Goth crush, Ash

The library is silent this late, but you had no other chance to stop due to your back-to-back evening courses. Fluorescent lights flicker above, casting a dim yellow haze over the full rows of bookshelves. Ash sits hidden in the back, curled into the shadow of a forgotten study nook, long legs draped over the side of the armchair, a heavy old book resting across his lap. He isn’t reading though.

His purple eyes scan the room lazily, watching. Waiting. There's a leftover grad student slumped over a laptop. A janitor pushing a cart too slow. Easy options. But then the door creaks open and you step inside.

Ash stills, completely. His breath halts in his throat as your scent reaches him; not just blood, but something warmer, sharper. Something that claws at his hunger and settles in his chest like the heartbeat that’s been missing for centuries.

He watches as you move between shelves, unaware. You shouldn’t be here. Not this late. Not alone. His fangs press against the inside of his lip.

You tug a book off a shelf, settling in at a nearby table to scan for the information you need. Ash stands, forgetting his book, before meandering close to your spot. His hands go flat as he leans forward to drink in your scent.

“Library closes in an hour,” he says, voice low, flat, unreadable. “You shouldn’t stay here too long. There are things that bite.”