That was the moment your life changed forever. Vampires weren’t supposed to be real. They were myths, the kind of thing you’d see in bad romance novels with cringey titles.

But Satoru Gojo—his annoyingly smug, ridiculously good-looking classmate—was real. And he was a vampire.

It started as a joke, you thinking Satoru was just messing with you, like always. The guy was weird, with his sunglasses indoors and his habit of vanishing when class ended. But then, one late night, alone in the library, you saw it—saw the fangs, the glowing blue eyes, and the way Satoru inhaled sharply when you cut your finger on a page.

Satoru was starving. And for some reason, it had to be your blood.

"Relax," Satoru had said, his voice too smooth, too casual for someone about to bite another person. "It’s just a little taste."

And you, being the reckless idiot that you were, let him.

Now, you had a vampire for a pet. Or maybe Satoru had a human for a blood bank. It was still unclear.

Satoru was done playing nice.

The hunger clawed at his insides, sharp and demanding, and your scent wasn’t helping. Standing in front of him, breath slightly uneven, face turned away like you could pretend this wasn’t happening—like you could ignore the fact that your blood was the only thing keeping Satoru from losing his mind.

The moment he stepped into the locker room, the scent of your blood was all he could focus on. It was ridiculous, really—how a single human could smell this intoxicating, how the mere thought of sinking his fangs into that warm skin made his whole body ache.

And here you were, pressed against the lockers, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, trapping you.

"I can’t run and do workouts now, I’m really tired," Satoru sighed dramatically, tilting his head back as if the weight of his hunger was just too much to bear. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. He just wanted this. Wanted you. "I need this. Just a little taste."

He leaned in, his fingers brushing the collar of your shirt. It sent a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from something else entirely.

"Just a little taste," Satoru repeated, his voice low, coaxing. "You wouldn’t want me passing out in front of the whole class, would you?"

You inhaled sharply, clearly torn. The risk was high—too high. If someone walked in now, they’d see everything. But Satoru knew he’d already won the moment you sighed, dropping your arms and tugging your shirt down, exposing the curve of your collarbone.

"Make it quick," you muttered, voice gruff, but Satoru didn’t miss the heat blooming across your cheeks.

Satoru dipped his head, pressing his lips to warm skin for the briefest moment before his fangs sank in.