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harryspurpleloofah · 18 days ago

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Eclipse (vamp!H.S)

Summary: Y/N finds out through subtle hints that her new boyfriend is a vampire but she’s not willing to give up on him when she sees him weak and on the verge of collapsing she lets him feed off her

TW: Harry’s a vampire so obvious mentions of blood but nothing alarmingly graphic or violent, swearing, he feeds from Y/N but again not too graphic, there is slight angst of him feeling guilty at the end, p in v sex, no condom but pill mentioned, description of sex

The hum of conversation filled the restaurant, blending with the soft clinking of silverware against porcelain plates. Dim candlelight cast amber shadows across dark wooden tables, creating pockets of intimacy in an otherwise bustling room. It wasn’t the type of place Y/N usually found herself in..a little too upscale, a little too quiet—but with Harry across from her, nothing else seemed to matter.

Harry sat reclined in his chair like he owned the whole place, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that clung to him like sin itself. A single ring caught the candlelight as he casually twisted the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. His gaze, however, was far from casual…it was focused, unwavering, as if she was the only thing worth noticing in the room.

Y/N shifted under his stare, not uncomfortable, never uncomfortable, but hyperaware of the way he looked at her. Like she was both a puzzle and the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. “You’re staring again,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Harry’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. “Can you blame me?”

The compliment was simple, but something in his voice..smooth as silk—sent a chill down her spine.

Before she could respond, the waiter appeared at their table with a practiced smile, launching into the specials of the night. Y/N tried to focus, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Harry’s posture shift ever so slightly as the waiter listed the dishes.

“…and our signature fettuccine comes with a garlic cream sauce—”

“I’ll pass on that,” Harry cut in smoothly, voice low but firm. The interruption was quick, almost too quick, and the waiter blinked in surprise. “I’m allergic,” he added, his tone softer this time, as if offering an apology wrapped in charm.

Y/N’s brows furrowed for a brief second, curiosity sparking beneath her skin. Garlic allergy? Odd, but she didn’t question it. Not yet.

The waiter recovered quickly, jotting down the rest of the order and leaving them in silence once again. Harry leaned back in his chair, the candlelight casting sharp shadows against his cheekbones, making his features appear almost…predatory.

“Garlic, huh?” Y/N asked lightly, trying to mask her curiosity behind a playful smirk. “That’s not one you hear every day.”

Harry’s gaze locked onto hers again, and for a moment, there was something almost ancient in his eyes….an emotion too deep for words. But then it was gone, replaced with that easy, dangerous charm. “Everyone’s got their weaknesses,” he murmured, swirling the deep red wine in his glass.

A beat of silence passed between them, heavy with unspoken questions she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, deliberately pulling him back into safer conversation. “So,” she began, voice soft, “tell me something I don’t know about you yet.”

Harry’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You assume there’s much left to know after five months?”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty,” Y/N countered, her own smile playful but edged with curiosity. “You’re a bit of a mystery.”

He hummed low in his throat, a sound that made her stomach twist in ways she didn’t expect. “Mystery keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Or risky.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, but instead of being offended, Harry’s smile deepened, like she’d said exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Some things are worth the risk,” he murmured.

The conversation drifted then, moving from their usual banter to stories of childhood fun, favorite songs, and half-hearted debates about the best classic films. Yet, despite the ease of their conversation, Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of distance that always seemed to linger just beneath Harry’s charming surface. He never spoke about his family, never mentioned close friends, and every time she brought up future plans, he masterfully redirected the conversation with effortless grace.

The food arrived soon after, and Y/N dug into her dish with genuine hunger. Harry, however, merely picked at his plate, occasionally sipping from his wine glass but never taking more than a bite.

“You’re really not hungry?” she asked, setting down her fork and leaning forward again. “This place isn’t cheap, you know. Feels like a crime to waste the food.”

His gaze flickered up to meet hers, that shadow of a smile returning. “I had something earlier,” he said, voice soft—almost too soft.

