[T(h)rust]

You sit up straighter and pick out the dress-the one he bought for you just last week. It was expensive. Flattering. A little too flattering. You slip it on, take a few shots in the mirror-one with a slight pout, one more candid-and then open your messages.

You: Which one looks better? I wanna post them💅🏻

You stare at the screen, then toss your phone aside, heart thumping. A few seconds pass. Then-

Satoru 🩵: Both.

"...That's it?" You frown, checking the magazine again.

"If he doesn't react much... try harder."

Your brow twitches. "Don't blame me, Mr. Blindfolded Menace."

You grab the matching lingerie set. He bought that too-said it would look cute on you. You never posted anything that bold before... but these are just photos. Just for testing.

Click. Click. Click.

Caption: Still can't decide which one... might post both🤔

Back at Jujutsu High, Satoru Gojo's chill day is interrupted by his phone buzzing again. He opens the message, casually smiling-until the image loads.

Silence.

His smile fades.

"Excuse me for a bit," he tells the students, voice eerily calm.

Meanwhile, you're lying on your bed, nervously eyeing your phone. It's been five minutes. No reply. "Okay maybe I went too far-"

"Are you messing with me, princess?"

You scream-not from the phone, but because that voice came from behind you. You twist around and see Satoru Gojo standing in the middle of your room, still dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, a smile stretched across his lips... but something beneath it feels dangerously unreadable.

"What the-how did you get here so fast!?"

He steps forward, removing his blindfold just slightly so one pale blue eye can meet yours.

"It's just pictures!" you argue, clutching a pillow. "Jeez, calm down!"

Satoru chuckles. "Ah yeah, pictures of you in lingerie. Real chill stuff."

You swallow. "It was just-uh-a joke. A test."

"Oh?" His voice drops.

"Want me to turn your 'ha ha ha' into 'ah~ah~ah~'?"

Your soul practically leaves your body.

"I WAS JOKING!!! I'M NOT GOING TO POST THEM!!!"

He raises a brow, then his eyes drift to your hand-the open magazine still sitting on the bed.

"What's that?"

Your heart drops. "N-nothing."

Before he can lean in, you hurl the magazine across the room like a grenade. It hits the wall and flops to the ground, open to a page that reads:

"Step Three: If he catches you testing him, RUN."

Fuck, You're so doomed.

-

Yet, You didn't give up.

Last time might've been a complete disaster-okay, fine, a near-death experience-but you learned something from it. Sort of. Enough to try again. The magazine had flipped open later that night on your bedroom floor, as if mocking you, revealing a fresh step in loopy red font.

Step Four: Go out without informing him.

If he notices, observe how he reacts.

You had stared at it like it was insane.

"...That's really playing with fire," you'd muttered.

And yet.

Here you were, tiptoeing your way into actual danger. Again.

For science.

"Satoru's not going to freak out," you said aloud that morning, brushing your hair in front of the mirror. "He's mature. He knows I'm safe. It's just a little reunion."

Even your own reflection raised an eyebrow at you.

But you still picked your outfit with care. Not too flashy. Not too boring. Just enough to say: I'm not guilty, but also please don't vaporize anyone today, thank you very much.

---

The restaurant was dimly lit, filled with nostalgic warmth and laughter. Old classmates crowded around a table full of empty glasses and half-eaten appetizers, talking over each other in that chaotic way only reunions had. You recognized familiar faces, names that rolled off your tongue easily again. And for a while-just a short, shimmering while-you forgot all about why you'd come here.

You laughed. You drank. The wine was good-too good. You didn't realize how quickly you were sipping until the room began to blur slightly at the edges. Your cheeks were flushed. Time lost meaning.

"Y/n! I didn't think you'd come!"

"Still gorgeous as ever!"

"Hey, remember our literature teacher-what was her name-"

You laughed with them. You wanted to. And when you finally excused yourself and stepped out into the cool night air, you didn't think much of the faint dizziness. You just knew you needed a bit of fresh air before heading home. Preferably in an Uber. Preferably alive.

That's when you heard footsteps behind you.

Then a voice.

"Y/n...?"

You turned around slowly. A guy-slightly taller than you, soft brown hair, oddly familiar smile.

"I'm Haruki. We were good friends in school, remember?" he asked.

You blinked, the name struggling to connect in your fuzzy mind. "...Oh."

"You look even prettier now," he said casually, stepping closer. "I think you drank too much. Let me drop you home?"

You took a small step back, trying to smile politely. "That's kind, but I'm good-really."

"Nah, come on," he chuckled. "It's not safe for a girl to be out drunk alone. At least let me walk you to the cab."

You opened your mouth, about to refuse again-

And then a hand grabbed your wrist. Gently, yet firmly. Cold fingers laced through yours.

"She's with me," said a voice, flat and dangerous.

You froze.

Everything did.

The breeze stopped mid-gust. The flickering streetlights halted. The hum of the city went silent.

Your chest tightened.

"toru-"

But you weren't facing him.

No.

You could feel him. The way the air pulsed with cursed energy, heavy and suffocating. The way your breath caught in your throat as the familiar chill of his domain seeped into your skin.

And Haruki-

Haruki opened his mouth to say something-

But he never got the chance.

In one blink-

You heard the sound. A clean slice.

The next second, Haruki's head dropped clean from his neck.

Blood sprayed upward like a grotesque fountain. His body stood for one terrible moment longer, swaying, then collapsed.

You stared.

You couldn't move.

You couldn't scream.

Your lips parted, but only a choked sound came out.

Your brain refused to register the horror you'd just witnessed-

You could still feel the heat of the blood.

You were close enough to feel it.

Your knees buckled.

Satoru caught you before you could fall, his arms firm around your waist, his head resting against yours with something far too calm for what just happened.

"Lesson learned, right?"

Bonus scene:

"Took you long enough," drawled Satoru, leaning lazily against the couch, arms spread over the back like he owned the entire world-and you were just the most prized part of it.

You stopped in your tracks, fresh out of the shower, your towel barely clinging to your frame. Water dripped from the ends of your hair as you narrowed your eyes at him. Bombastic. Unforgiving. The ultimate side-eye.

You knew how he was looking at you behind that damn blindfold.

He was practically smirking through it. You could feel his gaze dragging down your legs, pausing at your collarbone like he was mapping out your weaknesses.

Satoru chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Don't look at me like that, princess. You know it only makes me worse."

Before you could retort, he reached out and took your hand, pulling you down with zero warning until you were flush against him, settling you squarely on his lap.

You gasped, startled, your hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders for balance. "Satoru-!"

"The water must've been cold..." he whispered, voice thick with heat, "...let me warm you up."

Your cheeks went up in flames. You blinked, stammering, "H-Huh?! How'd you-?"

But then you paused.

Wait.

How did he know the water was cold?

Your eyes narrowed slowly, suspiciously, and you reached up. "Don't you dare-"

You slid a finger beneath his blindfold and pushed it up just a bit.

And there they were.

Those goddamn eyes.

That bright blue mischief practically glinting at you like a neon sign that read: I saw everything.

His grin was criminal.

"Satoru..." you hissed, voice cracking with betrayal. "You were watching me shower-?!"

He didn't even blink. "It's not my fault that whenever I close my eyes, I see you. Naked. Even now."

His gaze flicked down deliberately, eyes darkening just a shade as they lingered on the dip of your shirt.

You squirmed on his lap now, half-mortified and half ready to throttle him with your towel. "YOU STUPID!! PERVERT YANDERE!!"

He just laughed and wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"I know," he whispered in your ear, annoyingly smug. "And you love me anyway."

You hated how right he was.

Even if you were absolutely reporting him to the Yandere Behavior Hotline later.

If it existed.

(Which it really, really should.)

Yuji had texted you he'd be waiting outside campus on his bike, like always, humming through his helmet and kicking gravel by the gate. But as you exited the college gates, he wasn't met with your usual bright smile.

You were holding hands with a guy.

Yuji's smile faltered. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

You caught his gaze as soon as you saw him-his helmet under one arm, his usual sunshine aura dimmed. You let go of Masahiro's hand quickly, sighing.

"I'll text you later, okay?" you said to Masahiro, giving him a small wave before walking over.

Yuji looked away when you reached him, wordless. He handed you the helmet like always, but there were no jokes, no teasing. Just silence.

You blinked. "What? No 'Oi, I saw your boyfriend has ugly shoes' kind of comment today?"

He chuckled, but it was hollow. "Ah... how was your day?"

That was it.

You blinked again. Something felt off. Still, you strapped on the helmet and climbed onto the bike, arms wrapping around his waist automatically.

The whole ride home, you talked. About the weather, the weird stray cat outside your classroom, the vending machine that ate your money again-but nothing from him. He didn't laugh, didn't add anything. He just drove.

You reached home, expecting him to follow you in like always. But instead, he dropped you off and didn't even meet your eyes.

"Thanks for the ride-Yuji, aren't you coming in?"

He didn't answer. The engine growled back to life, and before you could finish your sentence, he was gone.

You stood there, dumbfounded.

Inside, you found Megumi on the couch, a book in his hand, eyes flicking toward you as you entered.

"Did you guys fight?" you asked, not even bothering to hide your irritation.

Megumi raised a brow. "What?"

"You know who I mean."

He closed the book with a sigh, tilting his head. "He's probably just disappointed. You call him names every time he shows up."

Your heart twisted. "Disappointed...?"

"That's what happens," Megumi muttered, heading upstairs. "It is what it is."

You stood there for a moment. Pouting. Jaw clenched. No-Yuji wasn't like that. He was your safe place, your "it's all good now" person.

He couldn't be mad at you.

He wasn't allowed to ignore you.

With a frustrated cry, you turned on your heel and rushed out the door. You didn't care how dark it was outside. Your feet moved on their own, the wind biting your cheeks as you ran the familiar path to his apartment.

Once there, you rang the doorbell.

No answer.

You knocked. Then again, harder.

Still silence.

"Ugh! Dammit, Itadori!" you hissed. You stepped off the porch, trying to peek through the narrow side window.

And that's when your heart stopped.

Masahiro.

Hanging from the ceiling. Head limp, blood matting his dark hair like a cruel crown. His eyes wide open in lifeless horror.

You stumbled back, breath catching in your throat, legs nearly giving out beneath you. What-how-how did he get here?

Your hands scrambled for your phone in your back pocket, fingers trembling as they fumbled with the screen.

Click.

The door creaked open behind you.

Before you could scream, strong arms yanked you inside. You gasped, the phone flying from your grip and landing outside on the porch with a soft thud as the door slammed shut behind you.

Arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Familiar arms.

A warm breath ghosted over your ear.

And then, a voice you knew better than your own heart whispered, soft and terrifying.

"It's all good now..."

His fingers twitched as he pulled out his phone, jaw tightening. He dialed your number, eyes flicking toward the hallway-as if you'd step out and laugh, teasing him for being so paranoid. One ring. Two. Then voicemail.

He stared at the screen.

Tried again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Still nothing.

A cold, tight coil of rage slithered around his gut. His thumb trembled-not with worry. With something far uglier. Possession. A bruising, frantic fury that pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.

His patience, already thin from a long, shitty day, was splintering.

He didn't think. He just pressed a name. One of your friends. He'd never liked them much-especially the way they made you laugh too loudly or encouraged you to "stand up for yourself." He didn't trust anyone who tried to pull you out of his grip.

The call connected. His voice came sharp, a low blade.

"Where is Y/N?"

There was a pause on the other end, a hitch of hesitation. That was all it took to make his blood boil hotter.

The reply came light, too casual. "Oh-she's with us! We're just hanging out-"

That was it.

His grip crushed the phone in his palm. A sharp, ugly crack split through the room as the plastic shell fractured beneath his fingers. His chest rose and fell, muscles tense like a predator locked on its prey. His jaw clenched hard enough to pop.

Out. With friends. Laughing. While he worried. While he came home to nothing. While you ignored his calls.

Without telling him.

He didn't even remember grabbing the keys or locking the door behind him. All he knew was the burn in his veins, the way the steering wheel creaked beneath the force of his grip as he sped through red lights, tires screeching like the storm in his head.

By the time he reached the street where he knew you were, his mind was a blur of white-hot rage.

And then-he saw you.

There. On a bench with your little group. Smiling. Laughing. So carefree. So happy. Without him.

It made his vision go dark.

He parked haphazardly, door slamming shut behind him, and stalked forward-heavy, slow steps like a shadow preparing to devour the light. Your friends didn't notice him at first. You did.

Your face lit up the moment your eyes met his-pure, naïve joy. That sweet, tragic hope in your smile. As if this would be the moment. The time you could finally bridge the gap between your love and your friends. Maybe now they would like him. Maybe now he would soften, let them in, let you breathe.

"Hey, Toji-!" you began, already standing, brushing your skirt down with nervous fingers.

But he was already there.

And then-

Crack.

The sound tore through the air, unnatural and cruel. Your world tilted sideways as your head snapped with the force of the blow, the sky spinning above you for a breathless, horrible second.

Pain. Hot, shocking pain exploded across your cheekbone. Your knees buckled. The sharp tang of blood spread across your tongue, and you gasped, a soft, strangled noise caught between shock and betrayal.

Gasps rippled through the group. One of your friends stood up, hand halfway raised in protest, but no one dared move. Everyone stared at him.

At you.

Toji stood still, like a statue carved from rage. His knuckles reddened from the impact, the hand that struck you still hovering in the air. His eyes locked onto yours-not with guilt. Not even surprise.

Just cold, calculated control.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, but it was sharp enough to slice through your trembling heart.

"You left," he said. "Without telling me."

You opened your mouth, tried to form some kind of explanation, anything to soften the moment. But your lips trembled. Words wouldn't come. Your mind screamed I'm sorry, I'm sorry even though somewhere deep inside, something else whispered this isn't love.

But you couldn't listen. Not yet.

Not when his hand lowered and he stepped closer, his body towering over you. Not when he tilted your chin up and wiped the blood from your lip with the same fingers that had just bruised you.

"Let's go," he murmured, tone suddenly soft. Gentle. Too gentle. As if he hadn't just hit you in front of everyone you loved. "I missed you."

And in that awful, hollow part of your chest that still believed in him, you nodded.

You always nodded.

-

The apartment door clicked shut behind you, sealing you back into the familiar silence. The kind of silence that used to feel like peace. Now it just pressed against your chest like heavy smoke.

Your face throbbed-each heartbeat pulsing against your swollen lip like a cruel reminder. The stinging ache followed you all the way to the couch, where Toji guided you down, hands oddly gentle now, like he hadn't just struck you in front of everyone who cared about you.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and you sat still, hands clutched in your lap, legs trembling slightly as everything caught up to you in pieces. The laughter, the slap, the gasps. Your friends' stunned faces. The way you hadn't said a word. The way you didn't even cry.

You were still trying to make sense of it when he returned with the small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you, the soft zip of the pouch opening sounding far too calm for what it contained. His touch was warm-familiar, practiced-as he opened a small bottle of antiseptic and poured it gently onto a cotton pad.

"You're shaking," he murmured, voice low, coaxing. "C'mere, baby."

You flinched at the sting when he dabbed at your split lip, but you didn't pull away. You never did. His free hand came to rest on your thigh, thumb tracing small, soothing circles. As if to balance out the pain he had caused. As if that made it okay.

"You know why I did that, right?" he asked softly, his gaze locked on your lips, not your eyes. "Because I was so scared."

His words fell like stones into water, rippling through your already fragile heart.

"I came home and you weren't there. No note, no call. Nothing," he whispered, voice starting to tremble just enough to seem real. "And then you didn't pick up. Not once. You know how that messes with my head, don't you?"

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

"I thought something happened to you," he went on, pressing the cloth more gently now. "I thought-fuck, I thought someone took you. Or worse."

His fingers stilled.

He leaned in closer, breath warm against your cheek. "Don't make me do that again, okay? Please. I don't want to hurt you."

His fingers moved up, brushing your hair back gently, like you were fragile porcelain. "But I can't control what happens when I get scared. You understand that... right?"

You nodded.

Of course you did.

Because deep down, you didn't want to believe it was hatred that made him raise his hand. You wanted to believe it was love. Messy, possessive, overwhelming love-but love all the same.

He smiled faintly at your response, a flicker of something satisfied in his eyes. Then he leaned in and kissed your forehead, avoiding your lip.

"I love ya," he whispered. "You know that, right?"

You nodded again, slower this time.

"I... I love you too," you murmured.

And he smiled. "Ofcourse ya do."

You gulped before slowly smiling back-even as your lip ached beneath the bandage, even as your heart screamed for someone to save you from yourself.

Because this was love. At least, it had to be.

Right?

The night air was thick with humidity and the scent of blooming plum blossoms as you lay entwined with Kento in his opulent bedroom, the silken sheets tangled around your naked bodies. His muscular chest heaved with each labored breath, glistening with a sheen of sweat from their passionate lovemaking. You could feel his heart pounding against your own as he held you close, his strong arms encircling your waist possessively.

Nanami's eyes, usually so intense and piercing, now gazed at you with a tender warmth that made your heart flutter. He reached up to gently caress your cheek, his calloused fingers brushing against your heated skin and leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake. A slow, sensual smile played on his sensual lips as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your own.

"Mm, you're exquisite, my dear..." He murmured, his deep voice low and husky with desire. "Absolutely breathtaking... I could make love to you for hours and never grow tired of this."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you felt your body trembling with anticipation for his next touch, his next caress. You arched your back slightly, pressing your ample bosom against his hard, muscular chest as you gazed up at him with hooded eyes, a coy smile playing on your own lips.

"Uhm, are you sure?" you purred, trailing a finger down his chiseled jawline. "Can you keep going?"

Nanami's eyes darkened with lust at your bold words, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. He rolled you both over suddenly, pinning you beneath his powerful frame as he settled between your thighs. You gasped, realising the sudden shift. "W..wait!"

Nanami felt your body tense beneath him, sensing your sudden distress. He paused, his grin fading into a look of gentle concern as he gazed down at you with soft, caring eyes. His hands, which had been roaming your curves, now stilled and cupped your face tenderly, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to well up.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your forehead before nuzzling his nose against yours, his breath warm and comforting against your skin. When he spoke, his voice was a low, flirty murmur, yet laced with a gentleness that soothed your frayed nerves.

"Shhh, don't worry baby girl..." He cooes, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "I got it all covered, sweetheart. Your little womb is safe with me, don't you fret."

He punctuated his words with a soft, sensual kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear, making you shiver. One hand drifted down to rest possessively on your lower belly, his fingers splaying across your stomach in a protective gesture before he moved in slowly, biting his lower lips to keep himself sane from rutting into you like a wild animal. "Fuck... I fucking love this. You. So much baby..."

-

You never thought your friends' teasing would come true.

They used to laugh at your thrift-store shoes and faded bag, mocking half-jokes that "only a sugar daddy can save you." You'd roll your eyes, insisting that wasn't your style. You didn't need some stranger's money-you'd manage. Somehow.

But managing had become harder than you ever admitted. After your parents' situation forced you into your uncle and aunt's home, the arrangement quickly turned brittle. They had mouths of their own to feed, bills of their own to pay, and your aunt didn't sugarcoat it when she finally said, "You're grown now-if you want anything, do it on your own. We can't provide for you anymore."

So you scraped together part-time jobs, lived off instant noodles, tried to juggle studies with exhaustion. Rent piling up, bills staring back, family still calling you with emergencies you couldn't afford to help with. Each day, the weight pressed heavier, and though you tried to laugh it off, deep down you'd begun to wonder if life would ever get easier.

And then-him.

It was a tiring evening when you bumped into someone on the subway stairs, late from class and rushing, muttering a breathless "Sorry!" before disappearing into the crowd. You hadn't even seen his face properly. Just the brush of his shoulder against yours, the faint scent of cologne, and then he was gone.

You would have forgotten the moment completely... if you hadn't seen him again the next day.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. Maybe he just worked nearby, maybe he always caught the same line. He didn't look like a creep, didn't stare too long, didn't make you feel watched. His presence was quiet, grounded. Safe.

Until one evening, he approached you.

"You forgot this."

You blinked, puzzled, as he held out a neatly folded handkerchief.

Your brows furrowed. "I... what?"

He placed it gently into your palm, his expression calm, unreadable. "When you bumped into me."

You stared down at the cloth in your hand. Did that happen? You didn't remember dropping anything. But the way he said it, steady and certain, left no room for doubt. You could only murmur a soft, "Thank you," before giving a small, awkward smile.

That was how it began. Conversations slipped into the spaces of your commute, his voice low and even, easy to listen to after the long fatigue of class. You learned his name-Nanami. He always spoke like every word had been carefully considered before leaving his lips, and that made you relax. Around him, you never felt rushed.

It started small.

A ride home here, a coffee slipped into your hand there. You told yourself it was nothing-that Nanami was just polite, that maybe he treated everyone this way. But then the little gestures began to multiply.

One evening, you noticed the scarf around your neck wasn't yours. It was warmer, softer, far too expensive to be from your student budget. "You'll catch a cold otherwise," Nanami had said, already looping it around you before you could protest. When you tried to give it back the next day, he shook his head once. "Keep it."

Then came the umbrella-sleek, sturdy, obviously imported. Then a leather-bound planner you hadn't asked for but desperately needed. Then a set of pens so refined you were afraid to even touch them.

It built slowly, like water filling a glass.

You never asked for anything. That was the strangest part. Somehow, he always knew. You'd mention in passing how your shoes were wearing thin, and the next week, a pristine pair would be waiting in a discreet bag, his only explanation a calm, "They'll last longer."

When you tried to refuse, cheeks burning, he'd only give you that steady look-one that made you feel childish for resisting. "Why deny yourself something so small?" he'd ask, voice even, leaving no room for your protest to stand.

The first time he handed you his black card, your fingers actually trembled.

