Aric knew exactly which room Zayn occupied.
Before even stepping foot in the bungalow, he had meticulously gathered every piece of information about the house and its inhabitants.
With this knowledge in hand, he made his way to the balcony just outside Zayn's room.
The glass door leading into the room was closed, but Aric wasn't bothered by it.
At that moment, he realized that the door wasn't there for security, but rather for aesthetic reasons.
Using the right technique, he unlocked the door in one swift motion and entered the room silently.
As soon as he stepped inside, a soft yet captivating fragrance enveloped him, like he had entered a peaceful embrace.
The scent was like fresh blooming roses—delicate and soothing, with a sweetness that lingered in the air.
It was the kind of fragrance that not only awakened his desire but also calmed his restless mind.
The scent wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, inviting him to pause and simply breathe in its tranquility.
His thoughts slowed, and for a moment, the outside world seemed to disappear, leaving only the serene room and the mysterious allure of the scent.
Aric's gaze instinctively moved toward the figure lying on the bed.
Zayn was peacefully asleep, bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moonlight filtering through the glass door.
The contrast between the darkness of the room and the gentle moonlight illuminated Zayn's face with a tender, almost ethereal glow.
Aric could barely make out his features—his sleeping face was serene, untouched by the world—and yet Aric couldn't look away.
He took a slow step forward, as if under a spell, his eyes fixed on that face.
It was as if the world had faded into nothingness, and all that existed was Zayn's calm, angelic expression.
The whole scene felt like something out of a fairy tale—a forbidden relationship, a sleeping beauty waiting for her prince. But Aric was no prince. No, he was the beast. And in this twisted version of the fairy tale, it was the beast who had claimed the beauty. But this wasn't the kind of story where love breaks the curse; here, it was the beast who would break the beauty's curse, pulling him into his world.
Aric silently advanced, his steps barely making a sound, and found himself standing right by the bed, his eyes still fixed on Zayn.
There was an undeniable intensity in the air, a tension that seemed to fill every corner of the room.
Even in his deep slumber, Zayn seemed to sense something was amiss.
His features shifted slightly, and the tranquility of sleep was replaced by a faint trace of unease.
Aric's presence, the weight of his intent, was palpable even in the stillness of the night.
Zayn's face flickered with a brief flash of fear—a fleeting moment, yet clearly visible on his otherwise peaceful expression.
The contrast was sharp—his peaceful slumber against the rising tension in the room.
Aric stood there, gazing at Zayn's face, his eyes filled with a mix of admiration and conflicting emotions.
A strange struggle stirred inside him.
On one hand, he wanted to claim Zayn as his own, but on the other, he didn't want to disturb his sleep, not wanting to cause him any pain.
Yet, there was a force within him, compelling him to move closer to Zayn.
His heartbeat quickened, and he drew himself nearer, wanting to feel the proximity of Zayn even more.
He wasn't just looking at him with his eyes; his entire being was focused on Zayn, his emotions laid bare.
As he moved closer, an unusual calm washed over him.
The moment felt delicate, as if it were a dream, where reality and desire intertwined, creating a new bond between them.
Aric finally averted his gaze from Zayn's face.
There was a new sense of satisfaction in his emotions.
He took a deep breath, feeling the hidden depth of the moment.
In his eyes was an extraordinary intensity, and within his heart, a new resolve grew.
Zayn's calm would belong to him forever, whether Zayn wanted it or not.
Aric couldn't take his eyes off Zayn's face.
There was a quiet urgency in him, a need to understand the unease that lingered there.
Zayn, even in sleep, wore an expression that spoke of something deep—something buried beneath the surface.
Aric stared at his face intently, his gaze softening as he observed every delicate feature, every slight shift in his expression.
Zayn's hair, messily splayed over his forehead as he lay in a peaceful slumber, made him appear almost childlike, innocent in his vulnerability.
There was a subtle charm in the way his dark locks fell across his brow, soft and untamed.
But it wasn't just Zayn's physical beauty that caught Aric's attention—it was the palpable tension in his face, as if Zayn's mind was still trapped somewhere, fighting against some hidden fear.
A faint sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, evidence of a disturbance in his dreams, a sign of anxiety even in sleep.
Aric's gaze lingered on Zayn's features, studying the worry that marred his calm demeanor.
He wanted to understand the source of that unease.
Why did Zayn seem so restless even in the solace of sleep? He leaned in closer, drawn by the mystery of Zayn's hidden past.
As his eyes scanned Zayn's face more closely, they shifted down to his arms.
Aric's gaze moved over the skin of Zayn's forearms, and his heart clenched.
The marks there were unmistakable—lines and scars that seemed to tell their own painful story.
Cuts, some long and jagged, others shallow but numerous, marked his skin like a map of suffering.
Some of the wounds looked as though they had been caused by knives, while others bore the burn marks of something far crueler.