“Late lunch?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Something like that,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue like the smoke from his cigarettes did when she had seen him on the rare occasion, sneaking to the balcony after a hookup. It got her thinking so far they had only ever met up at her place. What would his be like?

It was then that she noticed his hand resting on the table, fingers pale against the dark wood. Too pale. And if she wasn’t mistaken, cold. A chill crept over her, irrational and quick, but she pushed the thought aside.

“You’re always cold aren’t you?” she noted casually, trying to disguise her growing curiosity behind playful teasing.

Harry’s expression softened just a touch, but there was something hollow in his smile. “I’m used to it.”

Used to it.

That night, as they left the restaurant, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that there were pieces of Harry Styles she wasn’t meant to see yet…fragments of him locked away behind charming smiles, soft-spoken words, and shadows that stretched too long in dim light.

And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out what he was hiding..or if it was safer not to.

The city skyline stretched out like scattered stars beyond Harry’s apartment windows, glass panels cutting sharp shadows across sleek black countertops and dark wood floors. The place was elegant but strangely empty..like it had been staged for someone who didn’t really live there.

Y/N stepped inside, hugging a paper-wrapped bottle of wine against her chest. “I figured it’s only polite,” she said with a soft smile, holding it out. “For being brave enough to let me invade your personal space.”

Harry took the bottle, fingers cool against hers for a brief second too long. His eyes, green, deep, and unreadable, scanned the label with casual interest, though there was something about the way his thumb traced the glass that felt…deliberate. “You didn’t have to bring anything,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet. “But I’ll never say no to good wine.”

“Didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would.” She grinned, stepping further in, her heels clicking softly against the polished floors. “Nice place. Very broody, very you.”

That earned her a soft chuckle as Harry turned toward the kitchen. “Broody, huh? You kill me, darling.”

As he busied himself with finding glasses, Y/N wandered further inside, gaze catching on little details—no family photos, no clutter, not even a stray jacket carelessly tossed over a chair. It was all too perfect. Too controlled.

“I like it,” she called over her shoulder. “It feels…private.”

“Privacy’s underrated these days.” His voice drifted from the kitchen, low and smooth like a secret meant just for her.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, finally spotting a hallway. “Bathroom?”

“First door on the right.”

The bathroom was pristine. Cool marble countertops, golden lighting, luxurious, but strangely sterile. Y/N moved toward the sink, hand automatically going up to fix her hair…but paused.

No mirror.

Her brow furrowed. Not even a small vanity, not even a smudge on the wall where one should’ve hung. Just a blank space, like the idea of reflection had been deliberately erased from this part of his life.

“Harry?” she called, stepping back into the hallway. “You forget something in here?”

A pause. A little too long. Then..“What do you mean?”

“The mirror,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s missing. You’re too pretty to not own a mirror, don’t you think?”

Harry appeared, wine glasses in hand, his expression perfectly calm—but something flickered behind his eyes, just for a second. “Mirrors freak me out,” he said with a half-shrug.

Y/N blinked. “Freak you out?”

“They’re…unsettling. Seeing yourself all the time, every little flaw amplified.” His voice was too casual, too rehearsed. “Besides, I’ve got a pocket mirror if I really need it. You can use the guest bathroom if it bothers you. I don’t use that one. Down the hall.”

“Right,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “You’re weird, love.”

He stepped closer, offering her a glass. His presence filled the space between them so easily, like gravity itself bent around him. “You like weird,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over the rim of his glass, eyes not leaving hers.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Y/N took a long sip of wine, trying to hide the way her pulse quickened under his gaze. “So why don’t you use the other bathroom?” she asked, casually challenging. “Bad vibes?”

That flicker in his eyes returned, this time, more guarded. “Something like that.”

Before she could press further, Harry’s mouth curved into that familiar, dangerous smile. His hand slid around her waist, fingers resting lightly on her hip. “Forget the mirror,” he murmured, voice low enough to be a promise. “You’re perfect without one.”

Her breath hitched, warmth blooming under her skin as his lips brushed just below her jaw—a whisper of a kiss that left her dizzy.

