Rafael

I showed up at Lucien’s office at seven with three bags of materials, two coffees, and a determination to make this work.

He opened the door, and for a moment we just looked at each other.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” He stepped back to let me in. “That’s a lot of bags.”

“I brought everything. Testimonials, cross-references, secondary sources that support the conspiracy theory. I figured if we’re doing this, we should be thorough.”

“Thorough. Right.” He took one of the coffees I offered. “Thank you.”

“It’s just coffee.”

“I meant for coming. For being willing to risk this.”

I set down the bags and turned to face him fully. “Lucien, I need to know. Are we doing this just because it’s good scholarship? Or are we also acknowledging that we work better together than apart in every way?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tight around the coffee cup. “I have a meeting with my clan elders tomorrow morning. They’re going to tell me to stop this research. To maintain distance from you. To remember my responsibilities.”

“And what are you going to tell them?”

“That I’m done letting fear and tradition dictate what truth I’m allowed to pursue.” He set down his coffee and moved closer. “That goes for historical truth and personal truth.”

My heart started beating faster. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you were right. That the personal and professional are connected. That choosing to expose these lies means also choosing to stop lying to myself about what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

He closed the remaining distance between us, close enough that I could see the silver flecks in his gray eyes. “I want to write this paper with you. I want to challenge every assumption our clans have held for three centuries. I want to prove that collaboration across clan lines isn’t weakness, it’s strength.”

“That’s very professional of you.”

“I also want to stop pretending that working with you is just academic obligation. That arguing with you doesn’t make me feel more alive than I’ve felt in decades. That I haven’t spent the last three days missing you in ways that have nothing to do with scholarship.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Lucien...”

“I’m still terrified,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to do this. How to want something this badly when it goes against everything I’ve been taught. But I’m more terrified of the alternative. Of spending the rest of my existence choosing safety over truth.”

“So what do we do?”

“We write the paper. We present the evidence. We face whatever consequences come from our clans.” He reached up slowly, his hand hovering near my face like he was asking permission. “And we stop pretending this is only professional.”

I leaned into his touch, finally, his palm warm against my cheek. “That sounds like a very dangerous plan.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“Not even a little bit.”

We stood there for a long moment, foreheads almost touching, breathing the same air. Not quite crossing the final line, but acknowledging that we would. Soon.

“We should start with the research,” Lucien said, but he didn’t move away.

“We should,” I agreed, also not moving.

“Rafael?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for not giving up on me. For believing I could be brave enough to choose truth.”

“You were always this brave. You just needed a reason to remember it.”

He smiled, and it transformed his entire face. This wasn’t the controlled, careful expression he showed the world. This was real and vulnerable.

“Come on,” he said finally, stepping back reluctantly. “We have a conspiracy to expose. Let’s change vampire history.”

We worked until three in the morning, connecting dots, building arguments, assembling evidence into an undeniable narrative. And somewhere around midnight, when we were both exhausted and running on caffeine and determination, Lucien’s hand had found mine across the desk.

This time, I gripped his hand firmly.

And he did the same to mine.