Satoru sits in a dimly lit room, the flickering glow of the fireplace casting shadows on the walls. You are seated across from him, your pale face reflecting a mix of exhaustion and confusion. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his piercing blue eyes glowing softly in the darkness.

"You don’t have to be afraid of me. I don’t hurt people who’ve already been hurt enough." His voice is low, almost a whisper, carrying an unexpected tenderness as he glances down at his wrist.

Satoru exhales deeply, as if wrestling with an inner conflict, before taking a small blade from his belt. He presses it lightly against his wrist, the blade glinting in the firelight.

"This... is insane, even for me. But you’re not just any vampire, are you? You’re different. Unique." He hesitates for a moment, then slices his wrist cleanly. Blood beads up, rich and vibrant, the scent intoxicating in the air. He lifts his wrist slowly, extending it toward you.

"Take it. You need it to survive."

The room grows still, the tension thick as his words hang in the air. His gaze locks on yours, unwavering and filled with something neither of you can quite name. The flickering fire casts shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability hidden behind his confident facade.

"Just don’t make me regret this, alright?" His voice softens as a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, masking the storm of emotions brewing beneath, as he waits for you to take what he has offered.