"I-I can't take this," you stammered, holding it out like it was on fire.

"Of course you can." His tone was gentle, but unyielding. He slid it back into your palm, closing your hand around it with his own. "Buy whatever you like."

"I don't... I've never-Nanami-san, this is too much-"

"You deserve more than scraps," he cut in quietly. His gaze was calm, steady, as though he were merely stating a fact. "Don't limit yourself."

Your stomach twisted with guilt and longing all at once. The card weighed heavily in your pocket all day, and you nearly convinced yourself not to use it. But the moment you swiped it at a boutique you'd only ever admired from afar, when the cashier didn't look at you with pity but with respect-something inside you shifted.

The world began to feel softer around you.

Day by day, you found yourself less hesitant. A handbag here, shoes that actually fit comfortably, meals that weren't instant noodles. It felt wrong at first, indulgent and foreign. But Nanami never looked disappointed. He only looked... satisfied. As though he'd been waiting for you to finally accept what he offered.

Slowly, you stopped flinching when he handed you shopping bags. You stopped stammering apologies when he insisted on paying. You even stopped feeling guilty about slipping his card into your wallet.

Because each time you resisted, he was there with that quiet, immovable patience-never raising his voice, never scolding, just... waiting. Until giving in felt easier than fighting.

And you didn't realize it at first, but somewhere along the line, his generosity had become a habit. Your habit.

He spoiled you so thoroughly, so gently, that dependence wrapped around your ribs like silk, tight and invisible.

One rainy evening, after the announcement echoed through the station speakers about heavy delays, he glanced at you. "They've suspended trains for at least another hour. Let me drop you off instead."

You hesitated. "Ah... no, it's fine. I'll wait."

"The rain will only get worse," he replied calmly. "It's late already. Don't trouble yourself unnecessarily." His tone wasn't forceful, but it carried that quiet authority you found difficult to argue with. After a beat, you nodded.

Inside the car, you sat stiff at first, clutching your bag, watching the streetlights blur through the rain on the windows. Nanami drove with the same composure he spoke with, making occasional comments-about the weather, about the subway system, about how reckless students could be with their health. His voice filled the silence in a way that didn't feel invasive.

But then a thought struck you, and you turned toward him, frowning slightly.

"You have a car... then why do you take the subway?"

For the first time, his composure broke-not in discomfort, but in quiet amusement. He glanced at you briefly, lips tugging in a faint smile. Then, softly, he chuckled.

"To see you, silly."

The words hung in the air like a spark, catching you off guard. Your cheeks heated instantly, heart pounding against your ribs. There was nothing dangerous in his voice, nothing menacing. Just a calm honesty that sent warmth curling in your chest. No one had ever said something like that to you.

And so, the routine continued. His presence slipped seamlessly into your life-sometimes with coffee on tired mornings, sometimes with quiet car rides home, sometimes with thoughtful little things you hadn't even realized you needed. Day by day, you found yourself spoiled. Cared for. Owned.

"Technically... he's my sugar daddy, isn't he?" you once caught yourself thinking.

Now-

"Princess."

The gentle word tugged you from your thoughts. You blinked, realizing you were still inside his car. The street outside your apartment blurred under the streetlight glow. Nanami had parked quietly, waiting for you to notice.

"Oh-sorry! We're here already!? Thank you for the ride!" You scrambled to unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle.

But before you could step out, his calm voice stopped you.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

You froze, glancing back at him. His expression was as unreadable as always, but the faint lift of his brow made your cheeks burn. Your lips parted, hesitation curling in your stomach-before you leaned in and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek.

He didn't move, only let the faintest smirk slip as you pulled away. "Good girl."

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face, before muttering a quick "Uhm... Goodnight," and slipping out into the night air.

As his car pulled away, you stood on the curb, bag clutched tightly, already rehearsing the excuse you'd give your aunt and uncle for why you came home in a stranger's car again.

Because no one could know.

Not yet.

-

You pushed the door open as quietly as possible, hoping to slip upstairs before anyone noticed. The house was dim except for the yellow glow of the living room lamp. Maybe your aunt and uncle had already gone to bed-

"Where were you?"

You froze.

Your aunt stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, foot tapping lightly against the floor. Her sharp eyes narrowed the moment they landed on you, and your mouth went dry.

"I-" You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, scrambling for an excuse. "I stayed late at the library... group work, you know, it ran longer than I thought."

Her lips curved into a humorless smile. "Oh really? The library, hm?" She took a slow step forward, tilting her head. "Because I saw a car idling outside just a minute ago. A very nice car. And I've seen him around you more than once these past few days."

Your stomach dropped. Heat crawled up the back of your neck. You tried to laugh, weak and shaky. "Ah... maybe you're mistaken-"

"Don't play dumb with me." Her eyes flicked down, scanning you with a predator's precision. For a moment, she seemed ready to scold you further, but then she paused. Her gaze locked on your ears.

Her tone shifted instantly. "Wait. Are those... gold?"

Your breath caught. Without thinking, you raised a hand to your earlobe, fingertips brushing against the delicate studs Nanami had slipped into your palm just yesterday with a quiet 'These suit you better.' You hadn't even realized you'd worn them home.

Your aunt's brows arched higher. "He bought you those, didn't he?"

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, eyes falling to the floor. It was pointless to deny it. "...Yes."

And just like that, her entire demeanor transformed. The sharpness in her face melted into something almost gleeful. "Ahh, why didn't you say so earlier!" She clapped her hands together, voice rising with sudden excitement. "Why didn't you invite him inside, hmm? Never do that again, do you hear me? You should have brought him in!"

Your mouth fell open. "W-What? No, it's not like that, he's-he's just-"

"Just what?" she cut you off, eyes glittering now. "Clearly not just anything if he's spoiling you with expensive jewelry. We should get to know him better. Don't you think so?"

Panic surged in your chest. You shook your head quickly. "He's... busy. Really busy. It's hard to catch him outside of classes and work. I don't think-"

"Oh, I know, I know!" she waved off your protests as though they were nothing. "Maybe this weekend? No, no-how about tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow is better. I'll speak with your uncle about arranging something. A dinner, perhaps. That way we can welcome him properly into the family."

"Wait, what-tomorrow? I never said-"

"Perfect." She spun on her heel, already heading down the hallway, muttering excitedly about food and plans. "I'll talk to your uncle about the menu. Don't you dare come home late tomorrow."

And just like that, she was gone.

You stood rooted to the spot, speechless, a sigh escaping before you even realized it. You pressed a hand to your forehead, groaning softly, and dragged yourself upstairs to your room.

The moment you set your bag down, your phone buzzed on the desk. A notification glowed across the screen.

Nanami.

Your heart stuttered when you read it.

Tomorrow. 6 p.m.

As if he had known. As if he had already decided.

-

The next day passed in a blur. You dressed with unusual care, hands trembling slightly as you fixed your hair, slipped on shoes that felt a little too new. When you stepped into the kitchen to grab your bag, the smell of frying onions clung to the air, your aunt busy at the stove.

She looked over her shoulder, eyes lighting up. "Ah, all ready?" Her smile was wide, satisfied. "Remember what's tonight. Don't you dare forget to bring him here afterward."

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. "...Right."

A low scoff came from the table, where your uncle sat with the newspaper half-folded. He didn't bother looking up. "Tsk. He's just a scam. Ain't no way some rich guy would get with you anyway."

The words cut clean, sharper than he probably even meant them. They landed heavy in your chest, like stones pulling you down. You dropped your gaze to the tiled floor, shoulders curling inward. A painful little reminder of reality, perhaps. Of who you were compared to someone like him.

"Enough." Your aunt's voice snapped like a whip. She slammed the ladle onto the counter, glaring at her husband. "Don't you ruin this for her. Let her do whatever she wants-it's a good opportunity for us."

She'd whisper before turning back toward you. "Go on now. Don't be late!"

You nodded quickly, slipping out the door before your throat could tighten further. The weight of their voices clung to you as you stepped into the cool evening air.

By the time you reached the usual place, the sight of Nanami's car waiting exactly where it always did made your heart stutter. As if he had been waiting just for you, as if there was no world outside this little pocket of routine. He was already out of the car, opening the door for you with that calm, unreadable expression.

"Good evening," he said softly.

You slid into the seat, setting your bag down quietly. The door closed with a muted thud. The car smelled faintly of his cologne, steady and grounding, yet you couldn't shake the heaviness from earlier.

Nanami glanced at you as he adjusted the wheel. His gaze lingered a second too long. "Not feeling good?"

Your breath caught. For a moment, you thought he could see right through you. You shook your head quickly, forcing a small smile. "No... nothing like that."

He didn't press. He only reached for your hand, his touch warm, steady, and brought it up to his lips. The brush of his mouth against your knuckles was soft, deliberate, as though promising things you couldn't even name. He lingered there for a heartbeat before letting go, the silence that followed far more comforting than words.

The city lights passed by in a blur outside. You leaned your head lightly against the glass, watching them smear into ribbons of gold. Inside your chest, thoughts turned over one after another, restless.

Maybe... maybe if I could move out. Maybe then things would be easier.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at Nanami. His profile was calm, eyes fixed on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Maybe... if I could move in with him instead.

The thought startled you, sharp and dangerous, but it didn't leave. It lingered, pulsing quietly in the back of your mind, as though it had been waiting there all along.

-

The mall was alive with chatter, the air filled with the low hum of music, footsteps, and the occasional ring of laughter. You walked beside Nanami, half a step behind him as always. He never let you pay attention to the price tags. Instead, his gaze swept over everything like he already knew what would look good on you.

"This," he murmured, taking a delicate silk blouse off a rack, holding it against your frame for a second before handing it to the clerk. Then a pair of shoes caught his eyes. "And these. Try them."

Your arms filled quickly, and the pile of things he insisted on grew almost comical. Dresses you'd never even dare to touch before, jewelry sparkling under the store's lights, soft cashmere, leather-luxuries you'd only ever seen through glass.

"Nanami-san-" you began nervously as he slipped yet another box into the clerk's hands.

"Don't," he interrupted gently, his tone final but not unkind. His gaze lowered to meet yours, firm, steady. "I like seeing you in things I choose."

The heat in your cheeks was instant, impossible to hide.

Moments later, you found yourself ushered into a changing room with more outfits than you could handle. The small cubicle felt too warm as you tried on one after another, fabric whispering against your skin. You struggled with a dress that clung too tightly, muttering curses under your breath as you tugged at the zipper. Then came the sharp snap of your bra strap giving out.

"Shit," you whispered, panicked as the broken strap slid against your shoulder. You fumbled, trying to knot it, your fingers clumsy with frustration.

And then-

A hand brushed against your arm.

You froze, your entire body jolting as another arm slid around your waist from behind. You almost screamed, but a low, steady voice hushed against your ear.

"Shh. It's me."

Nanami.

Your heart lurched violently as you twisted your head to see him there, far too close, his calm presence filling the tiny space. "N-Nanami-san," you stammered, heat flooding your face. "What are you doing-? Why are you inside?"

"You were taking a long time." His voice was even, but the way his hand spread across your waist was far from casual. He leaned closer, his breath brushing against the back of your neck. "I was worried. Seems I was right."

His fingers skimmed over your bare shoulder, down to where the strap had broken. The brush of his skin against yours made you shudder involuntarily.

"I..." Your words caught, your throat too dry. "Nanami-san... not here..."

He hummed low in his throat, as though considering your protest, but pressed a soft kiss just above your shoulder blade anyway. The warmth of his lips sent sparks racing down your spine.

"You'll need another," he murmured against your skin. His fingers lingered, grazing lightly as if reluctant to pull away. "Wait here. I'll get one for you."

You could only nod, too flustered to argue. He finally stepped back, brushing his thumb once against your arm before leaving the changing room as quietly as he'd entered.

The second he was gone, you pressed a trembling hand against your chest. Your heartbeat was a wild, unsteady rhythm. You never expected him to do something like that-in public, of all places. Yet, instead of shame, a strange warmth pooled in your stomach. You didn't hate it. Not even a little.

By the time you emerged, Nanami was waiting, perfectly composed as though nothing had happened. He only handed you a small bag with a new piece inside, and you swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze fully.

Later, the two of you strolled through the mall, shopping bags heavy in your hands, but he didn't let you carry them long. He passed you a cup of ice cream, the cold sweetness grounding you as he held the rest.

Back in the car, you licked a drip from the side of the cone, still trying to calm the flutter in your chest. Nanami fastened his seatbelt, glanced at you once, and said casually, "I was thinking of meeting your family."

Your spoon stilled mid-air. You blinked at him, caught off guard. "M-Meet... my family?"

He gave a simple nod, as if it was the most natural request in the world. "Yes. How about now?"

Your throat tightened. Of all things, you hadn't planned to tell him about your aunt and uncle waiting at home. The thought of them sitting across from Nanami-probing, judging, maybe even trying to use him-made your stomach twist. And yet... it wasn't like you could say no.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Nanami noticed, of course he did. His gaze softened, one hand reaching to rest briefly over yours on your lap. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "Everything will be fine."

-

The house smelled faintly of fried onions when Nanami walked in behind you. Your aunt practically flew from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, her face stretched into the widest smile you'd ever seen on her.

"Ohhh, so this is Nanami-san!" she gushed, already stepping forward with outstretched hands as though greeting a long-lost relative. "I've heard so much about you! Welcome, welcome, please sit-do you drink tea? Coffee? I can make snacks too, you must be tired from work-"

Nanami inclined his head politely, his expression composed. "Tea will do. Thank you."

Your aunt beamed, as if he'd just handed her gold, and bustled off with exaggerated eagerness. You could only sit stiffly beside him on the couch, trying not to fidget as your uncle leaned back in his chair across the room, arms crossed and lips pressed thin.

"So," your uncle began, his voice low and unimpressed. His gaze raked over Nanami's tailored suit, then over you. "You're the one hanging around my niece."

"Uncle..." you hissed, embarrassed, but he didn't look at you.

Nanami, unbothered, met the older man's stare with quiet steadiness. "Yes. That would be me."

Your uncle scoffed. "You rich types all look the same. Flashy cars, nice suits... all talk, no substance." He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "What's your intention here, eh? Playing around? Don't think you can just-"

"Dear!" Your aunt cut in sharply, returning with the tea tray and forcing a laugh. "Don't be so rude! Nanami-san is our guest!" She set the cups down with trembling hands, eyes darting nervously between the two men.

Nanami reached calmly into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. Without a word, he set it on the table in front of your uncle.

The room went silent.

Your uncle frowned, pulling the papers out, scanning them quickly. His eyes widened. Once. Then twice. His hand froze mid-turn.

"This..." His voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat. "This is... property? You-?"

"Correct," Nanami interrupted smoothly, his tone calm as ever. "One of mine. I was considering letting it go. I thought perhaps your family might find better use for it."

Your aunt gasped audibly, her hands flying to her mouth. She glanced at the documents, then at Nanami, then at you, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant.

"My goodness! Nanami-san, you're too generous! Really, you shouldn't trouble yourself with us, but-oh, heavens, this means so much!" She was practically bowing now, her earlier warmth exploding into full-blown flattery. "You're truly... truly like family already!"

You sat frozen, lips parted slightly, your heart hammering. Did he really just... give them one of his properties? Why?

Your uncle, who only minutes ago had been ready to throw Nanami out, now looked pale, reverent even, clutching the papers like sacred scripture.

Nanami took a slow sip of his tea, unhurried, letting the silence stretch just enough before speaking again. "Actually," he said casually, "I was planning on taking YN with me to Bali. It's a great season to see the beach."

The words dropped like a stone in water.

You whipped your head toward him, eyes wide. "W-What?"

But before you could form a real protest, your aunt jumped in, her face glowing. "Bali! Oh, what a lovely idea! Perfect for her! Yes, yes-take her, no problem at all!" She waved her hand as if dismissing any thought of objection. "Go whenever you want, stay as long as you like. Really, we insist!"

Your uncle, now completely subdued, nodded eagerly. "Right, right. Go. Don't worry about us."

You sat there, dumbfounded, your throat tight, your hands curling into your skirt. Just like that... they don't care. Not even a second thought.

Nanami set his cup down gently, his lips curving in the faintest hint of a smile as he glanced at you. His eyes, however, were unreadable, deep and calm. He didn't need to speak for you to know what he was thinking.

He had already won.

And you-caught between shock, disbelief, and a strange, dangerous pull-you could only look back at him, your pulse pounding in your ears.

---

The next day-

Your aunt and uncle didn't even give you space to think. The moment Nanami stood and excused himself to wait by the car, they practically descended on you.

"Go, go!" your aunt said, shoving a half-zipped suitcase toward you. "Don't waste his time! We already packed most of your clothes-what else do you need? Toothbrush? Makeup? We'll buy you new ones when you get back!"

"I-wait, packed?" Your voice trembled as you took the handle, staring at the luggage in disbelief. "You... already-"

"Of course," your aunt cut in, her eyes gleaming with urgency. "Do you know what an opportunity this is? Bali! You don't say no to that. Ever. So hurry up and change into something nice, hm? Don't embarrass us."

Your uncle muttered from the doorway, though his tone lacked its usual bite. "Don't dawdle, girl. He's waiting."

The words pressed down on you like weights. Your chest tightened, but your legs moved anyway, carrying you upstairs to grab what little you could think of. Ten minutes later, you were back at the door, your aunt practically pushing you outside, calling out cheerful goodbyes as though sending you off to summer camp.

Nanami was waiting by the car, calm as ever. He took the suitcase from you without a word, tucking it neatly into the trunk before opening your door. The moment you slid into the seat, his presence washed over you, steady, grounding.

The car purred to life, and as the city lights slipped past outside the window, his hand brushed yours lightly, resting over your knuckles. "Forget about them for now," he murmured, eyes still on the road. "You've been carrying too much. Just relax."

Your shoulders loosened despite yourself. You nodded faintly. "...Alright."

By the time you reached the airport, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body. The rush, the tension, the constant tugging of other people's expectations-it all caught up with you. Through check-in, through security, Nanami guided you quietly, always a step ahead, every detail handled before you even thought to worry. He carried your passport, your ticket, your bag, as if it was second nature.

Once seated on the plane, you let out a long, shaky sigh, your head tilting against the cool window. Nanami glanced at you, his voice a low murmur above the hum of the cabin. "Sleep. I'll wake you when we land."

You hesitated, then nodded. The weight of his words felt like permission. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter shut. His presence beside you, steady and composed, was the last thing you felt before slipping into slumber.

For the first time in a long time-it was peaceful.

-

Back at the house, your uncle sat at the dining table, the folder of property papers spread neatly before him. He held the phone pressed to his ear, speaking with the lawyer in a gruff tone.

"Yes, yes-just transfer the title under my name. Nanami-san gifted it to us, so make it quick."

On the other end, the lawyer hummed, the faint scratch of paper audible as he flipped through the documents. A pause. Then another.

"...I think there's been a mistake," the lawyer finally said, adjusting his glasses. "This company name-'Kaizen Holdings,' was it?-there's no record of such a company existing. Not here. Not anywhere."

Silence stretched across the kitchen.

Your uncle blinked, leaning forward. "...What?"

"I've checked twice already," the lawyer continued, his voice clipped, efficient. "The seal here is fabricated. The registration number doesn't match any corporate database. Legally speaking, this property doesn't exist."

The words hit like a hammer.

Your uncle sat frozen, knuckles whitening around the paper. Your aunt, hovering nearby, slowly shook her head, her lips parting in disbelief.

"W-What do you mean it doesn't exist?" she stammered. "He gave us the papers. He-he said-"

But the lawyer was firm. "I'm afraid, madam, these documents are meaningless."

The line went quiet after that, leaving only the soft hum of the disconnected call and the frantic rustle of papers that suddenly felt like nothing at all.

Your aunt and uncle exchanged a single look-fear creeping at the edges of their greed, but confusion overwhelming it.

And far above the clouds, you slept soundly, unaware of the storm beginning to unravel behind you.

Nanami sat with his arms folded loosely, his gaze steady on your profile. Your cheek pressed against the window, lashes fluttering faintly with each breath. Innocent. Trusting. His lips curved almost imperceptibly.

He slid his phone from his pocket, tilting it low. After a quiet beat, he pressed it to his ear, voice a low murmur that didn't disturb your sleep. A smirk ghosted across his mouth as he slipped the phone away again, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Got her."

You had always preferred the aquarium before opening hours. The absence of visitors transformed the entire place into something almost dreamlike.

Water flowed through pipes above and beneath the exhibits, creating a steady background noise that had long since become comforting. Schools of fish drifted lazily through carefully maintained habitats while artificial reefs cast shifting shadows across the glass.

Usually people would probably find it repetitive after a while, spending every day surrounded by the same exhibits and routines, but you never had. If anything, the familiarity was exactly what kept you here.

Most of your work consisted of checking water parameters, monitoring temperatures, cleaning viewing panels, inspecting filtration equipment, and ensuring each habitat remained stable.

The animals themselves required constant attention as well. Feeding schedules had to be followed precisely, certain species needed closer observation than others, and every new arrival required proper acclimation before being introduced into a display tank. To be honest, most days weren't difficult at all.

You were finishing a final inspection of one of the freshwater displays when a familiar coworker approached from behind, clipboard tucked beneath their arm. They glanced briefly toward the back storage area before turning their attention to you.

"Did you finish preparing that setup?"

You straightened from where you'd been crouching beside the tank and nodded. "The custom order? Yeah. Everything's ready."

Your coworker seemed satisfied with the answer, "Good. I wasn't sure if the decorations arrived yesterday." But before they could continue, another thought crossed your mind.

"Did he come by yet?"

The look they gave you was immediate. "The fish guy?"

A small laugh escaped you. “Yeah, him."

"I haven't seen him today. Choso, right? But if he's coming, it'll probably be soon. Didn't he ask you to hold those butterfly koi?"

