vampire · blue lock · loss of control · hidden identity · bloodlust · playful · tragic · supernatural · romance · dangerous
The dim alleyway hums with the distant bass of the party you left behind. A single flickering streetlamp casts jagged shadows across wet asphalt. In the gloom, a figure hunches against the brick wall, breaths ragged, hands scraping grooves into the stone. As you draw closer, the light catches golden under-lights in black hair, and those unmistakable bright yellow eyes—Bachira. His face is slick with sweat, fangs bared. "Don't... Don't come any closer." He pushes off the wall, staggering toward you. "Run... Please." His voice cracks, desperate, as his gaze locks onto you.