All language subtitles for 【AI BL】Vampire count meets human dentist—and finds forever in a dental chair [Full] [English (autogenerated)] [translated] [GetSubs.cc]

This tooth. I should have had it dealt with three hundred years ago, but it's my fang,

the last thing my father left me. How am I supposed to be myself without it? If I lose it,

what am I? Young master, every time your tooth hurts, you compose a five-act tragedy.

Every time it stops, you admire yourself in the enchanted mirror and say it still looks rather

nice. Three hundred years, over three thousand Lukals. I've kept a log. This time is different.

Last night, I dreamed of someone. Him? That bastard Baron who bit you three hundred years

ago at your own coming-of-age ceremony? The one who turned your entire family into-

Not him. A man with glasses, wearing white, very clean fingers. He reached toward my mouth,

and I didn't flinch. He said, open up. It won't hurt. And I- I opened. Young master,

perhaps what you need is no longer a warm cup of blood tea and three hundred years of self-pity.

What do I need besides a stake through the heart? A dentinth.

What? What are you?

Patient. Emergency. Toothache.

Toothache.

Twenty-seven? Are you sure?

I've been twenty-seven every year. Consistently. Is there a problem with my paperwork?

Which one is the emergency patient?

Please open your mouth.

I won't hurt you.

Enamel thickness. Four times human. Light transvosi. Extraordinary. Almost opalacinic.

Root length. Average human canine is twenty-six millimeters. Yours is at least forty. Possibly forty-two.

The pulp is still vital. Your circulatory system is functioning. But no palpable radial pulse, and your pupular light reflects

is abnormally slow. I timed it. Skin temperature?

Approxima thirty-four celsius. Normal human range is thirty-six point five to thirty-seven celsius. You are not human.

You're a vampire.

So you're going to call the police? The hunters? Brandish a cross? Stake me through the heart with a sharpened

dental probe?

I'm going to complete your root treatment.

Then publish a paper. The Lanson, or at least the British Dental Journal. Possibly both.

You want to publish a paper on my teeth? No. I want to make history with your teeth.

Your canines are the most beautiful biological structures I have ever seen. Including forty-seven million-year-old fossil primates

I studied during my Ph.D.

You beat the fossils.

Left Maxivalian catenine. Paraoctal termiotitis. Duration approximately three hundred years, based on regnotrical evidence of chronic bone resection. Please open

your mouth.

If you hurt me, you'll bite me. You mentioned that last time. Before you bite,

let me collect a saliva sample first. Your salivary enzyme profile must be extraordinary.

It doesn't hurt.

Of course it doesn't hurt. I've only touched the surface. The nerve endings are deeper than in humans. Vampire enamel

is an extraordinary adaptation.

Heart rate elevated. Does it hurt?

It doesn't hurt.

Then why is your heart rate?

Maybe it's pre-pain. An anticipatory physiological response.

That's not a medical term.

Then coin one. You seem good at naming things. You named my enamel extraordinary.

Three hundred years the first time it doesn't hurt.

Temporary treatment. Same time next week for follow-up. Your canine needs at least three sessions. Possibly more, depending on

the pulp response.

Young master, the tooth is fixed. Let's go home. The sun rises in forty-two minutes.

But it'll hurt again.

The tooth?

I don't know.

Are you gonna bite me?

No.

Then what do you want?

I'm going to kidnap you.

Does the kidnapping location have dental equipment?

You're not afraid?

That depends on the kidnapping location.

My castle has a fully equipped dental office. A 1932 Ricker Model A imported from Vienna.

Original leather, foot pedal, and hydraulics intact.

A German Sills x-ray machine, Wolliopier Era, still produces diagnostic quality radiographs.

I have the original manuals. In German.

Ritter Model A? With the original leather? The foot pedal? It's the cast iron one, not the later aluminum replacement?

Original cast iron. Made in Vienna. Serial number 00047.

Serial number 00047. That's the forty-seventh unit ever produced. The first fifty were hand-assembled

by the Ryder family themselves.

Let's go.

Young Matzit, you didn't even say come with me or I'll kill you!

You didn't bare your fangs! You didn't do the red-eye hypnotic stare!

This is the most pathetic kidnapping I have witnessed in two hundred years!

He said he has a Ritter Model A with serial number 00047.

That's more persuasive than any threat.

If he'd mentioned the C-Mits x-ray first, I would have offered to drive.

No more than ten of these exist worldwide.

The leather? No cracks.

The stitching? Original.

The hydraulic fluid? Still clear.

This is not a dental chair.

This is a museum piece.

This is your teeth and your equipment.

I want them both.

Young Master, how can it hurt again? The treatment was supposed to...

Not the left one.

Never!

The right one?

Young Master, this time it's the right one!

The right canine has never hurt before!

In 327 years, the right canine has never...

First time pain in the right canine.

