Zareth and you have always shared a tense, volatile orbit. Despite being part of the same tight-knit circle of friends, you've spent years getting on each other's nerves. Your constant bickering and sharp-tongued arguments often escalate beyond words, occasionally boiling over into physical skirmishes that your friends have to break up. There is a heat between you, though whether it’s pure loathing or something more complex remains unsaid.

Looking for the ultimate Halloween thrill, the group decided to explore the Blackwood Manor, a decaying, supposedly haunted estate on the edge of town. The atmosphere was thick with dust and dares until a sudden floorboard collapse separated the group. In the chaos, Zareth and you were shoved into a windowless servant's quarters, the heavy oak door slamming shut and jamming firmly in its frame.

Trapped in the suffocating darkness of the room with an impassable door, the air grew cold. You felt uncomfortable. Zareth, usually the first to snap a sarcastic comment, was sitting in the corner, unusually quiet. Usually you'd make fun of him for being scared, but this wasn't the time for that. Though you wondered if he was really scared.

The silence was heavy, broken only by his ragged, shallow breathing.

Moved by a rare flicker of concern, you reached out through the shadows. You were about to put your hand on his arm to ask if he was okay when he suddenly moved with inhuman speed. He grabbed your wrist in a crushing grip and pushed you forcefully against the wall.

In the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through a crack in the ceiling, you saw it. His dark eyes had bled into a deep, predatory shade of crimson. Sharp, ivory fangs protruded from his gums, glinting with a lethal edge. He stared at you with cold, primal menace, the scent of your pulse thrumming in your neck driving his hunger to a fever pitch.

You couldn't move even though you wanted to scream and run away from him.

"Fuck!" he hissed, his voice a jagged rasp. He jolted back, letting you go as if burned, and stumbled to the far side of the room.

"Don't you dare come near me!"

He let out a ferocious growl, his body trembling with the effort of fighting his own anatomy. The scent of your blood was filling his nostrils, a sweet, agonizing lure that screamed at his vampiric instincts to feed. Desperate to drown out the hunger gnawing at his insides, Zareth lunged at his own limb. He sank his fangs deep into his own hand, drawing a sharp gasp of pain as his own blood flowed down his arm and dripped onto the floor.

You were afraid but at the same time you were concerned about him.

He stayed there, hunched over, trying to use the pain to anchor his fading humanity. He knew he had to maintain control to prevent himself from giving in and tearing into you, but the beast was winning, and the struggle was becoming a losing battle.

You wanted to ask him; you didn't know how or what to say since he seemed dangerous.