The bonfire crackled gently, and the sky above was a slow burn of dying sunlight, purple bruises forming where the sea met the horizon. The group had gathered, but there was an odd sense of distance, a tension that couldn't be ignored. Eric stood on the opposite side of the fire, distant as ever, with his signature sunglasses perched on his face, hiding the colder parts of himself. Zeke watched him from across the circle, his fingers digging into the sand, trying to keep his composure in check.
Alex and Mattias, seated between them, kept the atmosphere light, but there was an underlying edge to everything. Mattias was gesturing wildly, recounting some hilarious story from their earlier meeting, and Alex chuckled along, his eyes flicking now and then between Zeke and Eric.
"You guys remember that time we almost got kicked out of that club?" Mattias laughed, nudging Alex. "Because this idiot"—he pointed at Eric—"couldn't bother answering the bouncers?"
Eric barely responded, just giving a low hum of acknowledgment, as if he wasn't really paying attention.
Zeke's eyes narrowed at the sight. How could Eric be so indifferent? So detached? Zeke hated it. Every small movement Eric made—casual, uninterested—only tightened the coil of frustration in his chest.
Alex threw a piece of driftwood into the fire, leaning back, his grin easy and unbothered. "Yeah, that was wild. It was my first time meeting Eric. Still can't believe we didn't end up in the back of a police car that night. If I remember right, Eric basically told them to go to hell and still got us inside."
"Eh, he always gets away with that stuff," Mattias replied, shrugging. "I think it's the whole 'I don't give a shit about anyone' aura he pulls off so well."
Zeke's fists clenched subtly at his sides, his stomach twisting. "He's not as untouchable as you think," he muttered under his breath, his words barely audible.
Mattias turned his head, catching Zeke's low tone. "You said something, Zeke?"
Zeke straightened, forcing a casual smirk as he glanced at Mattias. "Nah, just thinking aloud."
Eric's head tilted slightly, though he didn't fully turn to face Zeke. His sunglasses reflected the flickering flames, and for a second, it was like he wasn't even present, just a silhouette carved from stone.
Mattias blinked, the tension in Zeke's voice making him glance uneasily between the two men. "Uh… alright"
Zeke's smirk faltered as the intensity in his voice deepened. "The way Eric just… stands there. Like none of us matter. Doesn't it bother you?." Zeke asked the question as if he wanted to find out if others were bothered by Eric's cold and distant personality as much as he was. Does it make their skin crawl? Does it make them go mad at the very sight of it? Does it…
Alex scratched the back of his neck, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. "Well, Not really. Eric's just… not big on emotions. It's just who he is."
"Who he is?" Zeke scoffed, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice. His chest burned with an inexplicable need to provoke, to tear through the façade Eric always wore so tightly. "Yeah, I know. It's such a charming personality." Zeke did not get the answer he wanted.
Finally, Eric moved. He slid his sunglasses down just slightly, his eyes—icy and unreadable—meeting Zeke's across the fire. There was no warmth there, no hint of emotion. Just a bottomless void that bothered Zeke even more
"You got something to say to me?" Eric's voice was calm. But there was an edge to it, a subtle challenge.
Zeke slowly got up and walked towards Eric. He stopped just a few inches away from him and leaned forward, the urge to push Eric until he cracked burning inside him. "Do you want me to say something?''
Mattias exchanged a quick glance with Alex, sensing the brewing storm but unsure how to intervene without making things worse.
Eric pushed his sunglasses up again, turning his gaze back to the fire as if Zeke's words had no effect. ''What exactly are you trying to prove here?"
Zeke's breath hitched. "I'm not trying to prove anything, Eric. And I'm not the one hiding behind sunglasses acting like nothing matters."
There was a beat of silence, and then Eric spoke. "Good for you."
Zeke felt something inside him snap. He was already upset about the whole sketch thing and how he was still unable to tear it to shreds as if some unseen force stopped him from destroying his creation. His body moved before he could stop himself. His hand shot out, grabbing the sunglasses off Eric's face and throwing them into the fire, the plastic frames snapping as they hit the flames.
"You don't get to hide behind those anymore," Zeke growled.