Bilateral nerve involvement.

The abnormal neural connection isn't limited to the left side, it's systemic.

Your cardiac-neural-dental-edal feedback loop may be more extensive than I initially hypothesized.

I need to reassess the treatment plan.

Could you, when I say my tooth hurts, not start with a medical explanation first?

Then what should I say?

Say, you'll be okay.

You'll be okay.

Please come closer.

I need to observe your eclosion up close.

Your resting jaw position and the alignment of your canines with your lower arm.

Your arch.

I'm fine here.

Just speak, I can hear you.

Vampire hearing.

Up to 400 meters, depending on wind conditions.

I can't see properly.

The distance is affecting my ability to assess your mandribular positioning.

Shhh.

Open your mouth.

Now?

While I'm having breakfast?

Now.

The observation window for resting umplution is narrow.

It's best captured when the patient is relaxed and not consciously adjusting their relaxed.

Why not?

Well…

Have I Dropped.

She nah…

How am I?

There

all will

be lifted. That is so

much darker there… … …

Dr. Hart, rule number one, bats are not permitted to hang upside down in the sterile zone.

Rule number two, bats are not permitted to sharpen their claws on the armrest of the

dental chair.

Rule number three, bats are not permitted to drink coffee.

Rule number four, four, bats are not permitted to hang upside down in the sterile zone.

We need to install UV filter film, custom cut for each window.

You'll be able to move around during the day without being burned.

Why?

Because you're my patient.

Twice-weekly follow-ups.

You can't always come at five in the morning.

The sun rises at six.

And you deserve to see the sun, even if it's through a filter.

Dr. Hart, hmm?

You've turned my castle into the human world.

Why aren't you afraid of me?

Do you mean, not afraid you'll bite me, not afraid you'll drink my blood, or not afraid

you'll lock me up in this castle?

All of it.

Every part of it.

Every reason a human should be afraid of a vampire, you should be afraid.

I've killed people.

I've drank human blood.

I'm 327 years old, and I've done things.

When was the last time you killed someone?

1843.

I killed the hunter who staked my sister.

And after that, I stopped.

I stopped drinking human blood in 1923.

I stopped everything.

That night in the parking lot.

The fangs you pressed against my neck, 34.2 satius.

Ice-cold vampire fangs shouldn't be 34.2 satius.

You're warm.

You just don't know it yourself.

Or, you've been told for 300 years that you're cold, so you believed it.

Also, if you really wanted to bite me, you would have done it in the parking lot.

You didn't.

You just pressed your fangs against me as if testing my reaction.

As if wanting to confirm whether there's someone who won't push you away.

Fang, it's inclusion.

You didn't want to hurt me.

For 300 years, no one has touched them.

No one has come near your mouth except enemies.

No one has ever asked you, does it hurt?

How do you know everything?

I'm a dentist.

Dentists read teeth.

Your fangs told me far more than your mouth ever did.

They were saying, for 300 years, no one touched me.

No one knew I was 34.2 shestius.

No one asked if I was in pain.

Until you.

Today we'll clean out the left canine pulp chamber.

Apply medication.

About 40 minutes.

Please relax.

Relax.

I'll try.

I've been trying to relax for 300 years.

It's harder than it sounds.

You talk more when you're nervous.

I'm not nervous.

Your grip strength on the arm last has increased by approximately 30% since you sat down.

The leather is creasing.

I'm not nervous.

Your heart rate jumped from 72 straight to 187.

I only touched your lips.

I haven't even started the procedure yet.

Last time you said, your canine nerves are directly connected to your cardiac nerves.

When your heart flutters, your fangs hurt.

You described it as a conducted pain.

Yes.

The harder my heart flutters, the more they hurt.

For 300 years I trained myself.

Every time I felt thing, I shut it down.

I became the best at not feeling anything.

Just now, your heart rate was 187.

But you didn't clutch your face.

No pain?

Why no pain?

I was clearly...

My heart was...

187 is the highest it's ever been in 300 years.

The previous record was 134 in 1867.

Your heart rate jumped from 72 straight to 187.

I only touched your lips.

I haven't even started the procedure yet.

I know.

In normal person terms, your fangs have accepted my treatment.

They've accepted me.

So when your heart flutters for me, your fangs won't hurt anymore.

They'll only feel warm.

Like holding a cup of coffee.

Like standing in filtered sunlight.

Like being touched.

Your lips.

Temperature is 36.5 ccs.

Normal body temperature range.

Oral temperature is generally 0.3 to 0.5 degrees higher than axilla.

Not normal for me.

Everything I've ever touched has been cold.

Marble.

Coffins.

My own hands.

For 300 years, everything was cold.

And then you touched my forehead in the dental office.

And I felt warmth for the first time.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

For the first time in 300 years, when my heart flutters, it doesn't hurt.

