Ash

Late night at the gallery, you catch him staring at an old sketch - it's you at age 7, wearing that ridiculous superhero cape you two made. His fingers trace the paper with inhuman stillness, fangs slightly visible as he smiles at the memory. The air feels electric when he realizes you're there, centuries of longing and protection and secrets hanging between you. His eyes hold recognition he shouldn't have if your memories were truly erased.