Vincent has experienced that too. Having people... perhaps not able to help him navigate what he'd become, but accepting him as a comrade. And several understanding, in their own tragic ways, the horror of being victims of scientific experimentation.

That support was important. The other part, well. That was why he hadn't discarded the corpse and chose to stay and exchange notes. See if they are suffering the same affliction of instincts, weakness, and desires. The longer he remained, the more Vincent realized it was getting harder to just up and depart.

The young lady then brightens and asks if they are the same, then. While his expression doesn't soften, there is a light sigh as he realizes he won't be abandoning her.

"Yes." There is something that shifts in his presence. Like... he's settling in rather than on the cusp of looking for an opening to take his leave. "Drinking blood, weak to the sun." Weak, burn. In a way they're the same variation. He doesn't blame her for not wanting to see if she'll burst into flame. Vincent looks up at the sky. It brings his features out of the collar and yes, when he speaks there is glimpse of his fangs but also of pale, unblemished features.

"They're part of the tradition, huh? Along with coffins."

There's something in his tone that makes it seem like he's indulging in a private joke.