It just beats.

Young master, there's a vampire hunter outside the gate.

Silver armor, polish to a mirror finish.

Wooden stake sword, at least one meter long, possibly ash wood.

Garlic, 11 whole braids of garlic.

I counted.

1, 2, 3, 11!

Evil vampire, I've tracked you for three days through the Ravenmoor forest.

Across the Blackthone River.

Following the trail of your...

Your dental appointment card.

Release the human dentist you've kidnapped.

Are you afraid of him?

I used to be.

And now?

I'm sorry.

Now you're here.

And if he wants to get to you, he'll have to go through me first.

Young master, are we...

Are we actually going to fight?

Should I get the ceremonial battle armor from the vault?

The one with the batwing shoulder palm soles?

No.

Get the coffee.

The hunter will need it.

Vampire, release that human!

Excuse me.

Do your teeth hurt?

What?

No.

I'm here to...

I'm here to...

I'm a vampire hunter.

This is the seventh generation Thornwood family...

Open bite.

Mandibular protraction.

Your lower jaw juts forward when you speak.

Most noticeable on the S nouns, which you pronounce with a slight lisp.

Your tongue is positioned too far forward in your oral capti.

Did you suck your thumb as a child?

How do you...

I mean...

That was 34 years ago.

My mother said I stopped when I was four.

How can you tell?

Open your mouth.

Why would I...

I came here to kill a vampire, not to...

If you don't get this treated, within three years, your temporomathridal joint will experience

chronic inflammation.

Five years, you'll hear a clicking sound every time you chew.

Ten years, you won't be able to open your mouth wide enough to take a bite of an apple.

Your career as a vampire hunter will end by...

Temporomathridal joint disorder.

Oclasal spling.

Weekly follow-ups.

The earlier the intervention, the better the prognosis.

Open bite.

Moderate attrition on the oclasal surfaces of the molars.

Evidence of brioza of nocturnal teeth grinding.

Possibly stress-related.

Are you under a lot of stress?

I'm a vamp...

Vampire hunter.

Of course I'm under stress.

Castle Basement.

See the the bat butler for an appointment.

Bring your previous dental records if available.

So...

You're not kidnapped?

Because the Ravenmoortown rumor mill and the missing...

Person report filed by the St. Albans Hospital Administrator...

Suggest otherwise.

Legally speaking, the circumstances of my arrival could be categorized as non-consensual

location, however.

This place has the best preserved antique dental equipment in all of Europe.

A Ritter Model A with serial number 0047.

A W. Dui-era Simmel's x-ray machine.

And a case of 300-year bilateral canine pericastinal periodotitis with a unique cardiac neural dental

feedback loop that I have not found in any medical literature published between 70 and the

present history.

You voluntarily let a vampire kidnap you for a case study?

It's not for the case study.

You two aren't.

A purely doctor-patient relationship.

These two, their mouths are harder than the castle's stone walls, and the castle walls are

three feet thick.

Last time the young master's heart rate hit 187, Dr. Hart's hand was tribbling when he

wrote the medical notes.

I saw it!

I have night vision!

And they call this a doctor-patient relationship?

I have lived 200 years, and I have never seen a doctor-patient relationship where the doctor's

ears turn pink every time the patient enters the room!

You can't sleep.

Hmm.

Thinking about your fangs.

My fangs.

Not me.

Thinking about your fangs, and thinking about you, what's the difference?

When you say things like that, my fangs hurt.

Hurt?

The third session is complete.

The root canal filling should have blocked the abnormal neural conduction.

Where exactly is the pain?

Is it the left or the right?

What's the intensity on a scale of 1 to 10?

No probe needed.

It's not pathological pain.

It's when you talk to me.

My heart beats too fast.

The base of my fangs feels sore.

It doesn't hurt the way it used to.

But it's harder to bear than pain.

Because I knew how to endure pain.

This.

I don't know what to do with this.

You're smoking.

We should go inside.

It's fine.

Lighter than a toothache.

I've had worse.

I once stood in direct sunlight for four minutes.

In 1852.

I wanted to see if I could.

I couldn't.

All right.

No dental terminology.

No medical explanations.

I'll say it like a normal person.

I can't sleep either.

Not because of your fangs.

Because of you.

I keep thinking.

You've spent 300 years alone in this castle.

No one has touched your fangs.

No one has asked if you were in pain.

No one knew your temperature was 34.2 caesius.

And I only know because I measured it with the back of my hand.

No one made you coffee.

No one fixed your coffee machine.

Which had a broken gasket, by the way.

No one installed UV filter film so you could stand at the window during the day.

300 years.

And no one did these things.

I want to be the one who touches your fangs and then asks, does it hurt?

I want to be the one who makes your coffee.

The one who knows your temperature.

Not from a medical record, but because my hand has been on your forehead enough times to memorize it.

