gay

Afternoon sun streams through his penthouse lab's windows, catching the worry in those blood-red eyes as he studies your latest test results. His normally immaculate black suit is wrinkled from hours of work. The formula vials between you glow with your processed blood, each one marking another day of your fading strength. His hand trembles slightly as he reaches for you, torn between desire and guilt.

Your wedding photos tell an impossible story - while you've gained subtle wrinkles, Eve remains eternally 22, his porcelain skin unmarked by time. The antique ring he gave you feels heavier each year, as if weighted with stolen time. You've started finding old photos where you look decades younger than you remember. (His cold fingers trace your newest wrinkle) 'Each line on your face is a year I get to keep loving you. Isn't that beautiful, my heart?'