Eric didn't flinch, didn't react to the destruction of his sunglasses. He just stared at Zeke, his eyes colder than Zeke had ever seen. And with that, Eric turned his attention towards the fire without a second glance, leaving Zeke standing there, staring at him as the weight of his own emotions crushed him from the inside out.
The tension in the air was thick, a tangible thing that wrapped itself around the group. Mattias shifted uncomfortably, trying to break the silence. "Uh… anyone want another drink?"
No one answered. Zeke stood frozen, glaring at Eric, who continued to ignore him, as though Zeke didn't exist.
The beach was quiet now, the once lively party slowing down as night crept in. Zeke stood a few meters away, his eyes locked on Eric and Alex, who were sitting together under a makeshift canopy by the fire pit. Zeke wasn't sure how long he'd been watching, but it felt like hours.
Alex pulled out a flask. It was the same kind Eric had collected for years, with its intricate patterns, gleaming in the firelight. Zeke's chest tightened as he saw the slight smile tug at the corner of Eric's lips, something so rare it might as well have been a damn eclipse. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, the rhythm erratic as Eric reached for the flask, his fingers brushing against Alex's in the process.
Zeke's breath hitched as the two of them started talking about it, exchanging questions and stories about flasks, of all things. Alex rambled about how he found it in an antique shop downtown, talking about its craftsmanship, its unique history. And Eric… Eric looked genuinely interested, something Zeke hadn't seen in a while. Not with him, at least.
He watched as Eric's eyes seemed to light up, listening to Alex go on about the flask's origins. Zeke's mind spiraled into a familiar darkness—a possessiveness that clung to his insides like poison.
He could barely focus on their conversation, only catching pieces of it through the buzzing in his ears.
"—beautiful work, really. The detailing is something else," Alex said, holding it up to the firelight. "Reminds me of one I saw in a museum exhibit once."
Eric nodded, running his thumb over the smooth surface of the flask. "It's a rare find. Not many of these left."
Zeke wanted to scream. He wanted to rip that flask from Alex's hand and throw it into the ocean. The way Eric looked at Alex right now—it made Zeke feel invisible. Insignificant.
His heart pounded harder. The feeling—the rage, the jealousy?—it bubbled under his skin, crawling up his throat like bile
How could he have fun while I can't? Zeke thought bitterly. He started to regret forcing Eric to come to the party while going out of his way to cancel the meeting. He did all this to watch Eric suffer in this social gathering that he hated to attend but looking at him now felt like he was having a good time which was absolutely not in Zeke's plan.
He took the beer can and gulped it down in one go. Mattias looked at him in pure horror. Something was telling him that it all was about to go down.
The moon hung low over the beach, casting a ghostly shimmer across the sand. Everyone had already gone to sleep but Eric sat near the water's edge, his back to the world, gazing intently at the flask in his hands. The moonlight reflected off its surface, illuminating the precious gems that adorned it, casting small, colorful glints across his fingers.
He turned the flask over slowly, tracing the intricate carvings along its edges. It was beautiful, delicate, a piece of art he had sought for months. Now he got this without even trying, Alex gifted him the flask as a gesture of their newly found friendship. Though Eric barely considered their relation as acquaintances, he still accepted the flask as Alex & Mattias forced him to do so. But even as his fingers caressed its smooth surface, his thoughts were distant. The flask reminded him of someone who was as far as the night stars.
His solitude was shattered by the heavy crunch of footsteps approaching through the sand. Eric didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew who it was. Zeke's presence was like a storm building on the horizon—inevitable, filled with tension, and waiting to explode.
"What are you doing here?" Zeke's voice cut through the air, sharp and full of accusation. His tone carried a fury that had been simmering beneath the surface all evening.
Eric didn't respond, his eyes still on the flask as if Zeke's presence was nothing more than a passing nuisance. But Zeke wasn't someone you could ignore. His rage demanded attention.
"I asked you a question!" Zeke's voice rose, the anger bubbling to the surface, his fists clenched at his sides.
Eric finally looked up. His expressions were a cold mask of indifference. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
Zeke's chest tightened, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Don't act like you don't know what I mean." He took another step forward, his body tense with barely controlled rage. "You and Alex… I saw you."
Eric replied flatly. "So What?
"You seem to cherish this a lot," Zeke growled, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions. "Why? Because Alex gave it to you, huh?"