You nodded. For nearly two weeks now, he'd been stopping by every few days to ask about them. Not because he intended to buy them immediately, but because he wanted to make sure they were healthy, eating properly, and adjusting well.

Most customers pointed at whatever looked pretty and pulled out their wallets. He asked questions. A lot of them.

"Then I'll get everything prepared just in case."

"Honestly, at this point we should just give him employee benefits!"

You rolled your eyes as your coworker walked away, though the comment wasn't entirely inaccurate. He visited often enough that nearly everyone recognized him by now. Not in an annoying-customer sort of way, either.

He was polite, respectful, and genuinely interested in the animals. Compared to some of the people you dealt with on a daily basis, he was probably one of your favorite regulars.

The sound of the entrance doors opening drew your attention toward the front of the building. Without thinking, your gaze lifted from the clipboard in your hands. Right on time.

The man who stepped inside looked much the same as he always did. Dark clothing hung comfortably from his tall frame, loose enough to appear casual without looking careless. Long black hair had been pulled back, though a few strands had escaped near his face, softening otherwise sharp features.

A pair of silver piercings caught the overhead lighting briefly whenever he moved, creating small flashes of reflected light before disappearing again. There was nothing particularly loud or attention-seeking about his appearance, yet somehow he always stood out among the usual visitors.

Several employees greeted him as he passed. "Morning."

"Good to see you again."

"Back already?"

He acknowledged each greeting with a small nod before continuing further inside.

You found yourself smiling slightly as you approached. "Good morning."

His gaze shifted toward you immediately. There was something oddly reassuring about that.

No matter how busy the aquarium was, no matter how many people happened to be around, he always seemed to notice you first.

"Morning."

"What are you looking for today?" you asked to make sure.

"The butterfly koi."

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "They've become your favorites, huh?"

"They're beautiful."

That was another thing you'd noticed about him over the months. Whenever he talked about fish, there was a genuine fondness in his voice that was difficult to miss.

He'd told you before that collecting different species had become a hobby of his years ago, something he'd gradually expanded until several aquariums occupied entire sections of his home. Most people collected stamps, books, or figures. He collected living ecosystems.

It was strangely charming.

"Well, you're in luck," you said. "They're doing great."

Before either of you could continue, a voice called from behind the counter. "Hey! If he wants to look around, take him to the new arrivals section. We got a shipment in this morning."

You glanced back and nodded. "Sure." Turning toward him once more, you opened your mouth. "Sir—"

You never even finished the sentence.

He was already standing beside you, prepared to follow before you'd actually asked.

For a moment, you simply stared. Then you shook your head with a quiet laugh and started walking, hearing his footsteps fall into place behind you almost immediately.

You spent the next half hour showing him around the new arrivals section.

He walked beside you quietly while you pointed things out, occasionally stopping in front of a display tank as fish drifted between rocks and vegetation.

"These ones are still being monitored," you explained, gesturing toward a smaller tank. "They handled transport pretty well, but we always observe them for a while before introducing them into larger displays."

He hummed softly in acknowledgment. Every now and then he would ask a question about a particular species or comment on a decoration that caught his eye, but otherwise he seemed content simply hearing you talk.

It was strangely easy.

You'd dealt with plenty of customers who interrupted constantly or acted as though they knew more than the employees responsible for caring for the animals.

"My newest aquarium is still unfinished," he said suddenly. "I've been redecorating it."

The way he said it made it sound less like a hobby and more like a long-term project.

"What are you keeping in it?"

"A few koi. Some freshwater species." He studied one of the tanks briefly before continuing. "It's not exactly how I want it yet."

You smiled. "Perfectionist?"

"Maybe."

A laugh escaped you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he looked at you. "Once it's finished, I'd like you to come see it."

The request caught you slightly off guard. You knew he wasn't asking with any strange intentions. At least, you didn't think so. He was one of the aquarium's most trusted customers, after all.

Still. Visiting a customer's home wasn't exactly standard procedure.

"Oh…" You hesitated. "I mean... maybe some other day?"

His gaze lingered on you for a moment. Just quiet. Then he nodded. "Whenever you're free."

Something about that answer immediately eased whatever tension had briefly formed in your shoulders. Just acceptance.

Honestly, that was one of the reasons you found him easy to be around. People could be surprisingly persistent when they wanted something from you. But he never seemed to be.

"Sounds good," you replied with a small smile.

—

Eventually the two of you returned to the counter where the butterfly koi had already been prepared.

The fish floated calmly inside a clear transport bag filled with water and oxygen, secured tightly at the top before being placed inside a protective carrier bag.

You carefully lifted it onto the counter. "Here they are."

Choso reached for the bag at the same time you adjusted your grip. His fingers brushed yours briefly.

The contact lasted no longer than a second before he took the carrier from your hands. "Thank you."

With one final glance toward the koi, he gave a small nod and headed toward the exit.

You watched him leave before returning to work.

—

The next time he visited was two days later. Then again a day after that. And then the day after that.

Eventually his presence became as familiar as the filtration systems humming throughout the building.

Most of the time he wandered between exhibits studying different species with genuine interest. Sometimes he would stop beside a tank and ask a question about compatibility, feeding habits, or habitat requirements.

You often caught him watching while you fed the displays or recorded maintenance notes throughout the day. Not in a way that felt intrusive. Just Curious.

When you explained something, he listened. When he asked questions, they were thoughtful. And whenever he talked about expanding his own collection, there was an unmistakable enthusiasm behind it.

You found yourself looking forward to those conversations. It was nice meeting someone who cared about these things as much as you did.

—

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

The aquarium was busier than usual, enough that you'd barely had a moment to sit down since your shift started. Between helping visitors, checking exhibits, answering questions, and handling a small issue with one of the filtration systems, the hours had slipped by almost without notice.

By the time you finally managed to sneak away for a few minutes, you felt more relieved than anything.

The staff restroom was tucked away near one of the back hallways, far from the main exhibits where guests normally wandered. It was quiet there, removed from the constant chatter and excited voices that echoed through the aquarium.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped into the hallway. Only to stop— someone was standing directly outside.

“Choso—?”

He stood a few feet away, his tall frame nearly filling the narrow corridor. He seemed just as startled as you were. The moment the door opened and his eyes landed on you, he immediately took a small step backward, almost as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

You blinked. "What are you doing back here?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

“......” His mouth opened slightly. Then closed again. For a moment, neither of you said anything. And your confusion only deepened.

The hallway wasn't exactly somewhere customers had reason to be. Most visitors never even saw this section of the building.

Maybe he'd gotten lost. That seemed like the most reasonable explanation.

"Oh, this area's for staff only." You lifted a hand and pointed toward the opposite end of the corridor. "The public restrooms are over there. If you keep going left and follow the signs, you'll find them."

His gaze followed the direction you indicated before returning to you. For some reason, he still didn't move.

“Umm,” You shifted your weight slightly. "Do you want me to show you where it is?"

For a second, Choso looked almost hesitant. Then he shook his head.

"No." His voice was quiet. "It's fine. I can..." The sentence trailed off before he seemed to know how to finish it.

“Oh okay.” You gave a small nod, waiting for him to move first.

Expecting him to head toward the public area you'd pointed out. But he just stood there looking back at you as if waiting for something else.

Maybe four seconds? It was kind of getting awkward…

Eventually, deciding there wasn't much more to say, you offered him a polite smile and started walking down the hallway.

One step. Two, three. By the fifth, curiosity got the better of you. You slightly glanced over your shoulder to check but… the corridor was empty.

Gone…?

The hallway wasn't particularly large. There weren't many places to disappear to, and yet somehow Choso was no longer standing where he'd been only seconds earlier.

Maybe he'd turned the corner…? Maybe he'd finally gone toward the public restrooms.

That had to be it. Still, the speed of it felt oddly strange. And, before you could think about it any longer, another voice called from farther down the hall.

"[Name]!!!"

You turned immediately. One of your coworkers was standing near the storage room entrance, struggling with a stack of boxes balanced against their hips.

"Can you help me with these? Please."

The thought vanished from your mind almost instantly. "Yeah, of course." Changing direction, you headed toward them without another glance behind you.

—

After helping with the boxes, you had barely managed to return to your own tasks before another issue demanded attention. A shipment needed logging, supplies had to be reorganized, and someone had misplaced maintenance records that took far longer to locate than they should have.

By the time things finally began settling down, the strange encounter in the hallway had almost slipped from your mind. Almost.

You were carrying a stack of paperwork back toward the front counter when one of the staff members looked up from their computer.

"Hey."

They glanced around the aquarium before looking directly at you. "Did Choso already leave?"

The question caught you off guard.

"What?"

“Yeah." They shrugged. "I haven't seen him in a while."

Another employee nearby laughed. "When have you ever needed to ask that? Just find [Name] and you'll find him somewhere within five minutes."

"That's exactly why I'm asking her!" A few others chuckled quietly.

You rolled your eyes, though there wasn't much argument you could make against that logic.

Over the past few weeks, it had become somewhat of an unspoken joke among the staff.

If Choso was in the building, chances were he was either talking to you, following you around while you explained something, or standing nearby watching you work.

The thought should have been amusing. Instead, your mind immediately drifted back to the hallway. To the way he'd been standing there. To how strangely nervous he'd looked.

And then—Gone. Just... gone.

No goodbye, no quick wave, no small nod before leaving. Nothing… which was odd. Because usually, whenever he was about to leave, he'd let you know.

It wasn't anything formal. Sometimes it was just a brief "See you next time."

Sometimes a quiet nod in your direction while carrying whatever he'd purchased. Once, he'd simply paused beside the counter long enough to say, "Take care."

Small things. But enough that you'd noticed their absence.

But today, why had he left so suddenly? Had something happened? An emergency?

Maybe you were overthinking it. Still… the more you thought about it, the stranger it felt.

"[Name]?"

You blinked.

The employee was still looking at you expectantly.

"Oh…” You shifted the paperwork slightly against your chest. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

You shook your head. "I was busy on the other side of the building."

"Huh. He probably left already then.”

For everyone else, it was a completely ordinary interaction. For you, however, the thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

—

The next morning passed peacefully.

You were halfway through checking one of the freshwater exhibits when the familiar sound of the entrance doors opening reached your ears.

You looked up automatically. And there he was.

For some reason, relief settled over you immediately. Maybe because the previous day had felt oddly unfinished. Maybe because now you could finally stop wondering.

Choso stepped inside, offering polite nods to several employees who greeted him before his gaze found yours. As always…

A small smile tugged at your lips. You set your clipboard aside and approached him. "Morning."

"Morning."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, the question slipped out.

"Can I ask you something?" You folded your arms loosely. "What happened yesterday?"

"You left really suddenly."

A brief pause.

"You were back near the staff hallway, then next thing I knew you were gone." You laughed lightly.

"I thought maybe something happened."

Another pause. Then Choso gave a small nod. "Something like that."

You blinked. "An emergency?"

"Mm." His answer was quiet, calm. Nothing about him seemed particularly troubled. No signs that whatever had happened was still bothering him.

Almost immediately, your concern eased.

"Oh. Okay, good." You rubbed the back of your neck.

“As you know, you're one of our regular customers. If something happened, I'd want to know."

That wasn't entirely a lie. Maintaining good relationships with regular customers was important. Especially customers like him.

It made sense to be concerned. At least, that's what you told yourself.

The corners of his mouth softened slightly. "I'm fine." The simple answer settled the matter.

Whatever had happened yesterday clearly wasn't serious enough to dwell on. And with that reassurance, the strange feeling that had followed you home finally disappeared.

The two of you resumed walking through the aquarium together, stopping occasionally in front of various exhibits while discussing fish species and habitat setups.

Eventually, the conversation drifted toward his collection again.

"So." You glanced over at him. "Is your aquarium finished yet?"

After all, you'd been hearing about this mysterious project for weeks.

His gaze remained fixed on the exhibit in front of him, following the slow movement of a koi as it glided beneath a cluster of water plants.

"Not yet."

You glanced at him. "Still not finished?"

A quiet sigh escaped him, almost lost beneath the hum of filtration systems running throughout the aquarium.

"I'm stuck."

The admission came without argument. If anything, he sounded vaguely frustrated with himself.

You folded your arms loosely and leaned against the railing separating visitors from the display tank. "What's the problem now?"

For a moment, Choso didn't answer. His eyes lingered on the fish swimming lazily through the water before he finally spoke.

"The decorations. They don't look right..."

A smile tugged at your lips. "According to who?"

His attention shifted toward you. "Me." A faint crease appeared between his brows. "The layout feels unfinished."

"You've said that every single time we've talked about it!"

"Because it does."

The stubbornness in his voice made your smile widen.

Honestly, if anyone else had been this obsessed with arranging a fish tank, you probably would've found it ridiculous. But somehow it felt different coming from him.

Maybe because he genuinely cared about it. Maybe because you'd spent the last few months listening to him talk about aquatic ecosystems with the same seriousness most people reserved for major life decisions.

"You know," you said after a moment, tilting your head thoughtfully, "at some point you're going to have to stop staring at it."

He looked at you. "What if I can't tell what's wrong anymore?" The question sounded surprisingly genuine—like someone who had spent so much time examining every tiny detail that he'd lost all perspective.

Honestly, you understood the feeling. You'd experienced it often enough while designing exhibits for the aquarium. Sometimes you spent so long looking at something that eventually every possible arrangement started to seem wrong.

Before you could stop yourself, the suggestion slipped out. "Okay fine... I could come take a look if you want."

The moment the words left your mouth, you hesitated. Visiting a customer's house wasn't exactly standard procedure. You'd never done it before.

But at the same time… this wasn't exactly a normal customer anymore, was it?

By now Choso was practically part of the aquarium.

The staff knew him by name. Half of them greeted him whenever he walked through the doors. You spent more time talking to him than some of your actual coworkers.

Besides, after hearing about this mysterious aquarium project for weeks, you were curious. Very curious.

Your upcoming days off crossed your mind…

After a brief internal debate, you nodded. "Actually, yeah. I have a couple of days off coming up. I could stop by one afternoon."

For a second, Choso simply stared. The reaction was subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't have noticed.

His eyes widened slightly before he seemed to catch himself. "You would?" The question sounded almost cautious.

You laughed. "Sure."

“…..” His attention remained fixed on you.

"We both like the same things, don't we?" A small smile tugged at your lips. "If you're really stuck, I don't mind helping. Besides, I spend all day building habitats and arranging displays anyway."

The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, but something about it felt strangely significant.

Then, quietly, he said, "Really?"

You blinked. "Yeah. Why are you so surprised?"

For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his expression before disappearing entirely. "I'd appreciate that."

"Then it's settled!"

The words had barely left your mouth before he responded.

"I'll pick you up."

You paused. The offer itself wasn't strange. In fact, it was probably the most practical solution. Still, your immediate answer was a shake of your head.

"No, that's okay."

His expression didn't change, but you could feel his attention sharpen.

You gestured vaguely toward the front entrance. "There's a convenience store near the station, right? The one on the corner?"

He nodded. Almost everyone in the area knew it.

"I'll just wait there."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Choso's gaze settled on your face. "You don't want me to come to your house."

The observation was so blunt and unexpected that you nearly choked.

"What?" The second the word left your mouth, realization seemed to hit him. You watched it happen in real time.

The slight tightening of his shoulders, the brief flicker of regret in his eyes.

"Sorry."

The apology came immediately. Too soon. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

“……”

Honestly, that wasn't where your mind had gone at all. You were simply being careful. You didn't hand out your address to people easily. Especially not to customers.

Yet somehow he'd immediately assumed he'd crossed a boundary.

"It's… not like that." You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. "No, seriously. It's nothing like that."

A small, awkward laugh escaped you. "I just don't give people my address."

He still looked vaguely guilty. As if he was replaying the conversation and trying to pinpoint exactly where he'd gone wrong. The sight was oddly endearing.

"Choso..."

His eyes lifted.

The corners of your mouth curved upward. "I'm literally agreeing to spend my day off helping you rearrange fish decorations."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "You're fine."

The atmosphere finally eased. Deciding it was probably best to leave things there, you glanced toward the maintenance area.

"I should get back to work."

You stepped away before looking back over your shoulder. "You can keep looking around." Then, smiling, you added, "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

His gaze followed you.

"Okay…"

As you walked away, weaving between exhibits and visitors, you found yourself smiling for reasons you couldn't entirely explain.

Choso really was easy to be around. Almost painfully considerate at times. Sometimes a little too considerate. Quick to apologize and blame himself.

It was strange.

But the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself noticing those small things.

And, perhaps without realizing it, beginning to like them.

—

As promised, you arrived at the convenience store near the station two afternoons later. The weather was pleasant enough to make the short wait enjoyable. A light breeze occasionally brushed past as you checked your phone, glancing up every now and then toward the road.

You hadn't been standing there for long when a familiar vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

Choso stepped out almost immediately after parking. His eyes found you before anything else, and some of the tension in his expression seemed to ease once he realized you were already there.

"You've been waiting long?"

You shook your head. "Only a few minutes."

"I see… that's good."

The simple answer made you smile.

The drive to his house was easy. Conversation came and went naturally, never feeling forced. Sometimes you talked about work, sometimes about fish species, and sometimes there was nothing but comfortable silence between you. It was surprisingly relaxing.

As the city gradually gave way to quieter neighborhoods, you found yourself looking out the window more often. Eventually Choso turned into a driveway, and your eyes widened slightly as the house came into view.

It was much nicer than you had imagined. Not extravagant or overly luxurious, but large, well-maintained, and peaceful in a way that immediately felt welcoming.

"You live here?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

A faint amusement flickered across his face. "Yeah."

You stared at the house for another moment. That earned the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he led you inside.

The moment you stepped through the front door, you immediately understood why some of your coworkers referred to him as the fish guy.

Aquariums…

There were aquariums everywhere.

Not enough to make the house look cluttered, but enough that they were impossible to ignore. Several tanks occupied different rooms, each one carefully maintained and decorated.

Some housed freshwater species while others contained fish you rarely saw outside specialty exhibits. Every tank looked healthy and spotless.

"You weren't exaggerating," you said, slowly turning to take everything in.

"I usually don't."

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Fair enough.”

The amount of effort required to maintain so many tanks was impressive enough on its own. The fact that all of them looked this good was even more surprising.

Eventually Choso led you toward the aquarium you had heard so much about over the past several months. The unfinished project that somehow found its way into half your conversations.

The tank was beautiful. Large pieces of driftwood stretched through the water while carefully arranged stones and plants created a natural-looking environment.

Everything felt balanced without looking artificial. Several koi moved gracefully through the water, their colors flashing beneath the lights.

Almost immediately, something caught your attention.

There were noticeably more butterfly koi than anything else in the aquarium. Their flowing fins drifted behind them as they swam, creating elegant movements throughout the tank.

"You practically bought half our stock."

“There's still left..."

The answer was delivered so seriously that you were slightly taken aback.

For a while the two of you discussed the aquarium exactly as you had imagined. You pointed out areas that looked particularly good, offered a few suggestions, and listened as Choso explained some of the changes he'd made since the last time he'd talked about it.

While examining one section near the back of the tank, however, something unusual caught your eye.

You leaned slightly closer to the glass.

There was a thin white shape tucked among the decorations. At first you thought it might be part of the equipment, but the more you looked, the less certain you became.

It looked almost like a string or…

"What's that?" you asked. "The white thing?"

His expression remained unchanged. "Decoration."

You blinked. "Decoration?"

"Mm."

You looked back at the tank. The answer wasn't exactly convincing, but it wasn't alarming either. It was just... strange.

You'd spent years around aquariums and had never really seen anyone decorate a tank with something that looked quite like that.

Still, there was probably some hobbyist explanation behind it.

"Oh. Okay."

The curiosity lingered for another minute or two before eventually fading into the background as your conversation continued.

The afternoon passed more quickly than you expected.

At one point Choso disappeared briefly into another room before returning.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Oh, you don't have to…."

"It's fine."

You hesitated. Accepting things in someone else's home always felt slightly awkward to you, and Choso seemed to notice the uncertainty almost immediately.

"Water is okay too." The suggestion was so straightforward that you laughed.

“Okay."

A few minutes later he returned with a glass, which you accepted with a quiet thank you before continuing to wander between tanks.

The rest of the visit remained peaceful. You spent time discussing different species, admired several of his other aquariums, and helped him make a few small adjustments to the main display tank. Nothing major—just moving a piece of driftwood slightly and suggesting a few changes that might help the overall balance of the layout.

By the time sunlight began turning golden outside the windows, you were genuinely surprised by how much time had passed.

Stepping back from the aquarium one final time, you nodded approvingly.

"Honestly, it looks really good."

A faint smile appeared on his face at the praise. It lingered for a moment before your attention drifted elsewhere, toward the closed door on the left side of the room.

You had noticed it earlier, but with everything else around you, hadn't thought much of it until now.

Tilting your head, you pointed toward it. "Wait... do you have an aquarium in there too?"

His gaze immediately followed yours. For a second, he simply stared at the door. Then he looked down at you.

"...Yes."

Your eyes brightened with curiosity. "Really? Can I see?"

"No."

The answer came so quickly that it caught you completely off guard.

You blinked.

He always took a moment before speaking, before reacting, before deciding what he wanted to say. Yet this time the response had come instantly, almost before you'd even finished asking.

The realization seemed to hit him a second later.

"It's..." He hesitated, fingers tightening slightly at his side. "...too messy in there." His voice lowered. "You wouldn't like it."

A brief pause.

"...Yet."

The last word came out strangely, as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

You watched him for a moment. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way he refused to look directly at you. The faint uneasiness in his expression.

Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe the room genuinely was a mess or maybe you simply shouldn't have asked so suddenly.

Either way, you decided not to push. You smiled instead.

"Okay, no problem."