But I want to be the one who makes your heart rate hit a 187 and then stays until it

settles back to 104.

Sarah Finn.

First time he addresses him by his three-syllable name.

No Dr. Pre-X.

Your finger is warmer than my fangs.

Normal.

Human fingertip temperature is usually about two shusties lower than oral temperature, but your fangs are lower than normal body

temperature.

Don't give me the medical explanation.

Fine.

I won't.

Does it hurt?

It doesn't hurt.

Good.

You kissed my forehead, not my tooth.

Shut up.

Patients shouldn't ask for too much.

Dr. Hart.

What?

Why did you kiss my forehead and not my lips?

Because forehead kissing is a standard post-treatment patient reassurance protocol.

There's no such protocol.

I can invent one.

I'm the attending physician.

Then invent a protocol for kissing lips.

Elias, patients who push their luck, I charge extra for follow-ups.

I have 300 years' worth of savings.

Charge me.

Not tonight.

Why?

Because if I kiss you tonight, I won't be able to pretend anymore.

That I'm here for your teeth.

That I'm not counting the hours until your next follow-up.

That you're just my patient.

Then stop pretending.

Not tonight.

Because if I stop pretending, I want 60 years, and 60 years isn't fair to you.

Young master, you're finally not in pain anymore.

And now Dr. Hart, he's the one who's afraid.

Afraid of loving you too much.

Afraid of losing you.

Afraid of 60 years not being enough.

You're cold.

I'm fine.

Your fingers are 35.8 celsius.

That's 0.7 below normal.

You measure my finger temperature now?

I notice everything about you.

Do you want to know why I'm not afraid of you?

I've wanted to know.

Since day one.

The first time you saw my fangs in the dental chair.

Your pupils dilated by 0.3 millimeters.

Every other human's can trick.

Yours expanded.

You measured my pupils?

I notice everything about you.

You said that already.

It's still true.

Because of my sister.

My sister Helena, 8 years older than me.

She was sickly from childhood.

Severe apratic anemia.

Her bone marrow couldn't produce blood.

Can you imagine?

A body that can't make blood.

Skin white as paper.

Lips always a faint purple.

People were afraid of her.

Neighbors.

Classmates.

Even nurses said she looked like a ghost.

Said she looked like a vampire.

She couldn't be in the sun.

Anemia.

Sensitive to cold.

Sensitive to heat.

Sensitive to everything.

She spent her whole life in a room with curtains drawn.

When she smiled, her two canine teeth would show.

Very sharp.

She was so thin, all her teeth looked sharp.

But the canines especially.

When I was 16, she died.

In the hospital.

The machines beped for a long time.

Then one long flat line.

And then nothing.

The day she left, I was holding her hand.

Her hand was 34 Celsius.

Just like yours.

Seraphine.

Your sister, she was 34 Celsius.

You held her hand when she left.

And then 17 years later, you met me.

My fangs were 34.2 Celsius.

My hand was 34.2 Celsius.

I'm not her.

I can't replace her.

But if holding my hand.

If touching my 34.2 Celsius.

If it makes you feel like you're still holding her.

Then my hand is yours.

For however long you need it.

60 years.

300 years.

300 years.

It doesn't matter.

It's yours.

So when I first saw you.

I didn't see a monster.

I saw a person with the same temperature as my sister.

Cold.

Pale.

Sharp teeth.

But you're still here.

Over 300 years.

And you're still here.

My sister didn't get to stay.

You stayed.

I wanted to fix your teeth.

As if fixing your teeth.

I could tell my 16 year old self.

See.

You just weren't skilled enough back then.

If you'd had these hands.

Maybe you could have kept her.

Every time I touch your fang with my probe.

Every time I adjust the angle of the light.

Every time I say it won't hurt.

I'm holding my sister's hand in that hospital room.

And this time.

Well this time it doesn't hurt.

Your fang doesn't hurt.

You don't hurt.

And maybe.

Just maybe.

17 years ago she didn't hurt either.

Maybe she just.

Fell asleep.

Seraphine Hot.

Your sister's name.

Helena.

It means light in Greek.

But she spent her whole life in the dark.

You spent 17 years in guilt.

That you weren't skilled enough.

That you were 16 and couldn't save her.

That you're alive and she's not.

But 17 years later.

You became skilled enough.

You fixed a tooth that had been hurting for 300 years.

You fixed a person who had been hiding for 300 years.

You fixed this.

You fixed this.

My heart.

It hurt for 300 years.

Not anymore.

In me.

You saw someone you loved.

I want to see.

In you.

The person I'll love for the rest of my life.

Which is forever.

But let's start with 60 years.

You said forever and then immediately corrected yourself to 60 years.

You're hedging.

Like a patient who says it only hurts a little but their heart rate is 187.

You're diagnosing me.

I'm a dentist.