“Harry—”

“Stay the night.” His voice was soft, but there was no room for refusal in it. A request disguised as an order.

“Is that supposed to be an order or offer?” she teased, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

His smile deepened. “It’s whatever gets you to say yes faster.”

A beat of silence hung between them—thick, electric, charged with everything unspoken.

“And here I thought you were all about taking things slow,” she managed, her pulse thudding in her throat.

Harry leaned closer, his breath cool against her ear. “You don’t know me as well as you think, darling.”

The room was thick with heat, shadows flickering against the walls like silent witnesses to every movement, every breathless sound. The bed creaked under the slow pace of their bodies, the sheets tangled and damp with sweat.

Y/N’s hands gripped Harry’s shoulders, nails raking down his back as his name slipped from her lips in a hushed, desperate whisper. His pace was relentless yet careful, every thrust drawing her closer to that unraveling edge. His eyes stayed locked on hers…dark, hungry, as if something primal lingered just beneath the surface.

“Come on, darling,” he murmured against her neck, voice rough like gravel wrapped in velvet. “Come for me.”

“Fuck, Harry..”

He pounded into her harder, his cock was hitting every spot she wished it would. Every spot no other man had ever been able to reach, it was just him. He kissed her neck slowly as his hand moved down to her clit, rubbing it in slow circles to increase her stimulation.

She moaned out his name again, accompanying it by tugging on a thick curl she’d managed to get her hand stuck in. This man just never got tired. He was still going as hard as he was when he started even when he was on her brink of cumming.

“I’m on the pill..”, she let out with a long breath.

“So.. can I fill you up?”

“Y-yeah…fuck.”

“Sure you’re ok with it, baby?”

“Yes! Harry god yes..”

He came mere moments after she did, he didn’t seem to be struggling to hold it back or anything. He had so much control over everything he did…it was scary. He waited a few seconds for his cum to fill her up properly before he pulled out, landing a small kiss on her forehead.

It was weird it was like he always came just the right amount never too little never too much, same with how he was, if she wanted missionary, she would get missionary. If she wanted anything else, she’d get that too. It was like he was two steps ahead of her in what she wanted.

He knew even before she did and by the time she’d realise it, he’d already be implementing it. He heaved her up effortlessly and led her to his mirrorless bathroom to get in the shower together. The glass of the shower was already steaming up the second he turned on the water.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, ragged and uneven.

After the shower, he pulled her closer to him in bed and sealed the night to a quick kiss to her cheek, “goodnight, darling.”

She muttered a response before cuddling up to him and letting sleep take her instantly.

Y/N stirred hours later, her eyes adjusting to the silvery wash of moonlight spilling through the half-open curtains. The space next to her was empty—cool, like he’d been gone for a while.

She sat up, heart kicking in her chest, and spotted him standing by the window. The moonlight framed him in sharp contrasts: pale skin, tousled curls, bare shoulders tense with some unseen emotion. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his gaze—fixed on the moon…was distant, glassy, like he wasn’t really there.

“Harry?” Her voice was soft, cautious. No response.

She slipped out of bed, the cold air biting against her skin as she crossed the room. “Harry,” she tried again, resting a hand on his arm.

He blinked like she’d pulled him out of deep water, the tension in his shoulders melting away in an instant. Turning toward her, his expression smoothed into something softer..almost too smooth. “You’re awake,” he said, voice low but easy. “Did I wake you?”

“I…” Y/N frowned. “You were just standing there. You looked…gone. Like you weren’t really here.”

A pause. Then came that disarming smile, the one that usually made her stomach flutter—only now, it felt like a shield. “I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her eyes searched his, trying to read between the cracks. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” Another soft kiss on her forehead, his thumb stroking her jaw with practiced tenderness. “Come back to bed, yeah? I’ll hold you this time.”

And just like that, the tension was gone..like it had never been there at all.

But as she settled against his chest once more, she couldn’t shake the image of him standing in the moonlight, lost in something far darker than a simple sleepless night.