The violence in those marks was undeniable, and it spoke to a past filled with torment.
A deep ache settled in Aric's chest as he realized that Zayn's past had been anything but kind.
It was clear now that Zayn had suffered greatly, had been hurt in ways that most people could never fathom.
Aric's thoughts lingered on this as he observed the visible signs of torment on Zayn's skin, imagining the pain he must have endured.
The person before him wasn't just a stranger—he was a survivor.
But the scars, both visible and hidden, were a constant reminder of what Zayn had been through, and that truth tugged at Aric's heart in ways he couldn't yet fully understand.
As he stood there, watching Zayn in his sleep, something seemed to shift.
Zayn's face began to twitch slightly, his expression contorting as if caught in the grip of a nightmare.
His breathing quickened, and Aric noticed his body stiffening, the unease creeping in more intensely.
Zayn was dreaming, and whatever it was, it wasn't a peaceful dream.
Aric could see it clearly—there was a shadow, dark and ominous, creeping closer to Zayn in his sleep, just on the edges of his mind.
The nightmare was unfolding before him, and Aric could sense it, even though Zayn's eyes were still closed.
Aric couldn't help but feel a deep urge to comfort him, to ease the fear that gripped Zayn's heart.
He moved even closer, his breath barely a whisper against the quiet of the room.
Zayn's brow furrowed more deeply now, a deeper layer of fear becoming evident on his face.
The discomfort seemed to grow stronger, pulling at him even in his dream.
Leaning down, Aric placed his face close to Zayn's ear, his lips barely grazing his skin.
His voice was low, a soft whisper, full of quiet power, yet filled with a tenderness that didn't match the coldness of his nature.
"Sssshhhhhh... relax, Zayn," he murmured, his voice like a gentle caress in the dark room.
"No one is going to hurt you. You don't have to be afraid of me."
The sound of his voice was like a balm to Zayn's restless soul.
Slowly, Zayn's expression began to soften.
His body relaxed, as if Aric's words had worked like magic, pulling him out of the nightmare.
Zayn's breathing steadied, the frantic edge gradually fading, leaving only the peaceful rhythm of sleep.
Aric could feel the tension in the air begin to dissipate, as if the room itself had exhaled in relief.
Aric stayed close, his breath mingling with the cool night air, his eyes fixed on Zayn's serene face.
He felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.
For a brief moment, the world outside faded, and there was only the two of them—him, standing in the shadows, and Zayn, completely unaware of the silent bond being forged between them in the stillness of the night.
The room, bathed in the pale moonlight, held an air of intimacy, fragile and fleeting.
Aric's gaze softened as he watched Zayn sleep, his heart torn between the darkness of his own world and the tenderness that Zayn unknowingly evoked in him.
There was something undeniably captivating about him—a pull Aric couldn't explain, but one that felt as if it had been there all along, just waiting to be discovered.
Aric took a step back, letting Zayn rest, but his eyes never left him.
There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that, for now, Zayn was safe from the nightmares, from the fears that haunted him.
But Aric's mind lingered on the deeper truth: Zayn's fears were not just in his dreams. They were a part of him, woven into his very being.
And as Aric stood in the dim light of the room, he realized one undeniable fact—Zayn wasn't just a mystery; he was a challenge.
And Aric, for all his darkness, was determined to be the one to unravel it.
The question wasn't whether he would claim Zayn's heart; it was whether Zayn would ever let him.
For now, all Aric could do was watch.
Watch as Zayn slept, unaware of the growing pull between them, the tension, the connection that was beginning to form silently, in the shadows.
As Zayn sank back into a deep, restless slumber, Aric couldn't tear his eyes away from him.
Something about Zayn's vulnerability in sleep—his delicate face relaxed yet subtly tense—drove him closer.
Aric's hand hovered near Zayn's face, his fingers itching to trace the marks, the scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin.
It wasn't an impulse of malice, but of an intense curiosity, mixed with something else—something deeper that Aric couldn't fully understand.
He slowly extended his finger toward Zayn's face, his gaze locked on the delicate scars that dotted his cheeks.
The space between his fingertip and the marks was so small, almost nonexistent, but Aric paused, his heart pounding in his chest.
He wanted to touch them.
He wanted to understand what each one meant, what they represented.
They were silent stories of pain, of suffering, of things Zayn had endured but never spoken about.
Aric's finger glided slowly across Zayn's cheek, tracing the jagged, faded lines of those marks, each one a haunting reminder of something more sinister from the past.
His breath hitched as he moved along the curve of Zayn's face, his fingertip grazing over the soft contours of his jaw.
Zayn's face was so peaceful, yet those scars betrayed a history of torment.
Aric wanted to erase the pain, to take it all away, but he knew he couldn't.
As his finger moved down, it found its way to Zayn's lips.