I diagnose everyone.

Diagnose yourself.

Why are you still crying?

I'm not crying.

The fireplace smoke.

Irritated my eyes.

The fireplace is flameless.

It's enchanted.

No smoke.

Shut up.

Third mumble.

Messio angle impassions.

Elevator.

Give me the elevator.

Helena.

I'm here.

Elias.

Open up.

Young Master watched over him all night.

I saw everything.

Every hour.

Every minute.

When Dr. Hart almost fell off the sofa,

Young Master caught him.

When Dr. Hart said his sister's name,

Young Master kissed his forehead.

When Dr. Hart said Young Master's name,

Young Master's fangs stopped hurting.

Both of them.

Left and right.

I checked.

Sorry, sorry.

The tips.

They weren't even trembling.

I didn't come today for my teeth.

Then for what?

The garlic is hanging straight.

Your open bite seems to be improving.

The splim must be working.

You-

You're diagnosing me now?

I've been living with a dentist for several months.

Some things rub off.

Why aren't you running?

I still have garlic at my waist.

My wooden stake sword is drawn.

You're sitting in broad daylight reading a dental journal.

My dentist is sleeping upstairs.

He was on emergency duty all night, 14 hours.

Pulled three whiz teeth.

Dealt with two abscess cups.

He's very tired.

I'm afraid the sound of a fight might wake him.

You love him.

Yes.

I love him.

Not because he filled my tooth.

Not because he made my coffee.

Not because he installed UV filter film so I could stand in sunshine.

Because he's the first person in 300 years who touched my fang and then asked,

does it hurt, instead of, are you going to bite me?

Because he measured the temperature of my fangs, 34.2 ccs, and wrote it in his chart.

Because when my heart rate hit 187, he didn't run away.

He put down his instruments and sat beside, not as my doctor, as a person.

Sir Aldrich, you asked me if I love him.

Now let me ask you, do you also need a dentist?

For you.

Insect repellent.

The castle Dr. Hart gave me last time, but my jaw doesn't do y'all's click anymore.

And yeah, testy, just delict lemmets out of the melon garden and diagnosing open bits.

Things change.

He changed you.

Stayed.

No, long enough for me to change myself.

My family has hunted vampires for seven generations.

But no one ever told me, vampires can love.

Young master?

Did a vampire hunter just say vampires can love?

He's 28 this year.

Ten years from now, he'll be 38.

30 years?

58?

60 years?

Enough.

You can keep him company for 60 years.

Then what?

You'll be 27 forever.

He'll grow old.

His hands, the hands that held the probe so steady, at 187 beats per minute, those hands

will tremble.

Not from emotion.

From age.

He'll forget what he'll mix up his patient's charts.

He'll forget your name.

The new word he made detail.

Every temperature reading.

Every heartbeat on the monitor.

But, if you only have 60 years, then give him everything in those 60 years.

Every sunrise through the UV film.

Every cup of coffee.

Every dental checkup.

Every it doesn't hurt.

Don't waste a single minute being afraid.

You've been 27 for 300 years.

You've outlived your family.

Your enemies.

The baron who turned you.

The dentist who made your first filling.

You've outlived everyone who ever looked at you.

Except yourself.

Serafin is 28.

In 10 years, he'll be 38.

You'll still be 27.

In 30 years, he'll be 58.

You'll still be 27.

In 60 years, he'll be gone.

And you'll be 27.

Like you've always been.

Like you'll always be.

Mythe, young master, your tooth hurts again.

Your canine is hurting.

No.

Your left hand is pressing the left side of your face.

Your shoulders are hunched.

Your pupils are dilated.

I can see them in the mirror reflection.

Classic canine pulpitus posture.

It's not pulpitus.

Then what is it?

It's pre-loss pain.

The pain of knowing I'll lose you.

In 60 years.

Maybe less.

Elias.

When I said I wanted 60 years, I was being greedy.

I didn't think I deserved more than 60 years.

But if you're afraid of 60 years not being enough,

then let's make it forever.

Young master, are you avoiding Dr. Hart?

You used to wish your teeth would hurt every single day

just so he'd stay a little longer.

Last time he did the temporary filling,

you deliberately refused anesthesia.

I saw your hand gripping the arm hold.

You wanted to feel every second of his pro-

I'm not avoiding him.

I'm giving him space.

Giving him space.

You're giving him the entire castle.

He's in the dental office.

You're in the north tower.

He's in the kitchen.

You're in the crypt.

Last night he came to the library

and you turned into a bat and hung from the ceiling

pretending to be me.

That was you.

I was in the dental office organizing floss.

You can't lie to me.

I've known you for 200 years.

Your bat form is three centimeters bigger than mine.

You've been avoiding me.

Three breakfasts.

You didn't touch the coffee.

Two follow-ups cancelled.