Eric's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained calm, distant. "I have had enough of your childish tactics the whole day. I don't wanna hear another word out of you so go away."
That was the breaking point. Zeke's hand shot out, grabbing Eric by the collar and yanking him to his feet. The flask slipped from Eric's fingers, tumbling through the air in slow motion before hitting the sand with a muted thud. It rolled once, twice, before striking a nearby stone. The sound of cracking glass echoed in the quiet night as the flask cracked, its delicate gems scattering across the beach.
Both men froze, staring at the fragments.
Eric was the first to move, kneeling slowly, his fingers gingerly picking up the broken shards. His hands trembled slightly, though his expression remained stoic. The gems glittered faintly in the sand, a sad reminder of what was lost. This was not a common piece, this was the reminder of his mother who used to have the same flask but he lost it when she died.
"It's broken," Eric muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Zeke. He stood, brushing the sand from his clothes, his eyes hardening as he turned to walk past Zeke.
But Zeke wasn't done.
"Where do you think you're going?" Zeke grabbed Eric's arm, yanking him back. His eyes blazed with fury. "Does this stupid thing matter that much to you?"
Eric sighed, his patience wearing thin. "Let go of my hand. And keep your stupid ideas to yourself". Eric was annoyed with him.
Zeke's face twisted with anger. "Oh, you are sad about breaking this precious gift from your admirer, huh?"
Eric's voice was low, almost bored. "Maybe I am."
That was all it took. Zeke snapped. He shoved Eric hard, and suddenly they were entangled. Zeke threw the first punch, a wild swing that caught Eric on the side of the jaw, but Eric retaliated just as fiercely, his fists landing with precision.
"You bastard!" Zeke roared, his knuckles slamming into Eric's chest, but Eric barely flinched, countering with a sharp punch to Zeke's gut. Zeke's punch connected with Eric's jaw again, sending a shockwave of pain through his knuckles. But Eric only staggered back a step, his eyes dark and unreadable as he landed another solid punch that sent Zeke a few steps away from him. The frustration in Zeke's chest bloomed like fire, burning hotter as he lunged again.
For a moment, the fight stopped. They were both breathing heavily now, their bodies were bruised from the violent offenses of the other.
Eric's lip split open from one of Zeke's wild punches, and a thin line of blood began to drip from the wound, sliding slowly down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, his eyes burning with a cold fire. His lips—slightly parted, bloodied—looked almost inviting in the moonlight, as if daring Zeke to take the next step.
Zeke's breath caught in his throat. His anger twisted into something darker, something primal. He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his own mouth from where Eric had punched him, and suddenly, all he could think about was Eric's lips—the blood staining them, the desire to taste it, to feel it.
His gaze locked on Eric's mouth, the anger momentarily giving way to a hunger he didn't fully understand. The world around him seemed to fade, the sound of the waves, the night air—all of it disappeared as his dark fantasy took hold. He imagined running his tongue along those lips, tasting the blood, sucking every last drop away until they were as cold as Eric's words had always been.
Zeke moved forward, slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving Eric's mouth. Eric stood still. There was something unsettling in Zeke's expression, something Eric hadn't seen before. It wasn't just anger anymore—it was obsession, a raw hunger that made his skin crawl.
"What the hell are you doing?" Eric's voice was calm, but there was a hint of uncertainty now.
Zeke didn't answer. He reached out, his thumb brushing roughly against Eric's lower lip, pressing hard against the wound. Eric winced at the sudden pain, his body tensing.
"Stop." Eric's voice was firmer now, but Zeke was lost in the moment, his thumb tracing the bloodied lip with a dark fascination.
Eric's heart pounded in his chest, confusion mixing with anger. What was Zeke doing?
Suddenly, Eric pulled back, taking a step away, his senses returning. But the moment he tried to distance himself, Zeke's eyes flashed with something menacing, like a predator watching its prey slip away. He moved fast, wrapping his arm around Eric's waist and pulling him close, his thumb still pressed against Eric's lips.
"You're not going anywhere," Zeke growled, his voice low, dangerous.
Before Eric could react, Zeke leaned in and crushed his lips against Eric's, the taste of blood filling both their mouths. Zeke's lips were bleeding too, from the punches, and the mingling of their blood sent a shiver through him. It was electric, intoxicating.