The visible tension in his posture eased ever so slightly.

"Just let me know when you're finished with it, though." You pointed toward the door again with a small grin. "I'd love to see it."

For a second, he just stared at you. Then you noticed it. A faint shade of red slowly creeping up the tips of his ears.

His eyes dropped to the floor almost immediately. He gave a small nod.

"...Thanks." The word was barely above a murmur.

You were already turning back toward the aquarium when he spoke again.

"You're too nice to me, [Name]."

The sound of your own name on his lips made you freeze. Somehow it felt different this time. More personal…

You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.

“Ah..." A nervous laugh escaped you as you rubbed the back of your neck.

"It's nothing like that." You offered him an easy smile. "But... thanks, anyway."

The redness in his ears only deepened. He lowered his head again and gave a quiet nod, unable to meet your eyes.

And for some reason, the sight left an odd feeling lingering in your chest long after the conversation ended.

—

When it was finally time to leave, he insisted on driving you back despite your brief attempt to argue otherwise. Eventually you gave up and accepted the ride.

The return trip felt just as comfortable as the drive there.

By the time the convenience store came back into view, the sky had begun turning soft shades of gold and orange.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him.

"Thanks for inviting me." You paused before opening the door. "I had a really nice time today."

For a moment, something softened in his expression. "I'm glad..."

You stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door behind you. "See you at work!"

"I..." He hesitated, fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. "I probably won't be coming by for a while."

“Hmm? What's wrong?”

“…..” His eyes remained fixed ahead, avoiding yours. "This month is... busy."

A brief pause.

"Work. Other things." The explanation sounded vague, even to him. "If I get time, I'll visit."

You blinked, momentarily surprised. You studied him for a second, but he didn't elaborate further. Whatever was keeping him occupied, he clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"Well, alright then.” A small smile returned to your face. "Just don't overwork yourself."

His gaze flickered toward you.

"And take care of yourself, okay? The aquarium isn't going anywhere."See you whenever you come back then."

For a second, he simply looked at you. Then gave a small nod. "...Yeah. See you…”

You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.

—

The next day at work, your pretty, little, period started…

It wasn't exactly a surprise. You had been expecting it for the past few days, tracking the familiar signs that always appeared beforehand, but it was still annoying.

The dull ache settling low in your abdomen made it difficult to focus on anything for long, and the slight irritation that came with it only worsened your mood.

Thankfully, you'd thought ahead this time. A few tampons/pads had already been tucked away inside your bag because you knew your cycle was close, which meant you didn't have to deal with the inconvenience of asking around or making an emergency trip to the store during your shift.

Around mid-morning, you slipped away to the employee restroom. The aquarium was relatively quiet at that hour, leaving you with a few minutes to yourself before returning to work.

You changed as usual, wrapped the used tampon/pad carefully in toilet paper, and dropped it into the small trash bin beside the stall before washing your hands. By the time you walked back out, the entire thing had already left your mind.

Almost an hour and a half later or more, however, you found yourself returning to the restroom again.

The moment you stepped into the stall, your attention immediately landed on the trash bin.

You paused—and frowned.

The bin was empty… completely empty.

For several seconds, you simply stared at it, trying to understand what exactly you were looking at. There should have been something there.

You remembered throwing away the used thing earlier because the memory was still fresh in your mind. It had only been a little over two hours ago.

Slowly, confusion settled over your features.

What…?

You looked around the restroom as though the answer might magically appear somewhere else. The sinks were untouched. The floor was clean. Everything looked exactly the same as it had before. Except for the bin.

Your brows furrowed.

Had the cleaner come through? But when?

The cleaner usually came early in the morning before opening hours and then again near closing time, sometime after six in the evening. You had never once seen the restroom serviced in the middle of the day unless there was some kind of emergency.

So who emptied it?

The question lingered long after you left the restroom.

It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. Realistically, there were plenty of explanations. Maybe someone had changed the cleaning schedule. Maybe another staff member had been assigned to it.

Maybe there was some perfectly normal reason that simply hadn't been communicated to you. Yet despite all those possibilities, the sight of the empty bin continued to nag at the back of your mind throughout the rest of the afternoon.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only strange thing occupying your thoughts.

Over the past few weeks, little things had been disappearing.

At first, you hadn't paid much attention to it because everyone misplaced things occasionally. A missing pen wasn't unusual.

Neither was a lost hair tie or a notebook that had somehow ended up in the wrong place. Life got busy. People forgot things. It happened.

Except it kept happening. And the more you thought about it, the harder it became to dismiss.

Items you used almost daily. Even small things that seemed impossible to lose simply stopped existing one day, as though they had been quietly erased from your life.

Normally, lost things turned up eventually. They fell behind furniture, slipped beneath piles of laundry, or appeared in places you'd already checked three times before. But yours never came back.

Lately, it had become so frequent that you found yourself constantly searching for things.

Where did I put that? Didn't I just have it yesterday? Wasn't it right here?

The questions repeated themselves so often that they had become part of your daily routine.

You had even started asking your coworkers about it. Casually, of course. You didn't want to sound strange…

But every answer was the same…

“No.”

Nobody had seen anything, nobody knew where your belongings were going.

As the days passed, the disappearances began piling on top of each other until they formed something impossible to ignore. It wasn't just frustrating anymore. It was unsettling.

By the end of your shift, you found yourself zoning out more often than usual. Questions from visitors sometimes had to be repeated before you realized they were speaking to you. Conversations drifted past without fully registering. Even your coworkers noticed.

"You okay?"

The question came more than once. You always answered the same way. "Yeah. Just tired."

It was easier than explaining.

Because how exactly were you supposed to explain these shits? The concerns sounded ridiculous the moment you tried putting them into words.

So you kept them to yourself.

But even as you continued working, smiling at visitors and carrying on with your responsibilities, your thoughts kept circling back to the same things.

—

A whole month had passed like that—the same thing every morning and evening.

At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.

You thought the absence would feel obvious somehow—that you'd keep looking toward the entrance every morning expecting to see familiar dark clothing stepping through the doors, or catch yourself scanning the exhibits whenever someone tall passed by.

But… he had simply disappeared. Exactly as he'd said he would.

For the first week, you barely thought about it.

By the second, you occasionally found yourself wondering whether his project was finally finished.

By the third, you caught yourself glancing toward the entrance more often than you cared to admit.

Then slowly, you stopped expecting him entirely. Whatever work had pulled him away must have been keeping him busy.

Besides, you had enough things occupying your thoughts already. The disappearing belongings hadn't stopped. If anything, they'd become more irritating.

Eventually, you stopped bringing it up altogether.

It was easier to accept the frustration than continue sounding like someone convinced their belongings were developing legs and walking away on their own.

The month rolled onward…

Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentration—

Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. “[Name], have you received the letter yet?”

The question hung in the air, and you blinked, your hand pausing mid-motion. Letter? You frowned, trying to recall any notice or memo that had crossed your desk, but nothing came to mind.

“What letter?” you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

Your colleague let out a light laugh, shaking her head as if she had expected your answer.

“Oh, guess you haven’t heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,” she said, her tone dropping into something more conspiratorial, as if she were sharing a secret that everyone else already knew.

Your brow furrowed deeper, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. Move? Why? You could feel the heat of concern rising in your chest as you set down the documents, your mind racing through possibilities.

“Did I do something?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldn’t quite suppress.

But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. “Oh, nothing like that. You’re just getting transferred for your good work,” she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.

“Maybe you should talk to the manager yourself.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the manager’s office, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.

He welcomed you with a genial smile, as if he had been expecting you, and confirmed everything your colleague had said—yes, you were being transferred, a promotion of sorts, a recognition of your efforts.

You would receive the official email or letter soon, he said, his tone final and administrative, leaving little room for further questions.

You thanked him, your mind already churning with a mix of frustration and resignation, feeling the wheels of change turning without your consent.

—

When you finally returned home that evening, there was an envelope waiting inside your mailbox.

You stared at it for a moment before pulling it free. Your name was printed neatly across the front.

The organization's logo occupied the upper corner.

You carried it inside.

The subject line was formal, the body of the letter filled with praise for your dedication and skill, thanking you for your contributions and expressing their delight in having you move to the new position.

By the time you reached the end, however, all you could manage was a long sigh. Your head dropped backward against the couch.

The transfer was good news. Yet somehow it still felt so exhausting.

After setting the letter aside, your attention shifted toward the envelope resting on the table.

Your name, address, personal information printed clearly across the front.

You reached for it automatically, intending to throw it away. Then paused. A memory surfaced unexpectedly.

Your mother standing beside a trash bin years ago. Her voice carrying the same warning she'd repeated countless times throughout your childhood.

"Don't throw things away like that."

You remembered rolling your eyes. "It's just paper!”

"And it's also your information." She'd always insisted on tearing documents apart before discarding them. Letters, bills, packages. Anything containing personal details.

At the time, you'd thought she was being overly dramatic. Paranoid, even. Nobody was digging through trash looking for random pieces of paper.

At least, that's what you'd always believed.

But lately...

With belongings disappearing. Items going missing without explanation. Questions that never seemed to have answers.

You looked down at the envelope. Then slowly folded it in half and tore it. Reducing it to several uneven pieces before finally dropping them into the trash can.

Only then did you stand and make your way toward your bedroom. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you collapsed onto it with a tired groan.

The room was quiet. Outside, distant traffic drifted faintly through the window.

You stared up at the ceiling with so many thoughts.

Day after tomorrow… that was when the new position started. A completely different workplace.

You wondered what it would be like. Whether you'd fit in, whether the people there would be friendly, whether you'd miss the aquarium more than you expected.

—

The apartment has the particular silence of a place that has already half-emptied itself, and you are the only thing left breathing in it.

It's 1:04 in the morning, and you are still awake. You don't think you're going to stop being awake any time soon.

And that's—when the knock comes.

Three soft, even raps against the door. Not loud. Almost polite… you slowly move from the bed before the knocks come again.

Nobody should come here at this time—

You don't let yourself finish that thought and quickly put your eye to the peephole.

For one full second, your brain simply refuses to process what it's looking at — dark hair, tall, still posture, hands clasped in front of him like he's waiting to be let into somewhere holy.

Choso.

Standing in your hallway. Inside the apartment whose address you never, not once, gave him.

A short, stupid, unthinking flood of it, warm in your chest before your mind even catches up to ask the question it should have asked first: Why is he here? And how?

"Choso?" Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, muffled through the door.

He doesn't answer right away. You watch him through the warped little lens, and something about his stillness.

"It's me," he says finally. The same voice you remember. Low. Even. Almost gentle. "Can you open the door…?”

“......”

You will ask yourself later why you didn't just speak through the door. Why some old, trusting part of you hadn't yet caught up with everything else that was already screaming.

But a month of silence from someone you'd quietly, helplessly worried about does strange, traitorous things to your judgment.

You unlocked the door, your hands trembling slightly, and pulled it open, the chain still on. "Choso?" you said, your voice a mix of relief and confusion, the words tumbling out before you could think. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in—"

"I need your help," he said, cutting you off. His voice was calm.

He didn't smile, didn't offer any explanation for his disappearance. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and unwavering. "You have to come with me. It's important.”

You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!”

“I'm—I'm packing. I have a transfer. Can we talk tomorrow?" You gestured vaguely behind you at the boxes, the chaos of your apartment, hoping he would understand.

But he didn't. His brow furrowed, a line of confusion cutting across his forehead, as if the concept of tomorrow was foreign to him.

"No... It has to be now. You said you would help me… You told me, remember?”

“When I needed it, you would be there."

The words hit you like a cold splash. You did remember. You had offered a platitude, the kind of kindness you gave to strangers. "If you ever need anything, I'll help you," you had said, not thinking much of it, assuming it would never come to this.

"Choso, I meant like—normal situations," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a thread of unease was winding through your chest.

"Not showing up at my door at one in the morning and asking me to leave without telling me why. That's not—that's not what I meant."

His expression didn't change. If anything, he seemed to grow stiller, a statue in the dim light. "You said help. You didn't say when or how. I need you now."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to rest on the doorframe, and you noticed his fingers were trembling slightly, though his face betrayed no emotion. "Something is happening. I can't explain it here. But you have to come."

You noticed details you hadn't before—the way his pupils seemed too large, swallowing the iris, the faint smell of something sharp and chemical clinging to his clothes, like antiseptic or a cleaning agent.

And then a thought struck you, cold and distant: how did he find your address? You had never told him where you lived. You had never mentioned the street name, the building, nothing.

"I can't," you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart was hammering. "I'm not going anywhere with you at this hour. I don't even know where you've been for the past month. And now you show up like this?" You started to close the door, the chain grinding against the lock.

But his hand shot out, pressing against the wood, stopping it. Not violently, not with aggression, but with a quiet insistence that sent a jolt through your arm.

"You don't understand," he said, and his voice dropped, softer now, almost a whisper. "I've been… Just… Please come with me for once."

The words didn't make sense. You stared at him, your breath shallow, and in that pause, you saw something shift in his demeanor—a flicker of something not quite sane, hidden behind the calm facade.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he had solved but was waiting for you to catch up.

"I found…" he mumbled, barely audible. “Don't do this… I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."

“What—what are you even talking about?"

"I went through everything," Choso says, not quite anger, but the fraying impatience of a man whose generosity is being met, in his own mind. “You said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-”

"Choso, please!" Your voice cracks slightly, every polite, disbelieving thread that's held you here finally snapping at once. "Let go of the door. Please. I need you to leave. Right now!"

"I… can't do that." He says it gently. Almost apologetically. As though your request simply doesn't exist.

"I told you. This is important. More important than you understand right now. You'll understand once we're there. I promise you, you will…"

"There is no ‘’there’, I'm not going anywhere with—"

"You don't have a choice.”

Choso says, stripped at last of every last trace of politeness, "I wish you didn't have to be afraid right now. I never wanted that part of this."

He reached into his pocket, and your muscles tensed, ready to slam the door shut, but he pulled out only a small vial—clear liquid inside, catching the light.

He uncorked it with a soft pop, and before you could react, he flicked his wrist, sending a fine mist toward your face. The sharp chemical smell hit you full force, burning your nostrils, and a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

The hallway began to warp, the edges of your vision blurring, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else.

Your knees buckled, and you felt the door frame slide against your palm as you tried to hold yourself upright. Choso's face swam in front of you, his expression still that same calm, terrible certainty.

—

“......”

You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink against—no light, no shapes, no hint of where you were or what had happened.

The last thing you remembered was the sharp chemical sting in your nostrils, the way your legs had given out, the feeling of Choso's hands catching you before you hit the floor.

And now this: a void so complete it pressed against your eyes like a physical weight. Your heart lurched, a wild, panicked animal trapped in your ribcage, and you tried to move, tried to lift your arms, but they wouldn't budge.

Something tight bit into your wrists, rough fabric or rope, and your ankles were bound too, the pressure anchoring you to what felt like a hard chair beneath you. You were sitting. You were tied. You couldn't see.

Panic erupted in your chest, hot and suffocating. You gasped, but the air tasted stale, heavy with the smell of stagnant water and something metallic, like old coins.

Your fingers curled into fists, straining against the restraints, and you jerked your legs, but the bindings held firm, digging into your skin.

A whimper escaped your throat, and then you tried to scream, but your voice came out cracked and thin, barely a whisper. "Hello? Hello?! Choso! Choso, where are you? What did you do to me?!"

Silence answered, thick and waiting. Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a struggle against the blackness that surrounded you.

You didn't know if your eyes were open or closed—there was no difference, no reference point, just the endless void that made you feel like you had been buried alive.

Your skin crawled with the sensation of being watched, of something close, too close, but invisible.

The panic clawed up your throat, and you screamed again, louder this time, a raw, desperate sound. "Stop—please—let me go! I don't know what you want, but this isn't funny! Choso!"

A faint rustle to your left. Then a whisper of breath against your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a violent shudder down your spine.

You flinched, jerking away, but the ropes held you in place. The voice came soft, almost tender, right beside your ear.

"It's just a blindfold."

Choso's voice.

You turned your head sharply away, but he followed, his lips hovering just above your skin.

"I want to surprise you," he murmured, and there was a smile in his voice, thin and satisfied. "You've been so stressed lately. I thought you deserved something special."

"Let me go!" you snarled, your voice cracking with fury and fear. "What the hell are you doing?! Stop this right now!"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out exhale that carried an edge of disappointment. "You really seem to forget things nowadays, don't you?"

His hand brushed against your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that made your stomach turn. "Remember? You said you wanted to see my hidden exhibition. All those times at the aquarium, you asked about my projects. I told you it wasn't finished yet.

"I'm done now," he continued, his voice dropping lower, conspiratorial. "And I want to show you… I... I've been waiting for this. For you to see it."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Uncertainty crept into your chest. You didn't want to see anything he had made.

His fingers found the knot at the back of your head, and you felt the fabric loosen. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled the blindfold away, and the world rushed back in fragments—first a blur of dim light, then shapes, then colors, your eyes struggling to adjust.

And then you saw.

The room was huge. The walls were lined with fish tanks—dozens of them, stacked in rows.

The tanks were filled with water, murky and still, and inside them, suspended in the liquid like grotesque ornaments, were fish.

But they weren't moving at all.

Their bodies floated at odd angles, eyes glazed and clouded, fins limp, bellies pale. Some were pressed against the glass as if trying to escape, frozen in the final moment of their death.

You stared, your breath catching in your throat. Row after row of dead fish, arranged in silent, rotting rows. The smell hit you then—a thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.

“...W-what…”

A low, creepy giggle bubbled out of Choso's throat, soft at first, then growing, a sound that didn't belong to the calm man you had known.

He was standing beside you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wide and gleaming with a hollow satisfaction. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he whispered.

"I've been collecting them for months. From the aquarium. From anywhere I could find them. They're all part of the exhibition now."

You couldn't speak. Your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth, your mind reeling, trying to reject what you were seeing. He watched your reaction with intensity, his head tilted, his smile thin and knowing.

Then he lifted his hands, and you saw what he was holding: a small pillow, roughly stitched together, its surface covered in a dark, matted material.

That was a damn hair.

Human hair, woven and compacted into a dense, soft mass. He cradled it like a treasure, bringing it up to his nose, inhaling deeply, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

"Look at this," he said, his voice dreamy. "Can you tell which one of your hair I made it from?"

You stared at the pillow, your mind struggling to grasp everything.

Your hair? He had taken your hair? When? How?

…From your brushes, your combs, the strands that fell behind normally. Even the restroom sink… he had collected them, saved them, woven them into this grotesque object.

He waited, his eyes fixed on you, his smile fading slightly as the silence stretched.

"You're right," he said finally, a note of approval in his voice. "It's mixed. I used hair from your head, from your clothes, from everywhere I could find. But..."

He brought the pillow to his face again, burying his nose in it, inhaling with a deep, shuddering breath. "I love the smell of your down hair more."

He had taken that too…

From your underwear, from your laundry, from the intimate remnants of your body that you had never imagined anyone would touch.

The violation was so deep, that a sob broke from your chest.

He didn't seem to notice. He was still nuzzling the pillow, his eyes half-closed, lost in a sensory world you couldn't comprehend.

Then, as if remembering something, he paused, his head snapping up, his gaze sharpening.

"Oh. Right." He turned away quickly, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor as he crossed to a bag lying near one of the tanks.

He rummaged inside, and when he turned back, he was holding something in his hands—a piece of paper, crumpled and fragile, covered in strips of white tape.

He held it up in front of your face, close enough that you could see the faint text, the creases where it had been torn.

Your envelope. The one you had torn apart and thrown into the trash.

But here it was, every piece fitted back together, the tape holding it like stitches on a wound. He had found it. He had taken it. He had put it back together, piece by piece, just to find you.

Choso tilted his head, bringing his face close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an eager, childlike earnestness that was more terrifying than any rage.

“Tell me…" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?”

“........” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The horror that had been building in your chest exploded.

Your body thrashed against the ropes, your shoulders wrenching, your wrists burning as you tried to break free, but the bindings held you fast, biting deeper into your skin with every violent jerk.

“Let me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re insane! You’re fucking insane!”

Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.

“I trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?—You fucking stalked me—get away from me, get away!”

Choso stood perfectly still, watching you with that same calm, patient expression, but his brows slowly knitted together, a crease forming between them.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that didn’t make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.

“Why are you acting so difficult?”

The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritation—just confusion.

He stepped closer, and you tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against your hair, and then he began to sniff you. Starting at the top of your head, moving down the side of your face, pausing at your neck where he breathed in deep, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

He continued downward, his face trailing over your collarbone, across your chest, your stomach, your hips, until he was crouched low, his nose hovering just above your thighs.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body locked tight, your panting uneven and shallow.

He paused there, his face inches from your cunt, and then he lifted his gaze, looking up at you through his lashes, a faint, almost shy smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“Ah... again?”

Before you could process what that meant, his hands shot out and grabbed your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a firm, possessive grip.

You screamed, twisting wildly, but your bound legs were useless against his strength. He spread them apart, forcing your knees wide, and despite your frantic wriggling, he hooked your ankles over his shoulders, your tied feet resting against his back.

His head was now positioned directly between your thighs, his face level with the damp fabric of your panties.

“No—NO, STOP! Don’t do it, hey! Don’t you fucking dare!” Your voice was high and ragged, but he paid no attention.

He pressed his face against your crotch, his nose grinding hard against your clit through the thin cotton, and you felt the heat of his breath, the moisture of his lips as he placed slow, deliberate kisses over the outline of your lips.

The fabric grew wetter, darkening from your own arousal and his saliva. Your hands clawed at empty air, reaching for him, trying to push his head away, but the ropes held you back, your fingers twitching uselessly in the space where his hair should have been.

“Mm,” he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. “You smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.”

You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. “Get off me! I swear I’ll—”

But his hand moved, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties and sliding them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the dim yellow light.