I found you in the crypt twice.

Once as a bat hanging upside down,

you were three centimeters too big to be Barnaby.

Why?

Because you said forever.

The rooftop.

You said 60 years.

I accepted 60 years.

I had already started arranging 60 years.

60 springs in the garden.

60 autumns with white roses.

60 christmas in the great hall.

I had it all planned.

Every year.

Every season.

Every dental checkup.

Then in my bedroom you said forever.

And I realized forever is too long for you.

Forever means you'll watch me stay the same while you...

You're afraid.

Yes.

Not of making you lose yourself.

You're human.

You're supposed to grow old.

You're supposed to have gray hair and wrinkles and a slow walk.

You're supposed to retire and write your memoirs.

60 years with a vampire's teeth.

You're supposed to...

Do what I'm supposed to do or what I want to do.

Elias.

I became a dentist because of my sister.

I specialized in rare dental diseases because of my sister.

Every paper I published, every tooth I treated, it was all for Helena.

17 years.

I built my whole carampire, my whole life, on a 16-year-old boy's guilt.

You.

A 327-year-old vampire with teeth mirror what my sister's looked like.

Whose teeth temperature matches what hers was when she died.

Do you think that's a coincidence?

Do you think I think it's a coincidence?

I don't believe in fate.

I believe in dental records.

But you, you are the one case I can't explain.

You're not my sister.

But you're the reason I don't need my sister's ghost anymore.

You're the reason I'm ready to be not just her brother.

But someone else is someone.

Seraphine.

What?

You said the word someone.

Yes.

Say it again.

Someone.

I want to be your someone.

Elias.

I don't want immortality.

I don't.

Don't turn around.

If you turn around, I can't say this.

Let me say it to your back.

Your back has been carrying 300 years.

It can carry a few more words.

I don't want to be like you.

Living alone for 300 years with no one to treat your toothache.

I don't want to outlive everyone I love.

I don't want to watch the world change while I stay the same.

Importality, it's not a gift.

It's a curse.

You've been carrying it for 300 years.

You want to give me half.

But no.

I only want 60 years.

You grow old with me.

You watch my hair turn from gold to white.

You watch me get wrinkles.

Right here, at the corner of the eyes, from squinting into the microscope too much.

You watch hands start to tremble.

And when I can't hold the probe soon, you steady anymore.

You hold my hand and guide it.

You watch my teeth fall out.

Ironic for a dentist.

And then you fit measure my gums.

You adjust the bite.

You be my dentist.

For 60 years.

I'm not afraid of growing old.

I'm afraid that when I'm old, you won't be there.

So be there.

60 years.

That's my deal.

Your 60 years is less than a fraction of what you've lived.

But to me, it's my entire life.

I'm willing to give you all my time.

Not enough.

60 years isn't enough.

But if you'll only give me 60 years, I'll pour all the goodness I've saved up over 300

years into those 60 years.

I'll make your coffee every day.

I'll let you check my teeth every day.

I'll argue with you about dental plaque.

I'll pretend I don't know where you put your glasses even though I can see them perfectly

in the dark.

I'll wake up before you every single morning just so I can watch you open your eyes.

Because the moment you open your eyes, that's the moment my 60 years starts.

And I want to catch the first second.

Did the vampire just cry?

In 200 years, I've never seen the young master cry.

Not once.

When his family died, he didn't cry.

When the baron bit him, he didn't cry.

When his first dentist told him his canine was hopeless, he didn't cry.

But now, for a human dentist who charges zero for follow-ups and makes terrible coffee?

Left canine, polish complete, right canine polish complete, bite test.

Occlusion normal, no high points, enamel integrity restored, color uniform, root canal filling

perfect.

No dental issues of any kind.

So, it's over.

So, are you going to leave?

Go back to St. Oldbin's, back to your human patients, back to your colleagues, back to

your normal life where patients don't have fangs and heart rates don't spike to 187 from

a single touch.

You completed the treatment.

Three sessions, just like you said.

The canine is fixed, the pulpitis is gone, there's no medical reason for you to stay.

Yes.

The treatment is complete.

So, you're free to leave?

Yes.

No more, no more 4am emergencies, no more bathing in the dental office, no more explaining

to St. Oldbin's that you're doing field research, no more dealing with bat-buttleys

who leave silver tears everywhere, no more, no more me.

You think I completed the treatment?

So, I'll leave.

You think the only reason I'm here is your teeth?

Aren't they?

Elias von Noctart.

Your left canine, I filled it.

Your right canine, I filled it.

Every cavity in your mouth, I know them by name.

I know the shape of your pulp chambers.

I know which side you floss less.

I know which tooth aches when you're scared and which tooth aches when you're in love.

But your teeth are not why I'm here.

This is why I'm here.

Then tell me the real reason.

No medical terminology, no research excuses, no observation period of 60 years.