There was a moment of hesitation before Aric's finger gently brushed over the soft, pink scar that marred Zayn's lower lip.
Zayn's lips—those soft, inviting lips—had the power to draw Aric in.
He paused there, his gaze locked on them, his heart suddenly racing as the simple touch of his finger against Zayn's lip sent a jolt through his chest.
It was like a spark had ignited, a sudden realization of something deeper.
The connection between them—though it seemed invisible, fleeting—felt undeniable in that moment.
Zayn's lips were warm, even in sleep.
The sensation of that warmth under Aric's touch was enough to make his heart beat faster.
The soft, tender flesh beneath his finger made him question the depth of the attraction he was feeling.
He couldn't understand it.
It was too much to process—too much to grasp.
All he knew was that this moment, however brief, had unlocked something inside of him.
A spark, a flame, something that had been dormant for so long was now beginning to flicker.
And for the first time, Aric felt the rapid pulse of his heart, something he rarely allowed himself to experience.
But before Aric could linger on the sensation, something stirred in Zayn's sleep.
The faintest shift in his body.
It was as if Zayn's subconscious had awoken to a presence—Aric's presence.
Suddenly, Zayn bolted upright, his breath quickening as though a nightmare had caught up to him.
His eyes, still heavy with sleep, scanned the room, disoriented and afraid.
The silence of the room hung thick in the air.
There was nothing but the cold glow of moonlight spilling across the floor, the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark space.
Zayn's mind, caught between the remnants of his dream and the cold reality of the room, slowly came to the realization that something was different tonight.
The dream he had just woken from wasn't like the others.
It had been darker, more vivid, more real than any before.
A strange voice had spoken to him in his dream—one he had never heard before.
A voice that had made him feel... seen.
Zayn's gaze landed on the balcony door.
It was ajar, just a sliver, letting in a cold breeze.
His heart skipped. He quickly rose from the bed, his body tense with unease, and moved toward the door to lock it.
The moment his hand gripped the lock, the old, broken mechanism fell apart in his grip.
The sense of dread crept over him again.
The door—once locked—now stood open, as though an unseen force had unlocked it, inviting something in.
Zayn's eyes darted around the room, and his chest tightened. His fear was growing, intensifying with each passing second.
His mind raced, the memories of dark shadows and that mysterious voice still fresh in his thoughts.
He turned back to the room, locking his gaze on every corner, every space, every crevice as though expecting something to materialize from the shadows.
There was an unsettling stillness, a weight in the air that made his skin prickle with the chill of an unknown presence.
He could feel it—the sensation of being watched, of something lurking just out of sight, waiting to pounce.
Zayn's hands trembled as he flicked the light switches on, one after the other, illuminating the room in a harsh, sterile glow.
The lights on the terrace flickered to life, casting long, angular shadows that danced around the room.
But there was no one there. No intruder. No sign of anyone at all. And yet, the fear still gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.
Tears welled up in Zayn's eyes.
His heart was racing. His breath was coming out in ragged gasps.
The fear, the tension—it was suffocating.
He had always felt a sense of unease, but tonight, it was different.
Tonight, it was more real. It was something that couldn't be dismissed or reasoned away.
He looked around the room again, half-expecting someone to jump out at him from the dark corners. But still, there was nothing.
Yet the sense of dread hadn't lifted.
He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was there, just outside his vision, silently watching. He needed to escape.
Panicked, Zayn ran from the room, his pulse racing as his feet pounded the floor in a frantic rush.
He bolted for the guest room, not caring about the noise, not caring about anything but getting away from the suffocating fear that had a hold on him.
His mind raced with thoughts of what could be lurking in the shadows.
The thought of an intruder, an unknown presence, consumed him as he reached the guest room.
Once inside, he locked the door behind him, his hands shaking as he secured it.
He leaned against the cool wood, gasping for breath, his body trembling with the remnants of fear that refused to let go.
His pulse was still pounding in his ears, a constant reminder of the terror he had just felt.
But even in the silence of the guest room, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.
Aric's words, the ones he had whispered softly to Zayn just moments before, echoed in his mind.
"Relax, Zayn. No one is going to hurt you."
But in that moment, even those words seemed distant, like a memory fading in the face of the fear that still held him captive.
Zayn closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath, trying to calm the storm inside his chest.
But no matter how hard he tried, the fear wouldn't go away.
In the dim light of the guest room, Zayn allowed himself to sink to the floor, his hands still shaking, his body still trembling.
It wasn't just the nightmare, or the shadowy presence that had terrified him.
It was the realization that something—someone—was out there.
And no matter how many lights he turned on, how many locks he secured, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was being watched.
The room grew cold, and Zayn felt a chill creep down his spine. He had locked himself away, but still, his heart raced, and the fear lingered, a silent shadow that refused to fade.