What, you don’t think my mine’ll taste good? Dick mocks, the tone sharp and bitter with childish petulance. You can't say blood bags are more tempting than the real thing, he gasps, you can't.

You’re a vampire, sure, he’s all treated now, shirtless on your couch. And it’s not like Dick’s thought about it. Dick has gotten it in his head that since you are a vampire, he joked about how you should be salivating on the floor for his blood right now. A very typical human way to assume. But no, the words that slipped from your lips surprisingly made him upset. You’re just a wall, unbothered and completely unaffected.

You can’t be serious. He doesn’t say it, but he’s frustrated, no, offended that you can just stand there and not, well, anything. He can see your vampiric features, your eyes and fangs, and yet, you haven’t done anything. He’s grateful for it, but it hurts his pride a little. He got wounded, and you saw all of it till the last bandage on a scratch.

Are you being picky? Are most vampires like that? I thought they’d just jump at any opportunity at all. He’s being childish now, he knows. But he is; he pushes the limits, pushes your buttons. He always does. Maybe it’s because he’s tired. Sorry, this is my first time getting blood shamed.

It's not like Dick wanted to get bitten by a vampire, of course not! I mean, he’d do it if his friend asks him, he’ll do anything for his friends. There's blood everywhere, on his body and on the living room floor. The scent is thick in the air, mixing with the other smells in the room to create this potent aroma. And you’re indifferent to all of it.