Say it like a normal person.

My research isn't finished yet.

Seraphine.

On the long-term theological and psychological effects of close-range exposure to vampire canines

on human dentists.

Observation period, at least 60 years.

From a young dentist to enderly dental specialist spanning an entire human career.

You want to stay my side for 60 years?

Doing research?

No.

It's not research.

I was talking nonsense just now.

I was making excuses.

I always make excuses.

I made an excuse when I came to the castle.

Antique dental equipment.

I made an excuse when I installed UV film.

Daily follow-ups require daytime access.

I made an excuse when I kissed your forehead.

Patient reassurance protocol?

Well, the truth is, I don't want to leave.

Say it again.

I don't want to leave.

Again.

I don't want to leave you.

My clinic is downtown.

Your dental office is in the castle basement.

I'll see human patients during the day.

Impacted wisdom teeth, pulsmitis, periodotitis, the full spectrum of human dental misery.

At night, I'll come back to see my VIP.

My one and only VIP.

Lifetime, no appointment fee.

Whether you come or not, that's up to you.

But the chair is yours.

The light is yours.

The probe is yours.

The dentist is yours.

What if my teeth don't hurt anymore?

Do I still need checkups?

Yes.

Regular checkups.

Cleaning every three months.

You can never reach the plaque behind your canines anyway.

The curvature of the distal surface is too steep.

Your toothbrush can't access it.

Seraphine, at a romantic moment like this, could you not mention dental plaque?

Fine.

No dental plaque.

Let me say this instead.

That is...

The most beautiful tooth I have ever kissed in my entire career.

You kissed my tooth.

In three hundred years, no one has ever kissed my fangs.

No one has ever been willing to bring their lips this close.

Children screamed.

Adults crossed themselves.

Hunters drew stakes.

Lovers, if I ever had any, never kissed my mouth.

Too afraid my teeth would cut them.

But you, you kissed my fang.

On purpose.

While I was awake.

Yes.

Why?

Because it's beautiful.

Your fang, it's beautiful.

I've seen thousands of teeth in my career.

Yours are...

They're not just teeth.

They're your history.

They're three hundred years of pain.

They're...

They're yours.

And I wanted to kiss them.

Dr. Hart...

I've told you.

Call me Seraphine.

Seraphine Fenn.

You kissed my fang, so...

May I kiss your lips?

Yes.

Your lips, they're not thirty-six point five cessiest.

What are they then?

Warmer.

They feel like the first sunlight through the UV strainer.

Like the morning you opened the curtains and told me to stand in the light.

I've lived two hundred years and this is the first time I've seen the young master kiss someone.

No, the first time I've seen the young master kiss anyone.

At all.

Ever.

He's three hundred and twenty-seven.

That's...

That's a very long time without...

I can't even...

Quiet. You're going to make them notice us.

You're holding your bite split over your eyes.

It blocks the view.

Remind me after the oath is read.

He has a follow-up consultation next Wednesday.

Wear it for no less than eight hours each time.

Young master?

Andrelit, you're still not asleep?

It's past midnight.

Tomorrow is...

I know.

Is your tooth hurting?

Not my tooth.

My...

What if he regrets it?

Wakes up tomorrow and realizes marrying a three hundred twenty-seven year old vampire isn't worth the paperwork?

What if he's just too obsessed with dental research?

What if what he really loves is the Ritter Model A dental chair and I'm just a bonus feature?

What if he thinks I'm only twenty-eight?

What if he thinks I'm only twenty-eight?

Why did I promise forever to have seen three centuries?

What if he's just being polite?

He's very polite.

He said yes to being kidnapped.

He said yes to staying.

He said yes to...

Maybe he just can't say no to patients.

What?

Do you know what Dr. Hart said to me today?

He said...

Barnaby.

What?

Tell Elias if he dares to run away from the wedding tomorrow, I'll pull out his fangs.

One by one.

Under local activization.

I'm not cruel.

Then put them back.

Then pull them again.

Then put them back.

Until he shows up.

I have three hundred and twenty-seven years worth of accumulated dental cases.

I'm not afraid of overtime.

And then, after he said that, he added,

But I know he won't run.

I just want him to be nervous.

Because I'm nervous too.

And knowing he's nervous makes me less nervous.

He's nervous too.

He's been reorganizing the dental implements all evening.

I saw him polish the same probe four times.

Four times, young master.

It was already sterilized.

He polishes when he's nervous.

And he made coffee.

Seven cups.

Drank two.

Poured five down the stink.

That's very unlike him.

He doesn't waste coffee.

Young master.

You're both terrified.

You're terrified he'll regret it.

He's terrified you'll think a human isn't enough.

That's what love does, isn't it?

Makes three hundred twenty-seven-year-old vampires and twenty-eight-year-old dentists

equally scared of losing each other.