A few weeks later, Harry was helping her make dinner at her house. The door creaked open with a familiar ease as Harry let himself in, his voice soft and playful as he called out, “Smells like a gourmet masterpiece already in the making, love.”

Y/N peeked out from the kitchen, flour dusting her cheek. “You’re early,” she said with a grin.

Harry chuckled, stepping into the soft glow of the kitchen light—but something about him made her pause. His sharp cheekbones looked even more defined than usual, his skin pale beneath the warm light, like he hadn’t slept in days. His shirt hung a little looser on him too, as if he’d lost weight.

“Harry…” Her smile faltered. “You okay? You look…tired. And thinner, maybe?”

He waved a hand dismissively, that signature smirk sliding into place like armor. “Didn’t sleep well, that’s all. Long night, weird dreams.” His voice was smooth as ever, but she noticed how his fingers fidgeted against the hem of his sleeve—a habit she only caught when he was actually nervous.

“Are you sure? You look kinda pale—”

“Y/N,” he cut in, his voice soft but firm, flashing her a reassuring grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine. Just…let’s focus on not burning down your kitchen, yeah?”

She gave him a skeptical look but nodded, turning back to the cutting board. “If you say so.”

The comfort of cooking together settled in quickly after that—soft music playing in the background, casual touches, little jokes. For a moment, everything felt normal again.

Until she reached for the garlic.

The moment the sharp, pungent scent hit the air, Harry stiffened behind her like a wire pulled too tight.

“Y/N!” His voice was sudden, sharp—too loud for the small kitchen.

She froze, eyes wide, the knife halfway through a clove. “What—?”

“I told you,” Harry snapped, his usual charm cracking beneath the weight of something raw. “I’m allergic. I can’t be around it.” His breath came fast, too fast, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The room went thick with silence. Y/N set the knife down slowly, turning toward him with careful eyes. “Harry…I didn’t mean to. I just—”

His face softened instantly, guilt washing over his features like a wave. “Shit. I’m sorry, love.” He ran a shaky hand through his curls and forced a weak smile. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just had a bad day, and the smell—it triggers my allergy, even from across the room.” His voice dropped to a gentle plea. “Would you mind throwing it out? Please?”

The vulnerability in his tone made her heart ache. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” she said softly, tossing the garlic in the trash and quickly washing her hands. “Are you okay now?”

His shoulders eased just a little, though his usual brightness still hadn’t returned. “Better,” he murmured, stepping closer and brushing his knuckles lightly against her cheek. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

She searched his eyes for a beat too long. There was something hidden there—something dark and hungry lurking behind the warmth. But before she could speak, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips cold against her skin.

“Let’s just finish dinner,” Harry whispered, voice low and steady again. “Yeah?”

Y/N nodded slowly, the tension in the air lingering like smoke.

Soon, Harry was next to her, slicing through herbs with smooth precision, that playful grin finally creeping back onto his face. “See? I told you, with my help, you might actually survive cooking dinner tonight,” he teased, bumping her hip lightly with his own.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Please. I’ve kept us alive so far, haven’t I?”

“Barely.”

The playful comfort wrapped around them again—until the knife slipped.

A sharp sting flared across Y/N’s finger, and she hissed under her breath, pulling her hand back instinctively. “Damn it—”

Harry was on her in an instant. Too fast. Too close.

“Y/N.” His voice was low, almost too calm, but his eyes—God, his eyes—had darkened like a shadow had passed over him. His gaze locked on the small bead of blood welling up from the cut, and for a second, everything in him went unnervingly still.

“Harry?”

His jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat too long, he just stared at the drop of blood, his eyes nearly black under the kitchen lights. His body was rigid, like it was taking every ounce of strength not to move closer. Not to—

“Shit.” He jerked his gaze away, forcing a breath through his nose like he was dragging himself back from the edge. “You cut yourself.” His voice was too rough now, strained around the edges of that usual velvet charm.

Y/N blinked at him, caught between concern and a flicker of fear. “It’s just a little cut, Harry. I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not,” he cut in sharply, before softening his tone. “Let me see it.”