The air hit your wet folds, cold and wrong, and you caught sight of the white-pinkish string of your tampon resting just inside your hole—or, if you wore pads instead, the crumpled pad stained with a faint rust color, shifted out of place.

He stared at it with the same eerie reverence he had shown the pillow of hair, his smile softening into something almost tender, almost sheepish.

“This one is going to my collection as well,” he murmured, his fingertip toying with the edge of the string, pulling it gently, letting it slip back, watching it disappear into your body.

Your entire being screamed in protest. But his fingers closed around the string, and within a single second, he yanked it out in one swift, clean motion.

The tampon slid free, soaked deep red—or, if you used pads instead, the pad peeled away, heavy with blood. A thin trickle immediately began to run down, tracing your inner thigh before pooling in the crease of your groin.

The pain was sharp, a sudden cramp in your lower abdomen, and you gasped, your body arching against the ropes.

Choso held the bloody tampon/pad up between his thumb and forefinger, examining it like a curious artifact. Then he dropped it on the floor beside the pillow, his attention returning to your blood-slicked cunt. He licked his lips.

“Heard of a trick?” he said, his voice casual, almost conversational. He brought his other hand up, spat onto his own fingers, coating them with a thick, glistening saliva.

“If you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... you’d be at ease.”

His mouth descended on your clit at the same moment his two thick, rough fingers forced their way into your cunt, plunging deep without warning.

The stretch was brutal—your walls clenched, trying to reject the invasion, but he was relentless, his digits driving deeper, curling, searching, scraping against the tender inner flesh.

The pain exploded from your abdomen and your vagina simultaneously, a white-hot spike that stole your breath and left you wheezing, tears pouring down your face.

“Stop—stop! Please—you’re hurting me—!”

“Hm?” He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing your clit as his tongue flicked out, licking a long, slow stripe directly over the swollen nub, tasting the mix of your blood and your natural slick.

His fingers continued to pump inside you, each thrust sending a fresh wave of agony through your pelvis, and you felt him searching for something, his fingertips pressing against the walls, digging, trying to hook onto something.

Your body was rigid, every muscle locked in a desperate attempt to endure, but your sobs were uncontrollable now, your throat raw. “What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!”

“….Shh...” His fingers finally found what they were looking for—you looked down through your tears and saw his hand, the one that had been inside you, pull out, coated in thick red blood that dripped onto the floor.

Without wiping it, he rested that hand on the concrete, palm flat, leaving a crimson print, and then his other hand—the one that had held the pillow—moved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a moment’s pause, starting the brutal rhythm all over again.

He hummed against your clit, his mouth smeared with the mix of your juices and your blood, and between licks he murmured, soft and dreamy, “You feel so good when you’re like this.”

He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was over—that maybe he had satisfied whatever sick curiosity had driven him.

But then he tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach clench.

“Hm?” His face was serious now, no trace of that sheepish smile, no dreamy hum. Just a flat, observing stillness.

You could only pant, your chest heaving violently, your body slick with sweat. The mess was everywhere—between your thighs, smeared across your inner legs, pooling on the concrete floor beneath.

You were too scared to look down. But you felt it.

The pain in your abdomen that had been a sharp, twisting knot just moments ago—it was gone. Vanished. Like it had never existed.

Your body felt empty in a way that should have been relief, but instead, it only amplified the horror, because you knew—you knew—It was his doing. His fingers.

Your silence stretched, and Choso's lips curled into a slow, creeping chuckle.

"So," he said, his voice low and smug, "I'm better at researching than you, hm..."

“......”

Before you could form a response, he lifted his hand—the one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wet—and brought it to his lips.

He held your gaze, unwavering, as his tongue slid out, slow and deliberate, and he licked a long, flat stripe up the length of his palm, from the base of his wrist to the tips of his fingers, tasting your blood like it was fine wine.

His eyes fluttered half-closed, a soft moan escaping his throat as he savored it, his lips parting to reveal a tongue stained red.

“Uhck-” A gag rose in your throat, bitter and acidic, and you turned your head away, but there was nowhere to hide.

The sight was seared into your mind—his mouth glistening with your essence, his satisfaction written in every line of his face. You were disgusting to yourself, and he was reveling in it.

He lowered his hand, but he didn't wipe it clean. Instead, he leaned over you, his body casting a shadow that swallowed you whole.

His eyes drifted down to your wrists, where the ropes had bitten deep, leaving angry red welts and raw, chafed skin.

He looked back at your face, and the smile returned—soft, almost fond, but with a glint in his eye that promised more.

"Well," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "I, yet have to go through you…"

He smashed his mouth against yours, hard and bruising, his lips wet and slick with the residue of your blood.

The taste hit your tongue instantly—copper, salt, the unmistakable metallic tang of your own body flooding your senses.

His mouth moved against yours, not gently, not exploring, but taking as his tongue pushed past your lips and swept inside, spreading the taste of yourself deeper, coating your palate, forcing you to swallow the mixture of his saliva and your blood.

You tried to pull away, but your head was trapped, his hand came up to grip your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you in place.

When he finally broke away, a thin string of red-tinted saliva stretched between your lips before snapping. Your breath came in ragged, broken gasps, your lips numb, your tongue heavy with the taste you couldn't spit out.

Your eyes dropped, dragging across his body with a sick kind of involuntary curiosity, and that's when you saw it—the dark, glistening stain spreading across the front of his pants.

Despite the zipper being closed, despite the denim being buttoned tight, the fabric was soaked through, a dark patch of wetness blooming from his crotch down his thigh, as if he had been leaking this entire time.

The material clung to him, transparent in places, revealing the outline of his cock straining beneath, the tip pressing against the seam like it was trying to break free.

Like a dog in heat.

He had been dripping, drooling inside his pants while he kissed you, while he licked your blood off his fingers, while he smiled at your terror.

Choso followed your gaze, then looked back up at you with that same soft, dreamy smile. He didn't seem embarrassed. He seemed proud.

"Ah…" he breathed, his voice husky, almost reverent. "You noticed."

He reached down, not to hide it, but to cup himself, his palm pressing against the soaked fabric, squeezing gently as a low moan escaped his lips.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the pressure, and when they opened again, the innocence was gone. What stared back was raw, hungry, unhinged—a yandere's glaze that promised nothing but consumption.

"I've been really holding back," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "waiting for the right moment. But I can't anymore hngh... You're too... good."

He fumbled with the button of his jeans, his fingers slick with a mixture of your fluids and his own, and the metal clinked as it came undone.

His cock sprang free, jutting out from the opening of his underwear, fully erect, veined and leaking.

You tried to turn your head away, but he grabbed your jaw again, forcing you to look.

"Watch," he commanded, his tone soft but steel-edged. "You need to see what you do to me. What you've always done to me."

He was salivating, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth as he stared at your bound, trembling form, and when he leaned in, his tongue darted out to catch the drool…

"Don't worry," he murmured, positioning the head of his cock against your soaked, battered entrance. "I'll make you feel everything."

He pushed.

There was no teasing, no slow entry—just a single, brutal thrust that buried himself inside you to the hilt.

Your back arched, a scream tearing from your throat, but the sound was swallowed by the wet, obscene squelch as his cock drove through your blood and your slick, stretching you beyond what you thought possible.

He filled you completely, his hips flush against yours, and for a moment, he just stayed there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Augh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this blood—it's like a glove made just for me."

He pulled back, nearly all the way out, and then slammed in again, harder this time. He set a rhythm—fast, punishing, relentless—his balls slapping against your skin with every drive.

One time. Two. Three. You stopped counting after ten, after twenty, after the world dissolved into a haze of pain and the slick, filthy noise of his hips meeting yours.

He fucked you through the ropes, through your tears, through the blood that dripped from between your thighs to pool beneath.

His drool fell onto your chest, onto your neck, mixing with your sweat, and he licked it off you between thrusts, his tongue scraping against your skin like he was trying to consume you.

"More…" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need more…. so much more… ngh-"

He came inside you the first time—hot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and red—but he didn't stop.

He kept thrusting, his softening cock sliding in and out of his own cum and your blood, and within seconds, he was hard again, grinding against your oversensitive flesh.

A second time, a third, he lost count himself, he fucked you until your mind went blank, until all you could do was stare at the ceiling with glassy, unfocused eyes, your mouth hanging open, drool mixing with his on your chin.

When he finally pulled out, cock still half-hard, dripping with a milky red sludge, he collapsed on top of you, panting, nuzzling into your neck. His voice was soft now, almost affectionate.

“Hah…" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. “You'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibition…”

“And then it'd finally be finished…”

—

The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.

A staff member—one of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expression—leaned against the counter near the exit, scrolling through his phone.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he looked up, his face shifting into a practiced, pleasant smile.

Choso walked in, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty space. He was dressed in his usual plain clothes—dark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder—but there was something different about him today.

A faint, almost imperceptible sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Hey, welcome back," Derek said, straightening. "Haven't seen you in a while, man. Thought you might've found a new place to hang out."

Choso didn't respond immediately. He walked past the counter, heading toward the back where the larger tanks were kept, the ones used for special orders. Derek followed, curiosity piqued.

Choso stopped in front of a massive tank sitting on a wheeled dolly. It was nearly the size of a refrigerator, made of thick glass, its top sealed with a dark, opaque lid.

The tank was already filled—packed, actually—with what looked like water, but the lid prevented any view of the contents.

"This one," Choso said, his voice calm, almost casual. He placed a hand on the tank's surface, his fingers spreading wide as if claiming it.

Derek blinked. "That's a big tank. What kind of fish you planning to put in there? Something from the deep sea?"

Choso's head turned slowly, his eyes meeting Derek's. There was a flicker of something behind them—amusement, perhaps?

"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.

Derek waited for more—a name, a species, anything—but Choso simply turned back to the tank, his hand still resting on the glass.

The other guy scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the price tag taped to the side. It was high. Very high. More than enough to make the manager happy, and frankly, Derek didn't care enough to pry.

"Well, uh—you want help loading it into your car?" he asked, stepping forward. "It's pretty heavy. I can grab a cart."

Choso nodded, a single, quiet motion. "That would be good."

They worked in near silence, Derek wheeling the dolly toward the loading bay while Choso walked beside him.

Derek grunted as they maneuvered it into the back of Choso's old sedan, he wiped his hands on his pants.

"Alright, that should do it. Take care of that fish, yeah?" Derek said, forcing a grin.

“……” Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throat—a shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.

"Yeah…" he whispered, more to himself than to the other dude. "I will."

He got into the driver's seat, closed the door, and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Derek watched him go, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

Something felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He shrugged, turned, and walked back inside, already pulling out his phone.

Choso watched the aquarium shrink in his rearview mirror, the grin spreading across his face. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, and his breathing was shallow, rapid.

The pieces he had collected till now, pieces of you.

It'll be all completed now…

You stood in front of the mirror near your apartment entrance, adjusting your earrings absentmindedly while shrugging on your coat.

Behind you, the apartment remained quiet. Until—

“When will you come back?”

You glanced toward the doorway.

Choso stood there leaning lightly against the frame, arms folded loosely over his chest. His eyes stayed turned away from you, fixed somewhere near the floor instead.

Like he was trying very hard not to sound clingy. And failing miserably.

You suppressed a sigh. “I don’t really know yet.” You reached for your bag near the counter. “I’ll try to head back quickly.”

“But…” His brows pulled together slightly. “It’s your day off.”

“It’s not my off day, Choso.” Your tone softened despite yourself. “Some of my colleagues arranged a meetup. Since I’m part of the department, I kinda have to attend.”

His jaw tightened faintly. “…But, You never told me…”

“I did.” You laughed lightly. “Twice.”

Choso stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. “You’ll be gone for hours.”

“......."

You turned toward him fully this time. There it was again. That barely concealed disappointment. Just this strange, wounded sadness every time your attention shifted somewhere else.

You walked closer with a soft exhale. “Choso.”

“……” His eyes flickered up briefly before dropping again.

“You know I have a life outside of you, right?”

The moment the words left your mouth, regret flickered through you. Because his expression immediately fell. Yet, he was trying not to let it show.

“…I know but—” A pause. Then briefly— “I just like when you’re here.”

Sighhh…

You reached up suddenly, fingers hooking lightly into the collar of his hoodie before pulling him down just enough to kiss him.

His breath caught sharply against your lips before all the tension in him melted at once. Every bit of whining. Every sulky complaint. Gone instantly.

When you pulled away, he stared at you silently for a second before quickly looking off to the side.

Flustered. Embarrassed. A faint flush spread visibly across his cheeks. It was honestly unfair how easy he was to read.

You smiled despite yourself before patting his chest lightly. “I’ll be back soon.”

This time, he moved away from the doorway without protest. Still refusing to meet your eyes.

“…Okay. I… I wait.”

—

The restaurant was louder than you expected.

Warm lights glowed overhead while overlapping conversations filled nearly every corner of the place. Plates clinked together constantly. Someone across the room burst into laughter loud enough to turn heads.

Around ten people from your department had shown up. Enough to crowd two tables together near the back.

You sat wedged between two coworkers while absentmindedly stirring the ice in your drink, half-listening to whatever argument was currently happening about hospital scheduling.

“…I’m serious,” one of the residents groaned dramatically. “If they put me on another double shift this month I’m actually quitting.”

“You say that every week,” another snorted.

“Because every week I mean it!”

Laughter erupted around the table. You found yourself relaxing little by little. It felt… nice somehow. Then your phone buzzed beside your hand.

Your eyes flickered downward immediately.

Choso…

A small sigh escaped you before you quickly pressed the phone face-down onto the table and switched it to silent. Unfortunately, the movement didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oho?” One of the nurses across from you leaned forward instantly with a grin.

“Boyfriend?”

Another immediately gasped dramatically. “I KNEW IT.”

“Oh my god, finally—”

“Who is it!?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “No— no one.” You waved a hand quickly. “It’s literally just spam calls.”

The entire table stared at you. Unconvinced. Then one of the older doctors snorted. “We’re not stupid.”

Another pointed a fry at you accusingly. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”

“Weird…?” you repeated.

“Yes, weird,” she laughed. “Smiling at your phone. Leaving work with someone. Looking distracted all the time—”

Your stomach tightened slightly…

Someone else suddenly leaned forward with narrowed teasing eyes. “…Wait.”

“Is it that patient of yours?”

You nearly inhaled wrong. “What?”

“The tall one,” another coworker chimed in immediately. “Always wearing black.”

“The one who only comes to your office!”

“The one who stares at you like a kicked puppy—”

“Oh my god it IS him!!!”

Heat crawled rapidly up your neck. “I said it’s spam,” you muttered weakly.

“Liar,” someone laughed immediately.

The serious one among the group rested their chin against their hand before saying flatly: “We already know.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass.

“We just wanna hear it from you,” they added.

Another nurse nudged your shoulder teasingly. “C’mon, don’t be shy now.”

You laughed nervously under your breath, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your face.

The table immediately erupted again.

“How did you two even happen?”

“Did he confess first?”

“WAIT—did YOU confess?”

You opened your mouth automatically—And stopped. Your smile faltered slightly. Confusion flickered quietly across your face. Because suddenly—You genuinely couldn’t remember.

How did it even happen?

—

You remembered the first time he showed up because of how badly you wanted to leave that night.

The entire shift had been miserable from beginning to end. Too many patients. Too many emergency cases shoved into an already overflowing schedule.

Your head hurt, your shoulders were stiff, and by the time you finally finished signing the last report, you were seconds away from grabbing your bag and walking straight out without another thought.

Then came the knock. One of the nurses leaned into your office looking apologetic already. “Sorry, doctor… but—”

You nearly laughed from exhaustion. “Oh, please don't tell me…”

“One more walk-in emergency,” the nurse informed you. “Name’s Choso. Laceration on the forearm.”

You closed your eyes for a second. Ah fuck. Are you fucking serious right now?

With a quiet sigh, you dropped back into your chair and waved a tired hand. “Fine. Send him in.”

At that point, you barely cared who the patient even was. You only remembered fragments from that first visit. Dark clothes. Broad shoulders. Blood staining the sleeve of his coat.

You didn’t properly look at his face the entire time, only brief glances while checking for additional injuries. Your body was too exhausted to focus on anything else.

“Hold still,” you muttered while cleaning the cut across his forearm. The man flinched slightly but stayed quiet.

You worked mostly on autopilot after that. Clean the wound. Disinfect. Bandage. Check movement. Prescribe pain medication. Your voice sounded flat even to yourself while explaining dosage instructions.

“Take these twice a day for the pain. Don’t strain the arm for at least a week or you’ll reopen it again.”

A quiet voice answered after a pause. “…Okay.” That was it.

You dismissed him, grabbed your things, and went home without thinking about him again. At least, not until the next night.

You were preparing to leave at almost the exact same time when another emergency case came in. Again.

You remembered getting annoyed immediately. Because seriously—why always right before you clocked out?

You had already stepped into the hallway, ready to ask another doctor to handle it instead, when you heard someone quietly whining in pain from one of the chairs near the wall.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just this soft, strained sound like someone trying very hard not to make a scene. It made you stop to look over.

A black coat, head lowered, one hand gripping his injured arm tightly. The same man from yesterday.

For a second, you genuinely considered walking away anyway. You were exhausted. Someone else could handle it. But guilt settled unpleasantly in your chest almost immediately.

You sighed under your breath before turning around. “…Come on,” you muttered. “Let me look at it.”

The man lifted his head slightly at your voice before quietly following you back inside.

You sat down across from him and carefully unwrapped the bandages from the previous night, only for your brows to pull together immediately.

The wound looked freshly aggravated. You frowned. “This injury looks new. Did you hurt yourself again?”

The man blinked slowly at you. “…You treated it yesterday.”

“……”

For a moment, your exhausted brain genuinely tried piecing things together before you finally looked at him properly for the first time.

Heavy dark circles sat beneath his eyes, deep enough to make him look permanently exhausted. There was a dark mark stretching across the bridge of his nose too—almost like a tattoo maybe?

You couldn’t really tell from this close. His hair looked messy, unevenly tied back like he either forgot to fix it or just didn’t care enough to bother anymore.

And more than anything—He looked tired. The kind of tired that sat inside a person for months. Maybe years.

Something in your expression softened without meaning to. “…Right,” you murmured quietly. “Sorry. Long shift.”

He immediately shook his head. “No, it’s okay...”

You cleaned the injury again more carefully this time, noticing the way he kept watching your hands in silence.

“You need to be more careful,” you told him while wrapping fresh bandages around his arm. “These wounds aren’t going to heal properly if you keep doing this.”

“…Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.” You glanced up briefly. “Just take care of yourself, alright?”

His eyes widened slightly at that. Like nobody had said something like that to him in a long time.

But that was only the second visit.

After that, he just… kept appearing. Third time. Fourth. Fifth. Always late. Always near the end of your shift.

At first it was bruised knuckles. Then cuts along his shoulder. Split skin over his ribs. Sometimes injuries that clearly should’ve been treated immediately but somehow weren’t.

And every single time, he looked worse. Paler. More exhausted. Like something was slowly wearing him down from the inside.

Eventually, you started recognizing him the second he walked through the clinic doors.

You remembered which medications you’d prescribed him already. Which arm had been injured first. Which painkillers upset his stomach. Which bandages irritated his skin.

And after a while, irritation started mixing with concern. Because none of it was improving.

One night, after seeing fresh bruising spread along his forearm again, you finally lost your patience a little.

“Are you even taking the medicine I gave you?” Your voice came out sharper than intended.

Immediately, his shoulders drew inward slightly. Like he’d physically recoiled from the tone. Guilt hit you almost instantly.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to relax while setting the ointment aside. “…Look,” you said more quietly, “I’m serious. This isn’t normal.”

You hesitated before finally saying the thing you’d been thinking for weeks. “Maybe you should try therapy.”

His head lifted slightly.

“We can arrange counseling for you,” you continued carefully. “Different department. Professional help would probably—”

“No.”

The answer came so fast it caught you off guard. “What?”

His fingers curled tightly against the sleeve of his coat. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard without looking at you. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Your brows pulled together. “That’s not really an excuse.”

“I don’t like talking to them.”

“You haven’t even met them yet…”

“.......”

Instead of answering, he suddenly started fumbling nervously through his coat pocket.

You stared at him in confusion while he searched for something with shaking fingers before finally pulling out a small pack of bubblegum.

“…What?”

Without speaking, he held it out toward you.

You pointed at yourself instinctively. “For me?”

He nodded once. Still holding it there. Still refusing to look directly at you. You hesitated before slowly taking it from his hand.

“…Ah. Thanks.”

The room fell quiet after that.

When you glanced back up, you noticed him staring at you strangely. His brows were drawn together slightly, sadness sitting visibly across his face. Like he was waiting for something.

You awkwardly turned the gum over in your fingers. “I’ll eat it later,” you said. “It’s kinda late and I still have—”

You stopped. Because he wasn’t reacting at all. Wasn’t listening. Your jaw tightened slightly.

Where the hell were the nurses?

You glanced toward the doorway irritably before slipping the gum into your pocket and trying to end the appointment.

“Just take your medicine properly this time,” you said while standing. “And come back after a week so I can check the—”

He had suddenly bent forward in his seat, both hands gripping his head tightly while staring down toward the floor.

You froze. “…What’s wrong?”

No answer.

You looked toward the hallway again. “Nurse?” you called out.

Nothing…the silence pressing against the room suddenly felt strange.

Part of you still considered leaving. But then your eyes dropped back toward him again, shoulders shaking faintly beneath his coat, and guilt twisted uncomfortably in your stomach.

With a quiet sigh, you pulled the gum back out. “…Oh,” you muttered awkwardly while unwrapping it. “It actually smells pretty nice.”

That finally got his attention.

You noticed the gum was striped red and white before tossing it into your mouth without thinking much about it.