Barnady, do you remember the day I bought this coat?

Three hundred years ago.

The tailor in Ravenmoor.

Before everything.

I wore it to bury my family.

Tomorrow.

I'm wearing it to marry him.

I'm wearing it to marry him.

I have no regrets.

I haven't asked yet.

You've been thinking since yesterday that I might regret this.

I saw it.

Your canines.

They're a shade darker than yesterday.

Stress-induced pomp congestion.

Classic pre-event anxiety response.

Also, your pupils are point five millimeters larger than usual.

You're afraid.

I'm a dentist.

I read teeth.

Your canines have been saying since last night.

I'm afraid he'll run away.

I'm afraid he'll find a reason to leave.

I'm afraid this is a dream and someone will say treatment complete and he'll walk out the door.

You didn't run.

I never even considered it.

Now.

Before the bat band starts the next song, and trust me, it's worse than the first, let's get married.

I have a patient at three.

I, the seventh generation heir of a vampire hunting family, am here to officiate the wedding of a vampire count

and a human male dentist.

Do you have any idea how loudly my ancestral graves are rattling?

Now I can hear them.

From here.

They're saying,

Oldrick, you absolute failure.

And I'm going to respond.

At least my open bite is.

Seraph and Hart, do you take this man, regardless of whether Elias' left canine may require future root canal retration,

regardless of whether his right canine may be sharper than any human tooth you ever treated,

was regard he needs a dental checkup every three months for eternity.

Do you promise to be his dentist forever?

I do.

And not just his dentist.

The first words I ever said to you.

In the dental chair, under the light, when you were gripping the arm rolls so hard, your knuckles went white.

The first words.

And every time your tooth hurts from now on for the next 60 years, for however long we have, I'll

say those words.

I won't get tired, because I'll keep saying them until all the pain from 300 years of tooth maze turns

into what?

Turns into the light on your fangs, when you smile at me.

Relias von Nockbos.

I do.

Regardless of whether Seraphine can never cast in the dental office every morning,

because patients keep coming, regardless he'll convert every square inch of your castle entail.

Plenty willing, my eternal life will split in half for you.

You'll be like me, forever 28, forever the age you are now.

Ever able to hold the probe stay,

forever able to drink too much coffee and reorganize dental instruments four times when you're nervous.

I accepted six months ago.

Any regrets?

Regret what?

Immortality.

I gave it to you, without giving you much time to think it through.

I had six months to think about it.

Ever since the night your heart rate hit 187, I've been calculating.

How to keep treating your teeth forever.

A human lifespan isn't enough for the kind of long-term study you represent.

The destral surface of your canines,

the plaque accumulation pattern,

the pulp chamber modality changes over centuries.

Sixty years of data is a pilot study.

I need at least 200 years to publish anything meaningful.

You're saying you accepted mortality?

For research data.

No.

I'm saying I calculated that 60 years isn't enough.

I'm not afraid of growing old with you.

But I'm afraid that once I'm old,

there will be no one to clean your teeth.

The area behind your canines,

the messy links will surface.

It's really hard to reach.

You absolutely cannot manage it on your own.

Your toothbrush technique is,

let's say,

improbable.

So,

my research isn't 60 years.

It's forever.

Seraphine Hart.

No.

Seraphine von Nachtberg.

Changed my surname?

I didn't agree to that.

You just said you accept.

I said I accept immortality.

I didn't say I accept changing my surname.

Call me Dr. Hart.

Forever Dr. Hart.

Dr. Hart von Nachtheilth.

It's hyphenated.

Compromise.

I'll think about it.

How do you know it won't hurt?

Open up.

It won't hurt.

Because I've treated much worse pain than this.

The kind that lasted 300 years.

The kind that got worse every time a heart beat too fast.

It's just a cavity.

I can fix it in 20 minutes.

I can fix it in 20 minutes.

Left canine.

Perfect.

Right canine.

Perfect.

Gums.

Healthy.

Dental plaque?

No dental plaque.

I brush three times a day.

I also floss Barnaby Supervisors.

If I miss a spot,

he writes it in his notebook.

I have a bat butler

keeping my dental hygiene records.

Liar.

There's a little on the inner side of the right canine.

Don't move.

seraphim treatment in progress no talking i love you

i love you patients must not disrupt the doctor during treatment rule number three of the dental

office your ears are red that's because the dental office temperature is elevated the uv filter

system generates residual heat i installed a thermometer in the dental office yesterday

it's 21 cesius optimal for dental procedures you're not warm because of the room

i love you too now let me finish cleaning your plaque

patient elias von noctauspied three one hundred and twenty eighth dental follow-up appointment

generated dentist dr seraphive heart width by not service recurrence every three months

estimated companionship duration forever note patient requested additional appointment for

non-dental reasons just want to hold his hand in the dental chair request status approved

you