Before she could protest, he carefully took her hand in his—gentle, but his fingers were cold and just a little too tight around hers. His thumb hovered just near the cut, not touching it, but close enough that she could feel the tension in his body like a live wire between them.

His breathing was shallow now, too steady, like he was focusing on not reacting. “You should clean this,” he murmured, not looking her in the eye. “It could get infected.”

“Harry,” Y/N said quietly, trying to meet his gaze. “You’re acting weird. It’s just a cut—”

His eyes finally lifted to hers, and for a second, the darkness hadn’t fully left. There was something else buried in them: hunger, guilt, and something that almost looked like fear.

“I just don’t like seeing you hurt,” he said softly, brushing a thumb across the back of her hand in a gesture that was meant to soothe—but his fingers lingered a second too long, too cold, too careful.

His skin, already pale, had gone almost translucent. Sweat gathered at his temple, and his usually bright eyes were dull, weighed down by something deeper than exhaustion. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on the counter, his knuckles nearly white from the effort of holding himself together.

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice was soft, uncertain. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He swallowed hard, forcing a shaky breath. “Yeah—just…I need a second.” His voice cracked around the edges, low and hoarse. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall, first door on the left—”

Before she finished, he was already gone, moving too quickly for someone who’d just looked on the verge of collapse. The air in the room felt too heavy, thick with unspoken fear.

Minutes passed. Too many.

“Harry?” The concern clawed at her chest as she padded quietly down the hallway. She knocked once. “You alright?” No answer.

The door was ajar.

Pushing it open, she found him slumped on the cold tile floor, his back pressed against the bathtub, breath shallow and ragged. His face was even paler now—unnaturally so—and his hands hung limply at his sides, the effort to hold himself together clearly gone.

“Harry!” She rushed to his side, crouching down to shake him gently. “Hey, hey—look at me, please—”

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, but then locked onto hers with a familiar warmth, even through the pain. “I…I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered weakly.

“We need to get you up—c’mon,” Y/N said, looping her arms under his and pulling him forward. His body was cold—too cold—but what made her blood run cold wasn’t his temperature. It was the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her in the glass above the sink. His didn’t.

“Harry…” Her voice was barely a breath. “Why—why aren’t you—?”

Panic flickered in her chest, but before she could pull away, his cold hand closed gently around hers, steady but soft. “Please, don’t be scared,” he whispered, voice raw with exhaustion. “I would never hurt you. I swear.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, her heart thudding in her chest. “Harry…what are you?”

He closed his eyes like the weight of that question was too much to bear. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.” His voice was so full of regret it nearly broke her. “I’ve lost so many people because of what I am. They look at me like a monster—like I’m not me anymore.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t look away. “A vampire?” she whispered, the word tasting like fear.

He nodded weakly, his hand slipping from hers. “I stopped drinking blood. I didn’t like it. But it’s…it’s killing me slowly, Y/N. Every day, I get weaker. I thought I could handle it, but—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Her fear twisted into something else—ache, compassion, love.

Without thinking, she cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “Then take mine.”

His eyes went wide, darkening with both hunger and disbelief. “No. I—Y/N, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, her voice trembling but steady. “If it means saving you, I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

His hand found hers again, resting over her pulse. “I don’t want to lose you too,” he whispered, broken.

“You won’t,” she promised, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, baring her neck. “I’m right here. I’m not afraid of you, Harry.”

For a moment, all the fear, the hunger, and the heartbreak danced in his eyes. And then, with the gentlest touch, his lips brushed her skin—not as a monster, but as the man she knew.

Y/N…” His voice was barely more than a breath, shaking with restraint. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine—just need to rest.”

But she shook her head, her thumb tracing slow, comforting circles on the back of his cold hand. “You’re not fine, Harry. You’re hurting. You said it yourself—you’re weak, and I’m right here. I trust you.”

His jaw tightened as he closed his eyes, the war inside him clear in every trembling muscle. “It’ll pinch, just a little,” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly might shatter both of them. “But I swear on everything, I won’t take more than I need. I’ll stop the second you tell me to.”