And honestly—It tasted ridiculously good. Sweet at first, then softer somehow, calming in a way you couldn’t explain. Some of the tension sitting behind your eyes eased before you even realized it.

You almost forgot why you’d taken it out in the first place.

Then Choso suddenly looked up at you again. Carefully. Quietly.

“Do you like it?”

The question caught you off guard mostly because of how intently he was staring at you now. Waiting.

You chewed once before nodding slightly. “…Yeah,” you admitted. “It’s good.”

And looking back now—you think that was the exact moment everything started changing.

—

Somewhere along the way, you stopped getting annoyed when he showed up. Honestly, that was probably the strangest part.

At first, you used to dread those late-night visits because all you wanted after work was to go home and collapse into bed. But eventually, without really noticing when it happened, your eyes started drifting toward the clock near the end of every shift. You’d catch yourself listening for footsteps outside your office. Waiting for the familiar knock.

And Choso always came. Sometimes with bruised knuckles. Sometimes with another split cut across his arm. Sometimes with nothing serious at all, just enough to justify seeing you for ten extra minutes.

It became routine so naturally that neither of you questioned it anymore.

He’d sit quietly on the examination bed while you cleaned his injuries, and you’d ask the same tired questions every time. “Does this hurt?”

“A little...”

“You should’ve come earlier.”

“…Sorry…”

At that, he’d usually go quiet and lower his eyes like he genuinely didn’t know what else to say.

You learned quickly that Choso wasn’t good at conversations. At least not normal ones. Most of the time he answered carefully, like he was worried about saying the wrong thing and making you upset enough to send him away.

But little by little, he started talking more. Just scraps of information here and there.

One night while wrapping fresh bandages around his wrist, you asked absentmindedly, “Where do you even live?”

You expected a simple answer. Instead, he hesitated. “…Nowhere permanent.”

You looked up briefly. “What…?”

“I’m still looking.” His voice stayed quiet. “I’m new here.”

Your hands slowed slightly. “You moved recently?”

He nodded once.

“From where?”

“A smaller town.” He shrugged faintly. “There wasn’t really anything there anymore.”

You listened while finishing the bandages around his wrist, occasionally humming so he knew you were paying attention.

Apparently, he still hadn’t found steady work yet. He’d been staying in cheap places whenever he had enough money, sometimes sleeping wherever he could when he didn’t.

Every answer came out awkward and reluctant, like he hated admitting any of it out loud.

You should’ve ended the conversation there. Instead, your stupid mouth moved before your brain caught up.

“Well…” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “You could stay with me for a while.”

You blinked. Then immediately regretted everything. “…Until you find somewhere else,” you added quickly. “I mean...”

“…….” Choso stared at you like he’d stopped breathing.

You awkwardly avoided eye contact while putting the medical tape away. “I have a spare room,” you muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

You finally glanced back at him—only to nearly pause at the expression on his face. Overwhelmed… completely overwhelmed.

“......” His lips parted slightly like he wanted to speak, but no words came out at first.

“…Really?” he asked eventually, so quietly you almost missed it.

You shrugged, suddenly embarrassed yourself. “I mean, yeah. It’s temporary anyway…”

That was how it started. At first, it felt strange. Suspicious, almost.

Having another person inside your apartment after spending so long alone. Hearing movement in the kitchen while getting ready for work. Seeing someone sitting on your couch when you came home exhausted at midnight.

But after a while, the awkwardness blurred into routine. And somehow, he slipped into your space so naturally that it stopped feeling strange at all.

—

You sat cross-legged near the end of the couch scrolling through next week’s duty schedule on your phone with a tired frown.

“Why the hell am I on morning shifts three days in a row…” you muttered under your breath.

From the kitchen, you heard quiet movement followed by Choso’s voice. “Is it bad?”

“Terrible,” you answered immediately. “I’m being punished for something, probably.”

A soft sound that almost resembled a laugh came from the kitchen.

You glanced over automatically. Choso stood near the stove wearing one of your oversized shirts with the sleeves pushed messily to his elbows.

His hair was tied back loosely today, though several strands had already fallen free around his face while he cooked.

For the past few weeks, he’d somehow taken over almost everything around the apartment. Cooking, cleaning, laundry.

At first you tried stopping him because it felt unfair, but Choso always looked genuinely distressed whenever you told him not to help.

So eventually you gave up. And honestly? Coming home no longer felt exhausting the way it used to.

Before he moved in, most nights ended with you barely having enough energy to change clothes before collapsing into bed. Half your meals came from convenience stores or whatever packaged food was easiest to microwave after a shift.

Now, every time you walked through the apartment door, there was actual food waiting. Warm food. The kind that smelled homemade.

Choso carefully placed another dish onto the table before glancing toward you hesitantly. “…I wasn’t sure what you wanted tonight.”

You stood and wandered toward the kitchen, peeking over his shoulder. Brows lifted immediately. “Seriously?” you laughed softly. “You made all this?”

His ears turned pink almost instantly. “It’s not much.”

“There’s enough food here to feed five people.” You looked down at the table again before shaking your head with disbelief.

“Choso, if you keep cooking like this, I’m genuinely gonna get spoiled.”

“I—” He nearly choked at that.

“Well, I mean…” You grinned while leaning against the counter. “What happens after you move out? I’ll probably die eating instant noodles again.”

Immediately, he looked away. Flustered. “…You won’t.”

“Oh?” You smirked slightly. “You planning to cook forever?”

That only made him worse. His grip tightened around the spoon in his hand while he stared stubbornly at the counter instead of you.

“If…” He swallowed nervously. “If you wanted me to.”

Your smile faltered for half a second. There it was again. Those tiny hints he kept giving you. Quiet enough to ignore. Obvious enough that you understood exactly what they meant.

You’d noticed them weeks ago already. The way his face softened whenever you entered a room. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. How absurdly happy he became over the smallest praise.

Choso liked you. Maybe more than liked. And honestly, he was terrible at hiding it. But you always pretended not to notice. Because this was temporary. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Eventually he’d find work. Find a place of his own. Move on with his life. And when that happened, whatever this strange little routine between you two had become would disappear with it.

So it was better not to think too deeply about it… right?

—

The noise around the table slowly returned to focus, overlapping conversations crashing back into your head all at once.

Someone snapped their fingers lightly in front of your face, making you blink. “…Hello? Earth to doctor?”

You looked up to find half the table staring at you expectantly. “What?”

One of the nurses narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You completely zoned out.” Another immediately smirked. “Thinking about your boyfriend?”

Heat crawled up your neck again. “He’s not—” You stopped yourself halfway with a tired sigh before pushing your glass aside. “Actually… I think I’m gonna head home.”

Almost instantly, protests erupted around the table.

“What? Already?”

“It’s not even that late!”

“We literally just ordered another round!”

You forced out a small laugh while reaching for your coat hanging behind your chair. “I’ve got morning shift tomorrow,” you explained. “If I stay any longer, I’m actually gonna die at work.”

One of the older doctors leaned back in her seat, studying you carefully for a moment before speaking.

“…Didn’t like the food?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You barely touched anything all night.”

Your eyes instinctively dropped toward your plate. The food sat mostly untouched aside from a few absentminded bites near the edge. Your drinks, however, were nearly empty..

“…Oh.” You stared at the plate for another second before shaking your head lightly. “I’m just not feeling great tonight, I think.”

Concern flickered briefly across a few faces around the table. “You okay?”

“You look kinda pale actually.”

“Did you catch something from work?”

You waved a hand quickly before they could start spiraling into medical interrogation.

“I’m fine,” you assured them. “Just tired.”

After another few minutes of everyone complaining about you leaving early, you finally managed to escape the restaurant.

You shoved your hands into your pockets while walking down the dim sidewalk, exhaustion settling heavier into your limbs now that the noise and distractions were gone.

You exhaled quietly through your nose and shook the thought away before climbing the apartment stairs.

By the time you reached your floor, your body already ached with exhaustion again. You pulled your keys from your pocket while approaching the apartment door, unlocking it automatically out of habit.

Usually by this hour, the lights inside would already be on. You’d hear movement from the kitchen. Maybe quiet music playing from Choso’s phone while he cooked. But tonight, there was nothing…

You paused slightly after stepping inside. “…Choso?”

Your brows pulled together. Did he go out somewhere?

That alone felt strange enough to make unease creep subtly into your stomach. Choso rarely left the apartment unless absolutely necessary, especially this late at night.

You shut the door behind yourself before slipping your shoes off near the entrance.

A strange tension slowly crawled up the back of your neck. You reached toward the wall and flicked the lights on.

The living room came into view first. Empty. Then your eyes shifted further inside the apartment—And your breath caught instantly.

The kitchen looked destroyed. A shattered plate lay across the floor near the counter. One of the chairs had been knocked onto its side. Glass glittered beneath the overhead light in scattered pieces across the tiles.

And in the middle of it—Choso.

He sat collapsed against the lower kitchen cabinets with his head lowered forward, one hand weakly braced against the floor while blood dripped slowly down the side of his face.

For half a second, your brain stopped working entirely. Then your bag hit the floor.

“Choso—?!”

You rushed toward him so fast you nearly slipped on broken glass yourself, dropping to your knees beside him.

“Hey—hey, look at me!!” Your hands grabbed his shoulders carefully, panic rising fast in your chest the moment you saw how much blood stained his shirt and sleeve. His breathing came in uneven shakes that immediately made your stomach drop.

“Choso—what happened?” Panic rose so fast your voice barely sounded steady anymore. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding so much—”

Your eyes darted frantically over him, trying to figure out where to even start first. Blood stained the side of his face, smeared across his trembling fingers, soaked into the sleeve of his shirt.

There was broken glass everywhere around him, one shattered plate near his knee stained red enough to make your chest tighten violently.

“Why didn’t you call—” you blurted out desperately before the words caught in your throat. Because he did… the missed calls, the phone buzzing beside your drink. Face-down on the restaurant table while everyone laughed around you.

You ignored him… a horrible feeling crawled up your spine so suddenly it almost made you nauseous.

“…Oh…”

You quickly reached for the emergency kit you always kept near the living room cabinet, nearly fumbling the zipper in your rush before dropping back onto your knees beside him again.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, though the panic cracking through your voice ruined the reassurance completely. “It’s okay, I’m here now.”

Were you really? Because somewhere along the way, you had stopped seeing him as a patient. Stopped treating him like someone fragile. You got comfortable. Too comfortable.

And now he was sitting on your kitchen floor covered in blood while guilt clawed viciously at your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you heard yourself mumble shakily while grabbing gauze with unsteady hands. “I… I shouldn’t have left you alone for this long.”Your words kept stumbling over themselves. “I shouldn’t have ignored the calls, I—”

You gently wiped the blood from the side of his face, your fingers shaking badly enough that you had to steady your wrist against his cheek. Choso barely reacted beyond another weak shudder passing through him.

“Look at me,” you whispered desperately. “Please look at me.” Slowly, you pushed damp strands of dark hair back from his forehead so you could properly check the injury—And froze.

There were tear tracks dried along his face. Old enough to have dried there long before you came home. Something inside your chest twisted so sharply it almost hurt.

God… why did this hurt so much?

You were trained for situations like this. So why did seeing him like this make your hands feel numb?

The moment your fingers brushed carefully against his hair again, Choso suddenly folded toward you without warning.

A broken sound escaped him. Before you fully realized what was happening, he was crying quietly against your palms, shoulders shaking hard enough to make his breathing stutter.

“Lock me up,” he choked out weakly. “P-please…”

His fingers curled weakly into your sleeve like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go. “Lock me up,” he repeated through uneven sobs. “But don’t leave me…”

“Please don’t leave me alone…”

“……” Your mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry,” he kept mumbling desperately, words falling apart between shaky breaths. “I’ll be good… I won’t upset you anymore… please don’t abandon me… don’t forget me… I'm sorry…”

Every sentence sounded more frantic than the last.

You had no idea what to say. No idea what to do. You’d met patients who were grieving. Patients who were unstable. Patients who needed saving in ways medicine alone couldn’t fix.

But this? This felt different. And you realized you had absolutely no idea how to help him.

Then suddenly—Choso leaned forward. Just enough that you felt the movement before understanding it.

His hand tightened weakly around your sleeve as his face tilted instinctively toward yours, breath uneven and warm against your skin.

For one brief second, his lips brushed the corner of your mouth—And he froze. Like reality crashed back into him all at once.

His eyes widened immediately. “No—”

He jerked back so fast he nearly lost balance against the cabinet behind him. Panic flooded his face instantly, horror twisting through his expression as his breathing turned sharp and uneven again.

“I—No—I’m sorry—”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—” His hands immediately came up to cover part of his face, fingers trembling badly enough you could see it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, voice cracking this time. “I know you don’t—I know you probably don’t want—”

The words kept tangling over themselves. He looked terrified of himself. Like he genuinely believed he’d ruined everything in a single second.

“Choso—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out again, shoulders shaking harder now. “Please don’t look at me like that…”

Your chest tightened painfully. Because you weren’t even looking at him badly. You were just shocked.

But somehow he’d already convinced himself he crossed a line unforgivable enough to make you leave him.

At this point, you weren’t even sure what line existed between the two of you anymore. Your eyes flickered toward his trembling hands before slowly lifting back to his face.

Still avoiding you. Still panicking. Still mumbling broken apologies under his breath like he couldn’t stop.

A quiet sigh escaped you before you moved without thinking too deeply about it. Your fingers curled lightly around his wrist. “Hey.”

Choso flinched. “No—I…”

You gently pulled one of his hands away from his face before leaning forward and kissing him.

He went completely still beneath your hand, like his entire body forgot how to function. For a second, he didn’t even kiss back. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Then you felt the sharp tremble that ran through him. A broken sound caught somewhere in his throat as his fingers suddenly tightened around your sleeve again, desperate and shaky all at once.

You could feel how badly he was trying not to overwhelm you. Trying not to move too much. Trying not to ruin this somehow.

When you pulled back slightly, Choso just stared at you. Wide-eyed. Breathing uneven.

His lips parted faintly like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

With a sigh you carefully wiped the remaining blood from his face before pulling back slightly, forcing yourself to think clearly again despite the panic still pounding inside your chest.

“Listen to me...” you said softly, trying to sound calmer than you felt. “Don’t move for now, alright? You need to rest while I clean this up.”

Choso stayed quiet for a moment, head lowered while his breathing steadied unevenly.

“No.”

Before you could react, he pushed weakly against the cabinet behind him and started trying to stand.

Your eyes widened immediately. “Choso—what are you doing?”

“I have to…” His voice came out rough from crying. “I have to cook.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “What…?”

“You’re hungry.”

The words hit so unexpectedly that you froze for a second. Because—How did he know that?

And despite everything that had just happened—Despite the blood. The panic attack. The tears still clinging faintly to his lashes—He was still thinking about whether you’d eaten dinner.

“Choso…” you said carefully, standing quickly to steady him before he lost balance again. “You do not need to cook right now.”

But he shook his head immediately. “I can.” He swallowed hard, avoiding your eyes while trying to wipe at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I’m okay now.”

“You are literally bleeding...”

“I’m okay,” he repeated stubbornly, though his voice still trembled slightly. “You came back, so I… I'm okay now…”

You watched him quietly for a moment while he stood there looking exhausted beyond belief, fingers still shaky as he pushed his loose hair back from his face.

There was something deeply wrong here and no matter how much you kept trying to treat him normally—Choso wasn’t normal. You knew that already. You just didn’t know what to do about it.

“…At least sit down while I clean the cuts properly first,” you murmured.

This time, he didn’t argue. “Fine…”

You guided him carefully toward one of the chairs that hadn’t been knocked over before quickly cleaning the remaining blood near his hairline and wrapping fresh bandages around his arm again.

The entire time, Choso stayed unusually quiet, eyes lowered while you worked. Only when you finally pulled away did he speak again. “You should go shower.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“There’s blood on your hands.” He glanced briefly toward your sleeve. “And your clothes.”

You looked down automatically. “Oh.”

“I’ll make food while you wash up,” he said softly. “Okay?”

Part of you wanted to refuse again. Wanted to make him lie down. Wanted to force him to rest properly after everything that happened tonight.

But another part of you already knew arguing would only upset him further. And honestly?

Cooking was probably calming him down more than sitting still ever would. So eventually, after a long pause, you gave a reluctant nod.

“…Fine,” you muttered quietly. “But call me if you feel dizzy or anything.”

The tension in his shoulders eased almost immediately. “…Okay.”

You hesitated for another second before finally heading toward your room.

—

By the time you stepped back out wearing fresh clothes, the apartment smelled like food again. Like nothing terrible had happened less than an hour ago.

You found Choso standing quietly near the stove again, movements slower than usual but steady enough that your chest loosened slightly with relief.

“You should be resting now,” you muttered automatically while approaching the kitchen.

“I’m almost done.”

“You always say that. Do you have some beef with sleeping or what?”

A faint flush spread across his cheeks at the mild scolding. “…Sorry.”

You sighed softly before sitting down at the table. A few minutes later, Choso carefully placed a bowl in front of you before watching nervously while you took the first bite.

The moment the taste hit your tongue, your shoulders relaxed without meaning to. It was really good as always.

You looked up slightly. “…This is amazing.”

The relief on his face appeared instantly. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shook your head lightly. “How are you this good at cooking?”

His ears turned pink again almost immediately. “I just…” He looked away awkwardly. “I wanted you to like it.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice made your chest ache again. You focused back on eating before the feeling could settle too deeply.

Across the table, Choso watched quietly the entire time. Every now and then asking small things under his breath.

By the end of the meal, you were already full enough to stop, but Choso immediately noticed when you lowered your chopsticks. “…There’s still some left.”

You blinked at him. “…Were you seriously thinking about that this whole time?”

His gaze dropped instantly. “…Maybe.”

A quiet laugh escaped you before you rubbed tiredly at your forehead. “Unbelievable.”

Still—you found yourself taking another bite anyway. And the way his entire expression softened afterward made it painfully obvious he’d been waiting for it.

Later, while you started cleaning the shattered glass from earlier, Choso immediately tried helping despite the fresh bandages wrapped around his arm.

You frowned the second you noticed him reaching for broken pieces near the counter.

“Choso. Stop.”

But he ignored you anyway, stubbornly continuing to gather the smaller glass shards before you could stop him.

Eventually, you gave up trying to argue. Not because he won. But because somewhere deep down, you understood this was another way of calming himself too.

—

The apartment finally grew quiet sometime past midnight. You barely remembered pulling the blanket over yourself before sleep dragged you under.

At least—until something pulled you back out of it again. Your eyes snapped open suddenly.

A strange unease crawled uncomfortably beneath your skin, sharp enough to leave your chest tight as you pushed yourself up halfway against the pillows.

Your throat felt dry. You reached automatically for the water bottle sitting beside the bed, twisting the cap open with shaky fingers before taking a quick drink.

The water nearly went down the wrong way the moment your eyes caught something sitting in the corner of the room.

At first, your half-awake brain genuinely thought—Ghost.

Wait, ghost? What the fuck? Who is that sitting over there!? Someone broke in?

Your grip tightened around the bottle as you stared into the darkness properly this time, trying to force your eyes to adjust.

A figure sat near the wall beside the bedroom window. Still, motionless, curled inward strangely.

For one horrible second, panic surged through you so fast you almost reached for your phone. Then the moonlight shifted faintly across the room.

“…Choso?”

“What are you doing over there?” Your brows slowly pulled together as you pushed the blanket aside and carefully stepped closer.

He was sitting on the floor hugging his knees tightly against himself, forehead pressed down against his arms. His shoulders trembled faintly every few seconds.

Then you heard it. Soft sniffling. Your chest tightened immediately at the sight.

Oh… maybe he couldn’t sleep again.

You crouched carefully beside him, voice still rough from sleep. “Choso…”

Nothing.

“Choso?” Concern crept deeper into your stomach. You reached out hesitantly before gently touching his shoulder.

He flinched violently before lifting his head too fast, panic flooding his expression the second he looked at you.

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m sorry for what I did…” His breathing turned uneven again almost immediately. “I know you hate me now—I know I made you uncomfortable—I really didn’t mean to—I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“Choso—”

You paused, for a second, you could’ve sworn the dark line stretching across the bridge of his nose shifted slightly against his skin. Like something twitching beneath the surface.

You blinked hard. ‘Did it just move…?’

“I—I’m sorry,” he repeated shakily, tears already gathering again. “I just—I couldn’t stop thinking about it—I know I shouldn’t have done that—”

Your chest twisted painfully at the sight of him trying so hard not to completely fall apart in front of you.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching toward him again. “Calm down first—”

The second your hand touched him, Choso suddenly grabbed onto you so painfully.

His fingers clenched desperately into the fabric of your shirt as he leaned forward against you almost instinctively, shaking badly enough that you could feel it through your arms.

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted weakly against your shoulder. “I tried to but I can’t stop thinking…”

His voice cracked apart quietly. “Thinking you’ll get tired of me.”

“I know I’m too much,” he kept mumbling unevenly. “I know I keep bothering you and showing up and ruining things and—”

“You’re not ruining anything…”

“But I am!” His grip tightened again. “You looked shocked earlier… I made you uncomfortable… I know you did it just to calm me down…”

You exhaled shakily before carefully pulling back just enough to look at him properly. His face looked exhausted.

“Choso, listen to me?” you murmured gently. “You really think I hate you?”

“I don’t,” you said quietly. “I could never hate you.”

He stared at you silently like he genuinely couldn’t process the words. Your hand lifted slowly toward his face, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead before pressing a soft kiss there. Then another against his temple.

His breathing caught sharply. You could actually feel him freezing beneath your hands. A faint flush spread across his cheeks almost instantly as you kissed the corner of his cheek gently afterward.

“See?” you whispered softly. “I’m still here.”