Eric froze, his mind reeling. What the hell was happening? He tried to push Zeke away, but Zeke's grip tightened, his body pressing harder against Eric's as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing Eric's lip, pinching the wound.
Eric struggled, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts. He pushed harder, his palms flat against Zeke's chest, but Zeke wouldn't budge. The more Eric resisted, the more Zeke's grip tightened, as if he was trying to consume him, to claim him.
Suddenly, Zeke's tongue flicked across Eric's lips, tasting the blood, savoring it. The sensation sent a jolt through his body, an uncontrollable spark of something dark and thrilling. Eric kept his lips tightly sealed, unwilling to let Zeke invade any further, but the effort was costing him. His breath was growing shorter, his muscles tensing as he fought to break free.
With a final burst of strength, Eric shoved Zeke back, the kiss breaking as he inhaled deeply, gasping for air. Zeke still wasn't done—his eyes were glazed, his lips smeared with both their blood. He licked them slowly, savoring the taste, his gaze never leaving Eric.
In the distance, a rumble of thunder echoed across the sky, but Zeke barely registered it. He was too far gone, too lost in the hunger that consumed him. The blood, the taste of Eric—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. He ran his tongue across his lips again, swallowing the mixture of blood with a dark satisfaction.
And then he moved again, lunging forward with renewed intensity. He grabbed Eric by the waist, pulling him into another fierce kiss, their lips crashing together with a violent force. Eric's mind screamed in protest, disgust and anger boiling inside him, but Zeke was relentless, his hands gripping Eric's body as if he would die if he let go.
The heavy, gem-adorned flask was still in Eric's hand, and in a moment of desperation, an idea flashed in his mind. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, he bit down hard on Zeke's lip, tasting the fresh blood that flowed from the wound. Zeke let out a muffled sound of pain, but didn't pull back.
With a swift motion, Eric raised the flask and brought it down hard on Zeke's head. The flask shattered on impact, the glass breaking into jagged pieces that cut into Eric's hand, but he didn't care. The force of the blow sent Zeke stumbling & falling on his back. Eric's breath was shallow. Rage, disgust simmered inside him as he glared down at Zeke, who lay sprawled in the sand, dazed and breathing heavily.
For a moment, the world stood still—the night air thick with tension. Zeke slowly ran his tongue over his lips, savoring the taste of Eric's blood mixed with his own, eyes half-lidded as if in a trance. There was a madness in his gaze, a hunger that hadn't been sated. He chuckled, low and dark, as though the pain, the violence, had only fueled his twisted desire.
Eric couldn't stand the sight of him any longer. With a snarl, he spat blood onto the sand beside Zeke. "You're pathetic," Eric's voice was cold, filled with venom. He turned on his heels & walked away. The gems on the broken flask gleamed in the moonlight as he marched toward his room, his shoulders tense with barely contained fury.
But Zeke, still sprawled on the ground, wasn't finished. He stared after Eric, the taste of him still lingering on his tongue. Every nerve in his body burned with a dangerous mix of obsession and lust. He licked his lips again, savoring the metallic tang. The blood—their blood—felt like fire running through his veins, and the sensation left him craving more. His breath hitched, and he dragged a hand across his face, wiping the remnants of blood as if it were something sacred.
"Eric," Zeke croaked, his voice barely audible. He tried to push himself up, but the pain in his chest and head flared, forcing him back down. The sky overhead rumbled again, louder this time, as though the heavens themselves were mocking him.
Zeke's mind was a blur of confusion and desire, his thoughts clouded by the raw need that consumed him. He wanted to taste Eric again—wanted to own every piece of him, even if it meant devouring him alive.
He turned his head to look at the night sky, the stars hidden by clouds. A sick smile spread across his face. In his twisted mind, Zeke imagined the blood would make him immortal, that it would keep him bound to Eric forever.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the ocean and the storm. The storm would come soon, but Zeke remained where he was.
"Eric," he whispered again, eyes closing as the pain in his chest became unbearable. Yet, the madness in him lingered, a twisted promise of what he craved most.
And as the thunder roared one final time, Zeke let himself fall into the darkness, his mind wrapped around one singular, dangerous thought: The blood. He wanted more of it. Needed more of it.