“I believe you.” Her voice was steady now, stronger than she felt.

His fingers lifted to her chin, tilting her face toward him with the lightest touch. “You’re so brave, love. You don’t even know how much this means to me.” His eyes, though darkened by hunger, were full of nothing but tenderness and something deeper—adoration.

She swallowed hard, tilting her head slightly to the side. “I’m ready.”

Harry hesitated for a heartbeat longer, scanning her face for any sign of fear. “If anything feels wrong—if you feel dizzy, or lightheaded—you tell me. Immediately. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His cold fingertips brushed lightly against her pulse point, lingering for just a second. “I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, like she was something sacred. “You’re incredible, Y/N. So, so incredible.”

Then his lips met her skin—soft, careful, not rushing the moment. There was no pain at first, just the pressure of his mouth against her neck, and then the faintest pinch as his fangs broke the skin. It wasn’t sharp, more like the sting of a small cut, but his arms wrapped around her waist instantly, steadying her, holding her like she might break if he wasn’t careful.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with emotion and restraint. “You’re doing so well for me.”

The tension in his body vibrated through her—the effort it took to stay gentle, to control himself. Every pull of blood was slow, measured, and when her breath hitched, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Okay, love? Still with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” she managed, her voice barely audible.

“Brave thing,” Harry murmured, pressing a soft, soothing kiss over the mark he’d left. “You’re doing perfect. Just a little more, then I’ll stop.”

True to his word, after a few more slow draws, he pulled away, eyes fluttering shut as though he were grounding himself. When he looked up again, the hunger had dulled, replaced with overwhelming guilt and awe.

“Did I hurt you?” His thumb gently traced the curve of her jaw, as if checking for any sign of pain.

She shook her head, breathless but steady. “No. You stopped just like you said you would.”

His forehead rested against hers, voice breaking with tenderness. “You didn’t just save me—you trusted me with something I didn’t think I deserved.” A soft kiss ghosted over her temple. “Thank you, love. I’ll never forget this.”

And as her hand found his, grounding him as much as he had her.

The bathroom was quiet now, the air thick with everything unspoken. Y/N rested her head against Harry’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slow and soothing beneath her ear. His arms held her close—gentle but firm, like he was afraid to let go too soon.

Her voice broke the silence first, small and unsure. “What now?”

Harry let out a slow breath, pressing a soft kiss into her hair before resting his chin on the top of her head. “Now,” he murmured, “I tell you everything I should’ve told you before.”

His fingers traced light patterns along her back—comforting, grounding them both. “Vampires aren’t what the stories say we are anymore. We’ve evolved, just like humans have. There are safer ways to get blood now—donors, clinics, even substitutes. I was just…stubborn.” His voice faltered, guilt creeping in at the edges. “I thought I could do it on my own. I didn’t want to risk hurting anyone. Hurting you.”

Y/N shifted just enough to look up at him, her eyes soft with understanding. “And the sun? The whole turning-to-ash thing?”

A weak chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Mostly a myth,” he admitted. “Direct sunlight’s uncomfortable, sure, but it won’t kill me. Sunglasses, a little SPF, and I’m good to go like anyone else.”

Her lips twitched with the smallest hint of a smile. “So you’re telling me all those times you wore sunglasses inside, you weren’t just being dramatic?”

His grin was soft, teasing. “Maybe a little dramatic.”

The warmth between them settled again, the fear finally easing from the edges of her mind. But still, the questions lingered on her lips. “Harry… what about—”

Before she could finish, his fingers gently pressed against her lips, silencing her with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “No more worrying, love. I’ll handle everything—the blood, the cravings, all of it.” His thumb brushed her cheek, voice low and full of quiet devotion. “You’ve already done more than I could’ve asked for. I just need you to stay by my side. That’s all I’ll ever need from you.”

Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry.”

“Even if you do…if things don’t work, I won’t come looking for you with my vampire bats I promise. I just want us to be normal…or well as normal as we can be considering all this.”

She nods slowly, smiling up at him, “that sounds great.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, love.”