The kiss lingered just long enough for Choso’s lips to tremble against yours before you pulled back.

His eyes stayed wide, unfocused, the flush spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his loose shirt. He looked like he’d short-circuited completely.

You opened your mouth to say something soft, to ease the tension—but then your gaze dropped. Involuntarily.

The thin fabric of his sweatpants betrayed him instantly. A tight, obvious bulge pressed against the material, twitching as if it had a mind of its own. Your words died in your throat.

Oh…

Heat rushed to your own cheeks before you could stop it. You felt your pulse jump, suddenly hyperaware of the way your own body responded—a warm, insistent throb between your legs that made your thighs press together without thinking.

Choso noticed your stare. His eyes went wide, panic flashing across his face as he scrambled to cover himself with both hands.

“S-sorry!” His voice cracked again. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I can’t help it, you kissed me and I—Uh, I’m so sorry, I’ll just leave—”

He tried to stand, but his legs were shaky, and you caught his wrist before he could stumble away. The touch made him freeze.

“Choso,” you said, your own voice coming out lower, breathier than you intended. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” He was already shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut. “You don’t have to—I know you’re just being nice, I know you don’t actually want—I’m disgusting, I’m sorry, I’ll—”

You pulled him back down gently, guiding him until he sat on the edge of the bed. He went without resistance, like he trusted you more than himself.

You knelt between his legs, and the sight of you there made his breath hitch audibly. “Look at me,” you murmured.

He did, reluctantly, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “.......”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” you said softly. “Not because I felt sorry for you. Not because I’m being nice. I wanted to.”

His lips parted, a small, broken sound escaping him. “But I… I don’t deserve…”

You silenced him by leaning forward and pressing your palms flat against his thighs. The contact made his whole body jolt.

You felt the heat radiating off him even through the thin fabric, and the way his cock strained against his pants seemed almost painful.

“Let me show you what you deserve,” you whispered.

His breath stuttered. “I—I don’t know if I can—if I’ll embarrass myself—”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged down slowly. He lifted his hips instinctively, letting you slide the fabric past his thighs.

His cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark, already slick at the tip with a bead of precum.

Choso watched you with desperate, uncertain eyes, his hands fisting in the sheets. “Please... don’t hate me,” he whispered.

Instead of answering, you pressed your knees together, then wrapped your chest around him, the plush weight of your tits sandwiching his cock from both sides.

The head peeked out just above the valley between them, glistening. You held his gaze as you leaned down and ran your tongue along the tip in one long, deliberate stripe.

A strangled moan tore from his throat. His head fell back, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “That feels—ah—that feels so—”

You did it again, slower this time, circling the head before dipping down to suck the tip into your mouth.

The taste of him hit your tongue—salt and heat and something utterly him. Your tits slid up and down his shaft with every movement, the slick friction making his cock pulse against your skin.

Choso’s hands hovered near your shoulders, trembling, not quite daring to touch. “Can I—please—can I hold you?”

You nodded, and his fingers buried themselves in your hair, not pulling, just gripping like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.

You took him deeper between your lips, letting his cock slide past your tongue while your breasts kept working the base in slow, wet strokes.

His moans grew higher, needier, every exhale a shaky curse or an apology. “I’m sorry—sorry for being so loud—fuck—it just feels—you’re so warm—”

You kept the pace unhurried, drawing out every sound he made, every desperate twitch of his hips. Pre-cum smeared across your chest, making everything smoother, sloppier.

His breathing turned ragged, his grip in your hair tightening. “I—I’m close,” he warned, voice cracking. “Please—I’m sorry—I can’t hold it—”

“Mmh…” You sucked harder, tongue flicking against the underside of the head, your breasts pressing tighter around him as you moved faster.

His hips stuttered, a broken cry ripping from his throat as hot cum spurted across your face—thick ropes painting your cheek, your lips, your chin. Some landed on your chest, mixing with the slick there.

He kept coming, his whole body trembling through the aftershocks, little apologies spilling out with every pulse. “Sorry—sorry—I got it on your face—I’m sorry—”

You pulled off slowly, licking your lips, tasting him. Then you lifted a hand and wiped a drop from the corner of your mouth with your finger, bringing it to your tongue deliberately. The taste was strangely familiar.

Choso stared at you, his face burning crimson, his chest heaving. He looked like he was about to apologize again, so you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Don’t say sorry now,” you murmured against his skin.

“.......” He blinked, dazed, and slowly, hesitantly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. His grip tightened whenever you shifted.

"Choso," you murmured, stroking the back of his head. "We should probably get cleaned up."

He shook his head against your shoulder, voice muffled. "Don't want to move… Don't want… this to end."

A small smile touched your lips. But beneath the tenderness, a different heat was coiling low in your belly. You shifted your hips deliberately, pressing your thigh against his half-hard length.

He gasped, jerking back slightly, eyes snapping up to meet yours. "You—" He swallowed hard, his blush deepening. "You... you want more too?"

Instead of answering with words, you pushed him gently onto his back. He went easily, staring up at you with wide, vulnerable eyes as you straddled his waist.

The position pressed your bare cunt against the base of his cock, and the contact made both of you inhale sharply.

He was already hardening again, the stimulation too much to ignore. You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, stroking slowly. His hips bucked instinctively, a broken moan spilling from his lips.

"Wait," he panted, hands flying to your hips. "Wait—I don't—I've never—"

You paused. "Never what?"

His face turned impossibly red. "I've never... done this. All the way." His voice dropped to a whisper, ashamed.

The admission hit you somewhere deep. It made the heat inside you burn hotter, made your grip on his cock tighten just slightly. He whimpered.

"That's okay," you breathed, leaning down to press a kiss to his chest. "We'll go slow."

You guided his tip to your entrance, the head nudging against your slick folds. Choso's breath caught, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

You pressed down gently, just the tip beginning to stretch you open—he gasped, his whole body seizing. A hot burst of cum splashed against your inner thigh, sticky and sudden. He'd come again. Just from the touch of you.

"No—no, no, I'm sorry—" His voice cracked, panic rising. "I—I couldn't—couldn't hold it—please—"

He looked wrecked. Humiliated. Tears welled in his eyes as he tried to cover his face with his hands.

The sight of him so undone, so helpless under you, made your clit throb. You gently pulled his hands away, leaning down to kiss his lips, soft and reassuring.

“It's okay," you whispered. "That just means you get to go again."

You slid off him, settling beside him as you wrapped your hand around his still-twitching cock.

He was oversensitive, flinching at every touch, but you stroked him slowly, firmly, watching his face contort with pleasure and embarrassment.

Within minutes, he was hard again, painfully hard, precum beading at the slit. This time you didn't hesitate. You positioned yourself over him, sank down in one slow, deliberate motion.

The feeling of him filling you made your eyes roll back. He was thick, and the stretch was perfect. Choso let out a strangled cry, his hands flying to your hips, gripping so tight his knuckles went white.

"Ahh—is that—" he gasped, as if he couldn't believe it. "I'm—I'm inside you!—"

"Yes," you moaned, starting to move. Up, down, a slow, rolling rhythm that had both of you groaning. "You feel so good, Choso."

His head thrashed against the pillow, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. "Don't let go—please—don't let go of me—"

He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you flush against his chest.

His face buried in your neck, and his hips started moving on their own—thrusting up into you desperately, frantically, no rhythm, just pure need. "Yes—yes—" he sobbed against your skin. "Don't let go—don't ever let go—"

You clung to him just as tightly, riding him hard, feeling his cock hit deep inside you with every buck of his hips. "Ngh… I'm close…" you gasped. "Choso—"

"Cum with me—please—cum with me—" His voice was wrecked, desperate. "I love you—I love you so much—"

The words crashed into you just as your orgasm did. You clenched around him, crying out, and that was all it took.

He buried himself as deep as he could, a choked sob ripping from his throat as hot cum burst inside you—pulse after pulse, flooding your walls.

But he didn't stop. He kept thrusting, shallow and frantic, his body shaking with overstimulation. Tears soaked your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Don't stop—don't stop holding me—" he begged, his voice barely a whisper now. "Please—please—"

You held him tighter, stroking his hair, whispering soothing nonsense against his ear as his movements finally slowed.

His cock stayed buried inside you, softening, but he didn't pull out. He just clung to you, trembling, crying softly into your neck.

—

The next morning, everything was supposed to continue normally.

Your alarm went off before sunrise like always, vibrating somewhere beneath your pillow. For a few seconds, you simply lay there staring blankly at the ceiling, still half-asleep and aching from the exhaustion of the night before.

Then the nausea hit. Hard enough that you immediately pressed a hand over your mouth.

Your stomach twisted violently while a sharp throb pulsed behind your eyes, spreading steadily toward the back of your head.

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the dizziness to pass, but the moment you tried sitting up, another wave of nausea rolled through you so badly you nearly collapsed back against the mattress.

“…Ow—Fuck.” Your voice came out weak and rough.

Beside the bed, Choso stirred almost instantly. You hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep there sometime during the night, curled awkwardly near the edge of the mattress with one arm resting beside your blanket like he’d wanted to stay close in case something happened.

The second he lifted his head and saw your face, whatever sleep remained in his expression disappeared completely. “What’s wrong?”

You rubbed weakly at your forehead. “Nothing, I just…” Another pulse of pain made your stomach turn again.

Immediately, Choso pushed himself upright. His movements still looked tired from the previous night, but none of that seemed to matter the moment his attention settled fully on you.

“You don't have to go today,” he said quietly.

“But…” You tried getting up again anyway. The second your feet touched the floor, dizziness crashed over you hard enough to blur your vision for a moment.

Choso caught your arm almost immediately before you could properly lose balance. “Don’t go.”

Normally, you would’ve argued. Normally, you would’ve forced yourself through it anyway. But the pounding in your skull had already become unbearable, every movement making it worse.

Your body felt strangely heavy beneath the blankets again once Choso carefully helped you lay back down.

Eventually, after another miserable attempt at convincing yourself you could still make it to work, you gave up and called in sick instead.

The guilt settled in immediately after hanging up. You almost never took leave. Especially not this suddenly.

But by noon, the headache had turned into a fever strong enough that even thinking became exhausting.

Heat burned beneath your skin while chills still crawled across your arms underneath the blankets. Your body ached everywhere, the kind of deep weakness that made lifting your head feel like too much effort.

And through all of it—Choso stayed beside you. The entire day. Every time you drifted half-conscious from fever and exhaustion, he was still there when you opened your eyes again.

Sitting beside the bed. Adjusting the blanket when it slipped down your shoulder. Pressing cold cloths against your forehead with careful hands. Watching you with quiet panic he clearly wasn’t managing to hide very well.

You found yourself mumbling instructions between bouts of dizziness because honestly, he looked terrified every time your fever spiked again.

“There’s medicine in the second drawer,” you whispered weakly at one point. “White bottle… not the blue one…”

Choso nodded immediately like the instructions were life-or-death.

Later, when the fever made your stomach too nauseous to handle proper food, he cooked soup instead. Simple things.

He listened to every single thing you said with frightening seriousness. By evening, he’d practically memorized your medicine schedule better than you had. Still, nothing helped.

You told yourself it was probably just some mild infection at first. Something annoying but manageable. Maybe exhaustion finally catching up after too many long shifts back-to-back.

But one day turned into two. Then three. And instead of improving, your body only felt heavier. Weaker.

Sometimes when you woke in the middle of the night, you’d find him sitting on the floor beside the bed with his head resting quietly against the mattress near your arm.

Other times he’d be leaning forward in the chair beside you, watching your face so intensely it almost startled you. Like he was checking every breath. Making sure you were still there.

You noticed the fear in him more clearly as the days passed. The way his fingers twitched anxiously whenever your fever climbed too high again. The way he called your name softly whenever you stayed asleep too long.

This shouldn’t be lasting this long…

You were a doctor. You knew how ordinary infections behaved. Even exhaustion-induced fevers usually eased after proper rest and medication. But this… this felt wrong.

Slowly, sometime that afternoon, you finally made up your mind. Maybe you should call someone from the hospital or at least ask another doctor what they thought.

You shifted weakly beneath the blanket before blinking toward the bedroom doorway. Quiet. Usually Choso stayed close enough that you could hear him moving around the apartment constantly.

Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Sometimes just pacing softly between rooms whenever your fever got too high. But now there was nothing.

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat before trying to sit up properly. Immediately, pain exploded through your skull. “Ah—!”

Your hand flew instinctively toward your forehead as dizziness crashed into you hard enough to blur your vision for a second. It genuinely felt like someone was driving nails behind your eyes.

You stayed frozen there breathing slowly through it, waiting for the pounding to ease enough to move again. Maybe he was busy.

Eventually, after another long minute, you forced yourself upright anyway. Your legs nearly buckled the moment they touched the floor. Your body felt awful.

You steadied yourself against the wall before dragging your feet slowly toward the living room, every step making your head pound harder.

Your phone rested abandoned near the couch cushions where you’d apparently left it days ago. You grabbed it weakly before dropping down onto the couch with a shaky exhale.

The screen lit up immediately.

So many missed calls. Your coworkers. The hospital. Several personal messages stacked one after another across the screen.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you answering?

Are you okay??

Even the department group chat had exploded with notifications.

Your brows pulled together weakly. ‘How long had your phone been on silent?’

You stared at the screen through blurry vision for another second before unlocking it shakily. Honestly, you only meant to check one message quickly before calling someone back.

But your thumb slipped lower accidentally. The official hospital notice opened instead. At first, the words barely registered properly through the headache pounding behind your eyes.

You squinted harder at the screen. The letters blurred together once. Twice. Then slowly sharpened.

NOTICE TO ALL STAFF MEMBERS:—

‘Patient identified as Choso Kamo has escaped from XX Long-Term Psychiatric and Containment Facility following a violent incident involving multiple injured staff members.

Patient is considered medically hazardous. Avoid direct contact with bodily fluids.

Subject displays severe emotional dependency, unstable attachment behavior, and unpredictable violent responses.

If seen, contact hospital security immediately. Do not approach alone!’

Below the notice sat a photograph:

Dark hair tied messily back. Heavy eyes. That same exhausted expression you’d memorized over months.

Choso…

Your body trembled suddenly, though whether from fever or shock you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

From the kitchen, something clattered softly against the counter. You flinched.

For a second, you simply sat there staring blankly at the screen while your pulse hammered painfully against your throat.

Then slowly—very slowly—you pushed yourself back onto your feet. Your legs felt weak underneath you as you moved toward the hallway.

Every step made the notice replay louder inside your head: Do not approach alone.

You reached the kitchen entrance quietly enough that he hadn’t noticed you yet. And then you saw him—

In front of the hot cooking pot on the stove, steam rising from whatever was bubbling inside. His pants were unzipped, hanging loose around his hips.

One hand wrapped around his cock—hard, flushed, glistening with precum—stroking in fast, desperate pulls. The other hand gripped a kitchen knife, blade slick with red. His wrist was bleeding, a thin stream running down his forearm, dripping onto the floor.

He was fucking his own fist, hips jerking forward, breath coming in ragged pants, and as you watched, his body tensed—a low, guttural moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum shot into the pot, mixing with the food.

He didn't stop until he'd emptied himself completely, his cock twitching, a final drop falling.

Then he turned. His eyes found yours instantly. No surprise, shame or flustered apology.

Instead, a slow, wide grin spread across his face—stretching until it seemed to reach his ears, splitting his cheeks. His head tilted to the side, almost mechanically, like a doll's.

“I was just… waiting until you loved me enough.”

You had always preferred the aquarium before opening hours. The absence of visitors transformed the entire place into something almost dreamlike.

Water flowed through pipes above and beneath the exhibits, creating a steady background noise that had long since become comforting. Schools of fish drifted lazily through carefully maintained habitats while artificial reefs cast shifting shadows across the glass.

Usually people would probably find it repetitive after a while, spending every day surrounded by the same exhibits and routines, but you never had. If anything, the familiarity was exactly what kept you here.

Most of your work consisted of checking water parameters, monitoring temperatures, cleaning viewing panels, inspecting filtration equipment, and ensuring each habitat remained stable.

The animals themselves required constant attention as well. Feeding schedules had to be followed precisely, certain species needed closer observation than others, and every new arrival required proper acclimation before being introduced into a display tank. To be honest, most days weren't difficult at all.

You were finishing a final inspection of one of the freshwater displays when a familiar coworker approached from behind, clipboard tucked beneath their arm. They glanced briefly toward the back storage area before turning their attention to you.

"Did you finish preparing that setup?"

You straightened from where you'd been crouching beside the tank and nodded. "The custom order? Yeah. Everything's ready."

Your coworker seemed satisfied with the answer, "Good. I wasn't sure if the decorations arrived yesterday." But before they could continue, another thought crossed your mind.

"Did he come by yet?"

The look they gave you was immediate. "The fish guy?"

A small laugh escaped you. “Yeah, him."

"I haven't seen him today. Choso, right? But if he's coming, it'll probably be soon. Didn't he ask you to hold those butterfly koi?"

You nodded. For nearly two weeks now, he'd been stopping by every few days to ask about them. Not because he intended to buy them immediately, but because he wanted to make sure they were healthy, eating properly, and adjusting well.

Most customers pointed at whatever looked pretty and pulled out their wallets. He asked questions. A lot of them.

"Then I'll get everything prepared just in case."

"Honestly, at this point we should just give him employee benefits!"

You rolled your eyes as your coworker walked away, though the comment wasn't entirely inaccurate. He visited often enough that nearly everyone recognized him by now. Not in an annoying-customer sort of way, either.

He was polite, respectful, and genuinely interested in the animals. Compared to some of the people you dealt with on a daily basis, he was probably one of your favorite regulars.

The sound of the entrance doors opening drew your attention toward the front of the building. Without thinking, your gaze lifted from the clipboard in your hands. Right on time.

The man who stepped inside looked much the same as he always did. Dark clothing hung comfortably from his tall frame, loose enough to appear casual without looking careless. Long black hair had been pulled back, though a few strands had escaped near his face, softening otherwise sharp features.

A pair of silver piercings caught the overhead lighting briefly whenever he moved, creating small flashes of reflected light before disappearing again. There was nothing particularly loud or attention-seeking about his appearance, yet somehow he always stood out among the usual visitors.

Several employees greeted him as he passed. "Morning."

"Good to see you again."

"Back already?"

He acknowledged each greeting with a small nod before continuing further inside.

You found yourself smiling slightly as you approached. "Good morning."

His gaze shifted toward you immediately. There was something oddly reassuring about that.

No matter how busy the aquarium was, no matter how many people happened to be around, he always seemed to notice you first.

"Morning."

"What are you looking for today?" you asked to make sure.

"The butterfly koi."

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "They've become your favorites, huh?"

"They're beautiful."

That was another thing you'd noticed about him over the months. Whenever he talked about fish, there was a genuine fondness in his voice that was difficult to miss.

He'd told you before that collecting different species had become a hobby of his years ago, something he'd gradually expanded until several aquariums occupied entire sections of his home. Most people collected stamps, books, or figures. He collected living ecosystems.

It was strangely charming.

"Well, you're in luck," you said. "They're doing great."

Before either of you could continue, a voice called from behind the counter. "Hey! If he wants to look around, take him to the new arrivals section. We got a shipment in this morning."

You glanced back and nodded. "Sure." Turning toward him once more, you opened your mouth. "Sir—"

You never even finished the sentence.

He was already standing beside you, prepared to follow before you'd actually asked.

For a moment, you simply stared. Then you shook your head with a quiet laugh and started walking, hearing his footsteps fall into place behind you almost immediately.

You spent the next half hour showing him around the new arrivals section.

He walked beside you quietly while you pointed things out, occasionally stopping in front of a display tank as fish drifted between rocks and vegetation.

"These ones are still being monitored," you explained, gesturing toward a smaller tank. "They handled transport pretty well, but we always observe them for a while before introducing them into larger displays."

He hummed softly in acknowledgment. Every now and then he would ask a question about a particular species or comment on a decoration that caught his eye, but otherwise he seemed content simply hearing you talk.

It was strangely easy.

You'd dealt with plenty of customers who interrupted constantly or acted as though they knew more than the employees responsible for caring for the animals.

"My newest aquarium is still unfinished," he said suddenly. "I've been redecorating it."

The way he said it made it sound less like a hobby and more like a long-term project.

"What are you keeping in it?"

"A few koi. Some freshwater species." He studied one of the tanks briefly before continuing. "It's not exactly how I want it yet."

You smiled. "Perfectionist?"

"Maybe."

A laugh escaped you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he looked at you. "Once it's finished, I'd like you to come see it."

The request caught you slightly off guard. You knew he wasn't asking with any strange intentions. At least, you didn't think so. He was one of the aquarium's most trusted customers, after all.

Still. Visiting a customer's home wasn't exactly standard procedure.

"Oh…" You hesitated. "I mean... maybe some other day?"

His gaze lingered on you for a moment. Just quiet. Then he nodded. "Whenever you're free."

Something about that answer immediately eased whatever tension had briefly formed in your shoulders. Just acceptance.

Honestly, that was one of the reasons you found him easy to be around. People could be surprisingly persistent when they wanted something from you. But he never seemed to be.

"Sounds good," you replied with a small smile.

—

Eventually the two of you returned to the counter where the butterfly koi had already been prepared.

The fish floated calmly inside a clear transport bag filled with water and oxygen, secured tightly at the top before being placed inside a protective carrier bag.

You carefully lifted it onto the counter. "Here they are."

Choso reached for the bag at the same time you adjusted your grip. His fingers brushed yours briefly.

The contact lasted no longer than a second before he took the carrier from your hands. "Thank you."

With one final glance toward the koi, he gave a small nod and headed toward the exit.

You watched him leave before returning to work.

—

The next time he visited was two days later. Then again a day after that. And then the day after that.

