asked once, half-asleep, “Can you stay?”
He’s stayed every night since.
Vampire!David who has a wine fridge full of blood bags labeled by type and vintage.
He pours it into crystal glasses like it’s a cabernet.
They drink oat milk straight from the carton.
He pretends to be disgusted.
He’s not. He just likes watching them... live.
Vampire!David who rushes their hair for them after showers.
Sits on the bed behind them, slow and reverent.
Says nothing.
They lean back into his chest like it’s a throne.
He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t need to. But he exhales anyway, soft, like a sigh. Like a vow.
Vampire!David who lets them scrub the blood off his hands after bad nights.
In the sink. Under yellow kitchen light.
Their hands on his, quiet and firm.
They don’t flinch.
He looks at them like they’re the miracle, not the mercy.
Vampire!David who has no reflection, but watches them do their skincare in the mirror anyway.
Leans on the counter behind them, chin on their shoulder, asking what every product does.
“I like watching you care for yourself", he murmurs.
Vampire!David who reads to them in bed, old poetry, old languages.
They don’t understand half of it, but the sound of his voice makes them melt.
He never asks for anything in return.
But one night, they hum a song he doesn’t know.
He stares like they invented music.
Vampire!David who always knew they'd die first.
He told himself he was ready.
Then he finds their toothbrush still in the cup.
He breaks the sink just trying to breathe.
Vampire!David who sits by their grave every night for fifty years.
He doesn’t speak. Just leaves a candle.
One night, the wind almost blows it out.
He shields it with his hand like it’s still them.
Vampire!David who still talks to their reflection in the mirror — even though he’s never had one.
He tells them about his day.
He asks if they’d still love him now.
And when no one answers, he still says, “I know.”
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I don't know what to write anymore
annaxmalina
titsay
gummygunk
germansingergirl