Eventually his presence became as familiar as the filtration systems humming throughout the building.

Most of the time he wandered between exhibits studying different species with genuine interest. Sometimes he would stop beside a tank and ask a question about compatibility, feeding habits, or habitat requirements.

You often caught him watching while you fed the displays or recorded maintenance notes throughout the day. Not in a way that felt intrusive. Just Curious.

When you explained something, he listened. When he asked questions, they were thoughtful. And whenever he talked about expanding his own collection, there was an unmistakable enthusiasm behind it.

You found yourself looking forward to those conversations. It was nice meeting someone who cared about these things as much as you did.

—

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

The aquarium was busier than usual, enough that you'd barely had a moment to sit down since your shift started. Between helping visitors, checking exhibits, answering questions, and handling a small issue with one of the filtration systems, the hours had slipped by almost without notice.

By the time you finally managed to sneak away for a few minutes, you felt more relieved than anything.

The staff restroom was tucked away near one of the back hallways, far from the main exhibits where guests normally wandered. It was quiet there, removed from the constant chatter and excited voices that echoed through the aquarium.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped into the hallway. Only to stop— someone was standing directly outside.

“Choso—?”

He stood a few feet away, his tall frame nearly filling the narrow corridor. He seemed just as startled as you were. The moment the door opened and his eyes landed on you, he immediately took a small step backward, almost as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

You blinked. "What are you doing back here?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

“......” His mouth opened slightly. Then closed again. For a moment, neither of you said anything. And your confusion only deepened.

The hallway wasn't exactly somewhere customers had reason to be. Most visitors never even saw this section of the building.

Maybe he'd gotten lost. That seemed like the most reasonable explanation.

"Oh, this area's for staff only." You lifted a hand and pointed toward the opposite end of the corridor. "The public restrooms are over there. If you keep going left and follow the signs, you'll find them."

His gaze followed the direction you indicated before returning to you. For some reason, he still didn't move.

“Umm,” You shifted your weight slightly. "Do you want me to show you where it is?"

For a second, Choso looked almost hesitant. Then he shook his head.

"No." His voice was quiet. "It's fine. I can..." The sentence trailed off before he seemed to know how to finish it.

“Oh okay.” You gave a small nod, waiting for him to move first.

Expecting him to head toward the public area you'd pointed out. But he just stood there looking back at you as if waiting for something else.

Maybe four seconds? It was kind of getting awkward…

Eventually, deciding there wasn't much more to say, you offered him a polite smile and started walking down the hallway.

One step. Two, three. By the fifth, curiosity got the better of you. You slightly glanced over your shoulder to check but… the corridor was empty.

Gone…?

The hallway wasn't particularly large. There weren't many places to disappear to, and yet somehow Choso was no longer standing where he'd been only seconds earlier.

Maybe he'd turned the corner…? Maybe he'd finally gone toward the public restrooms.

That had to be it. Still, the speed of it felt oddly strange. And, before you could think about it any longer, another voice called from farther down the hall.

"[Name]!!!"

You turned immediately. One of your coworkers was standing near the storage room entrance, struggling with a stack of boxes balanced against their hips.

"Can you help me with these? Please."

The thought vanished from your mind almost instantly. "Yeah, of course." Changing direction, you headed toward them without another glance behind you.

—

After helping with the boxes, you had barely managed to return to your own tasks before another issue demanded attention. A shipment needed logging, supplies had to be reorganized, and someone had misplaced maintenance records that took far longer to locate than they should have.

By the time things finally began settling down, the strange encounter in the hallway had almost slipped from your mind. Almost.

You were carrying a stack of paperwork back toward the front counter when one of the staff members looked up from their computer.

"Hey."

They glanced around the aquarium before looking directly at you. "Did Choso already leave?"

The question caught you off guard.

"What?"

“Yeah." They shrugged. "I haven't seen him in a while."

Another employee nearby laughed. "When have you ever needed to ask that? Just find [Name] and you'll find him somewhere within five minutes."

"That's exactly why I'm asking her!" A few others chuckled quietly.

You rolled your eyes, though there wasn't much argument you could make against that logic.

Over the past few weeks, it had become somewhat of an unspoken joke among the staff.

If Choso was in the building, chances were he was either talking to you, following you around while you explained something, or standing nearby watching you work.

The thought should have been amusing. Instead, your mind immediately drifted back to the hallway. To the way he'd been standing there. To how strangely nervous he'd looked.

And then—Gone. Just... gone.

No goodbye, no quick wave, no small nod before leaving. Nothing… which was odd. Because usually, whenever he was about to leave, he'd let you know.

It wasn't anything formal. Sometimes it was just a brief "See you next time."

Sometimes a quiet nod in your direction while carrying whatever he'd purchased. Once, he'd simply paused beside the counter long enough to say, "Take care."

Small things. But enough that you'd noticed their absence.

But today, why had he left so suddenly? Had something happened? An emergency?

Maybe you were overthinking it. Still… the more you thought about it, the stranger it felt.

"[Name]?"

You blinked.

The employee was still looking at you expectantly.

"Oh…” You shifted the paperwork slightly against your chest. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

You shook your head. "I was busy on the other side of the building."

"Huh. He probably left already then.”

For everyone else, it was a completely ordinary interaction. For you, however, the thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

—

The next morning passed peacefully.

You were halfway through checking one of the freshwater exhibits when the familiar sound of the entrance doors opening reached your ears.

You looked up automatically. And there he was.

For some reason, relief settled over you immediately. Maybe because the previous day had felt oddly unfinished. Maybe because now you could finally stop wondering.

Choso stepped inside, offering polite nods to several employees who greeted him before his gaze found yours. As always…

A small smile tugged at your lips. You set your clipboard aside and approached him. "Morning."

"Morning."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, the question slipped out.

"Can I ask you something?" You folded your arms loosely. "What happened yesterday?"

"You left really suddenly."

A brief pause.

"You were back near the staff hallway, then next thing I knew you were gone." You laughed lightly.

"I thought maybe something happened."

Another pause. Then Choso gave a small nod. "Something like that."

You blinked. "An emergency?"

"Mm." His answer was quiet, calm. Nothing about him seemed particularly troubled. No signs that whatever had happened was still bothering him.

Almost immediately, your concern eased.

"Oh. Okay, good." You rubbed the back of your neck.

“As you know, you're one of our regular customers. If something happened, I'd want to know."

That wasn't entirely a lie. Maintaining good relationships with regular customers was important. Especially customers like him.

It made sense to be concerned. At least, that's what you told yourself.

The corners of his mouth softened slightly. "I'm fine." The simple answer settled the matter.

Whatever had happened yesterday clearly wasn't serious enough to dwell on. And with that reassurance, the strange feeling that had followed you home finally disappeared.

The two of you resumed walking through the aquarium together, stopping occasionally in front of various exhibits while discussing fish species and habitat setups.

Eventually, the conversation drifted toward his collection again.

"So." You glanced over at him. "Is your aquarium finished yet?"

After all, you'd been hearing about this mysterious project for weeks.

His gaze remained fixed on the exhibit in front of him, following the slow movement of a koi as it glided beneath a cluster of water plants.

"Not yet."

You glanced at him. "Still not finished?"

A quiet sigh escaped him, almost lost beneath the hum of filtration systems running throughout the aquarium.

"I'm stuck."

The admission came without argument. If anything, he sounded vaguely frustrated with himself.

You folded your arms loosely and leaned against the railing separating visitors from the display tank. "What's the problem now?"

For a moment, Choso didn't answer. His eyes lingered on the fish swimming lazily through the water before he finally spoke.

"The decorations. They don't look right..."

A smile tugged at your lips. "According to who?"

His attention shifted toward you. "Me." A faint crease appeared between his brows. "The layout feels unfinished."

"You've said that every single time we've talked about it!"

"Because it does."

The stubbornness in his voice made your smile widen.

Honestly, if anyone else had been this obsessed with arranging a fish tank, you probably would've found it ridiculous. But somehow it felt different coming from him.

Maybe because he genuinely cared about it. Maybe because you'd spent the last few months listening to him talk about aquatic ecosystems with the same seriousness most people reserved for major life decisions.

"You know," you said after a moment, tilting your head thoughtfully, "at some point you're going to have to stop staring at it."

He looked at you. "What if I can't tell what's wrong anymore?" The question sounded surprisingly genuine—like someone who had spent so much time examining every tiny detail that he'd lost all perspective.

Honestly, you understood the feeling. You'd experienced it often enough while designing exhibits for the aquarium. Sometimes you spent so long looking at something that eventually every possible arrangement started to seem wrong.

Before you could stop yourself, the suggestion slipped out. "Okay fine... I could come take a look if you want."

The moment the words left your mouth, you hesitated. Visiting a customer's house wasn't exactly standard procedure. You'd never done it before.

But at the same time… this wasn't exactly a normal customer anymore, was it?

By now Choso was practically part of the aquarium.

The staff knew him by name. Half of them greeted him whenever he walked through the doors. You spent more time talking to him than some of your actual coworkers.

Besides, after hearing about this mysterious aquarium project for weeks, you were curious. Very curious.

Your upcoming days off crossed your mind…

After a brief internal debate, you nodded. "Actually, yeah. I have a couple of days off coming up. I could stop by one afternoon."

For a second, Choso simply stared. The reaction was subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't have noticed.

His eyes widened slightly before he seemed to catch himself. "You would?" The question sounded almost cautious.

You laughed. "Sure."

“…..” His attention remained fixed on you.

"We both like the same things, don't we?" A small smile tugged at your lips. "If you're really stuck, I don't mind helping. Besides, I spend all day building habitats and arranging displays anyway."

The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, but something about it felt strangely significant.

Then, quietly, he said, "Really?"

You blinked. "Yeah. Why are you so surprised?"

For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his expression before disappearing entirely. "I'd appreciate that."

"Then it's settled!"

The words had barely left your mouth before he responded.

"I'll pick you up."

You paused. The offer itself wasn't strange. In fact, it was probably the most practical solution. Still, your immediate answer was a shake of your head.

"No, that's okay."

His expression didn't change, but you could feel his attention sharpen.

You gestured vaguely toward the front entrance. "There's a convenience store near the station, right? The one on the corner?"

He nodded. Almost everyone in the area knew it.

"I'll just wait there."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Choso's gaze settled on your face. "You don't want me to come to your house."

The observation was so blunt and unexpected that you nearly choked.

"What?" The second the word left your mouth, realization seemed to hit him. You watched it happen in real time.

The slight tightening of his shoulders, the brief flicker of regret in his eyes.

"Sorry."

The apology came immediately. Too soon. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

“……”

Honestly, that wasn't where your mind had gone at all. You were simply being careful. You didn't hand out your address to people easily. Especially not to customers.

Yet somehow he'd immediately assumed he'd crossed a boundary.

"It's… not like that." You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. "No, seriously. It's nothing like that."

A small, awkward laugh escaped you. "I just don't give people my address."

He still looked vaguely guilty. As if he was replaying the conversation and trying to pinpoint exactly where he'd gone wrong. The sight was oddly endearing.

"Choso..."

His eyes lifted.

The corners of your mouth curved upward. "I'm literally agreeing to spend my day off helping you rearrange fish decorations."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "You're fine."

The atmosphere finally eased. Deciding it was probably best to leave things there, you glanced toward the maintenance area.

"I should get back to work."

You stepped away before looking back over your shoulder. "You can keep looking around." Then, smiling, you added, "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

His gaze followed you.

"Okay…"

As you walked away, weaving between exhibits and visitors, you found yourself smiling for reasons you couldn't entirely explain.

Choso really was easy to be around. Almost painfully considerate at times. Sometimes a little too considerate. Quick to apologize and blame himself.

It was strange.

But the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself noticing those small things.

And, perhaps without realizing it, beginning to like them.

—

As promised, you arrived at the convenience store near the station two afternoons later. The weather was pleasant enough to make the short wait enjoyable. A light breeze occasionally brushed past as you checked your phone, glancing up every now and then toward the road.

You hadn't been standing there for long when a familiar vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

Choso stepped out almost immediately after parking. His eyes found you before anything else, and some of the tension in his expression seemed to ease once he realized you were already there.

"You've been waiting long?"

You shook your head. "Only a few minutes."

"I see… that's good."

The simple answer made you smile.

The drive to his house was easy. Conversation came and went naturally, never feeling forced. Sometimes you talked about work, sometimes about fish species, and sometimes there was nothing but comfortable silence between you. It was surprisingly relaxing.

As the city gradually gave way to quieter neighborhoods, you found yourself looking out the window more often. Eventually Choso turned into a driveway, and your eyes widened slightly as the house came into view.

It was much nicer than you had imagined. Not extravagant or overly luxurious, but large, well-maintained, and peaceful in a way that immediately felt welcoming.

"You live here?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

A faint amusement flickered across his face. "Yeah."

You stared at the house for another moment. That earned the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he led you inside.

The moment you stepped through the front door, you immediately understood why some of your coworkers referred to him as the fish guy.

Aquariums…

There were aquariums everywhere.

Not enough to make the house look cluttered, but enough that they were impossible to ignore. Several tanks occupied different rooms, each one carefully maintained and decorated.

Some housed freshwater species while others contained fish you rarely saw outside specialty exhibits. Every tank looked healthy and spotless.

"You weren't exaggerating," you said, slowly turning to take everything in.

"I usually don't."

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Fair enough.”

The amount of effort required to maintain so many tanks was impressive enough on its own. The fact that all of them looked this good was even more surprising.

Eventually Choso led you toward the aquarium you had heard so much about over the past several months. The unfinished project that somehow found its way into half your conversations.

The tank was beautiful. Large pieces of driftwood stretched through the water while carefully arranged stones and plants created a natural-looking environment.

Everything felt balanced without looking artificial. Several koi moved gracefully through the water, their colors flashing beneath the lights.

Almost immediately, something caught your attention.

There were noticeably more butterfly koi than anything else in the aquarium. Their flowing fins drifted behind them as they swam, creating elegant movements throughout the tank.

"You practically bought half our stock."

“There's still left..."

The answer was delivered so seriously that you were slightly taken aback.

For a while the two of you discussed the aquarium exactly as you had imagined. You pointed out areas that looked particularly good, offered a few suggestions, and listened as Choso explained some of the changes he'd made since the last time he'd talked about it.

While examining one section near the back of the tank, however, something unusual caught your eye.

You leaned slightly closer to the glass.

There was a thin white shape tucked among the decorations. At first you thought it might be part of the equipment, but the more you looked, the less certain you became.

It looked almost like a string or…

"What's that?" you asked. "The white thing?"

His expression remained unchanged. "Decoration."

You blinked. "Decoration?"

"Mm."

You looked back at the tank. The answer wasn't exactly convincing, but it wasn't alarming either. It was just... strange.

You'd spent years around aquariums and had never really seen anyone decorate a tank with something that looked quite like that.

Still, there was probably some hobbyist explanation behind it.

"Oh. Okay."

The curiosity lingered for another minute or two before eventually fading into the background as your conversation continued.

The afternoon passed more quickly than you expected.

At one point Choso disappeared briefly into another room before returning.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Oh, you don't have to…."

"It's fine."

You hesitated. Accepting things in someone else's home always felt slightly awkward to you, and Choso seemed to notice the uncertainty almost immediately.

"Water is okay too." The suggestion was so straightforward that you laughed.

“Okay."

A few minutes later he returned with a glass, which you accepted with a quiet thank you before continuing to wander between tanks.

The rest of the visit remained peaceful. You spent time discussing different species, admired several of his other aquariums, and helped him make a few small adjustments to the main display tank. Nothing major—just moving a piece of driftwood slightly and suggesting a few changes that might help the overall balance of the layout.

By the time sunlight began turning golden outside the windows, you were genuinely surprised by how much time had passed.

Stepping back from the aquarium one final time, you nodded approvingly.

"Honestly, it looks really good."

A faint smile appeared on his face at the praise. It lingered for a moment before your attention drifted elsewhere, toward the closed door on the left side of the room.

You had noticed it earlier, but with everything else around you, hadn't thought much of it until now.

Tilting your head, you pointed toward it. "Wait... do you have an aquarium in there too?"

His gaze immediately followed yours. For a second, he simply stared at the door. Then he looked down at you.

"...Yes."

Your eyes brightened with curiosity. "Really? Can I see?"

"No."

The answer came so quickly that it caught you completely off guard.

You blinked.

He always took a moment before speaking, before reacting, before deciding what he wanted to say. Yet this time the response had come instantly, almost before you'd even finished asking.

The realization seemed to hit him a second later.

"It's..." He hesitated, fingers tightening slightly at his side. "...too messy in there." His voice lowered. "You wouldn't like it."

A brief pause.

"...Yet."

The last word came out strangely, as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

You watched him for a moment. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way he refused to look directly at you. The faint uneasiness in his expression.

Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe the room genuinely was a mess or maybe you simply shouldn't have asked so suddenly.

Either way, you decided not to push. You smiled instead.

"Okay, no problem."

The visible tension in his posture eased ever so slightly.

"Just let me know when you're finished with it, though." You pointed toward the door again with a small grin. "I'd love to see it."

For a second, he just stared at you. Then you noticed it. A faint shade of red slowly creeping up the tips of his ears.

His eyes dropped to the floor almost immediately. He gave a small nod.

"...Thanks." The word was barely above a murmur.

You were already turning back toward the aquarium when he spoke again.

"You're too nice to me, [Name]."

The sound of your own name on his lips made you freeze. Somehow it felt different this time. More personal…

You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.

“Ah..." A nervous laugh escaped you as you rubbed the back of your neck.

"It's nothing like that." You offered him an easy smile. "But... thanks, anyway."

The redness in his ears only deepened. He lowered his head again and gave a quiet nod, unable to meet your eyes.

And for some reason, the sight left an odd feeling lingering in your chest long after the conversation ended.

—

When it was finally time to leave, he insisted on driving you back despite your brief attempt to argue otherwise. Eventually you gave up and accepted the ride.

The return trip felt just as comfortable as the drive there.

By the time the convenience store came back into view, the sky had begun turning soft shades of gold and orange.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him.

"Thanks for inviting me." You paused before opening the door. "I had a really nice time today."

For a moment, something softened in his expression. "I'm glad..."

You stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door behind you. "See you at work!"

"I..." He hesitated, fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. "I probably won't be coming by for a while."

“Hmm? What's wrong?”

“…..” His eyes remained fixed ahead, avoiding yours. "This month is... busy."

A brief pause.

"Work. Other things." The explanation sounded vague, even to him. "If I get time, I'll visit."

You blinked, momentarily surprised. You studied him for a second, but he didn't elaborate further. Whatever was keeping him occupied, he clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"Well, alright then.” A small smile returned to your face. "Just don't overwork yourself."

His gaze flickered toward you.

"And take care of yourself, okay? The aquarium isn't going anywhere."See you whenever you come back then."

For a second, he simply looked at you. Then gave a small nod. "...Yeah. See you…”

You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.

—

The next day at work, your pretty, little, period started…

It wasn't exactly a surprise. You had been expecting it for the past few days, tracking the familiar signs that always appeared beforehand, but it was still annoying.

The dull ache settling low in your abdomen made it difficult to focus on anything for long, and the slight irritation that came with it only worsened your mood.

Thankfully, you'd thought ahead this time. A few tampons/pads had already been tucked away inside your bag because you knew your cycle was close, which meant you didn't have to deal with the inconvenience of asking around or making an emergency trip to the store during your shift.

Around mid-morning, you slipped away to the employee restroom. The aquarium was relatively quiet at that hour, leaving you with a few minutes to yourself before returning to work.

You changed as usual, wrapped the used tampon/pad carefully in toilet paper, and dropped it into the small trash bin beside the stall before washing your hands. By the time you walked back out, the entire thing had already left your mind.

Almost an hour and a half later or more, however, you found yourself returning to the restroom again.

The moment you stepped into the stall, your attention immediately landed on the trash bin.

You paused—and frowned.

The bin was empty… completely empty.

For several seconds, you simply stared at it, trying to understand what exactly you were looking at. There should have been something there.

You remembered throwing away the used thing earlier because the memory was still fresh in your mind. It had only been a little over two hours ago.

Slowly, confusion settled over your features.

What…?

You looked around the restroom as though the answer might magically appear somewhere else. The sinks were untouched. The floor was clean. Everything looked exactly the same as it had before. Except for the bin.

Your brows furrowed.

Had the cleaner come through? But when?

The cleaner usually came early in the morning before opening hours and then again near closing time, sometime after six in the evening. You had never once seen the restroom serviced in the middle of the day unless there was some kind of emergency.

So who emptied it?

The question lingered long after you left the restroom.

It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. Realistically, there were plenty of explanations. Maybe someone had changed the cleaning schedule. Maybe another staff member had been assigned to it.

Maybe there was some perfectly normal reason that simply hadn't been communicated to you. Yet despite all those possibilities, the sight of the empty bin continued to nag at the back of your mind throughout the rest of the afternoon.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only strange thing occupying your thoughts.

Over the past few weeks, little things had been disappearing.

At first, you hadn't paid much attention to it because everyone misplaced things occasionally. A missing pen wasn't unusual.

Neither was a lost hair tie or a notebook that had somehow ended up in the wrong place. Life got busy. People forgot things. It happened.

Except it kept happening. And the more you thought about it, the harder it became to dismiss.

Items you used almost daily. Even small things that seemed impossible to lose simply stopped existing one day, as though they had been quietly erased from your life.

Normally, lost things turned up eventually. They fell behind furniture, slipped beneath piles of laundry, or appeared in places you'd already checked three times before. But yours never came back.

Lately, it had become so frequent that you found yourself constantly searching for things.

Where did I put that? Didn't I just have it yesterday? Wasn't it right here?

The questions repeated themselves so often that they had become part of your daily routine.

You had even started asking your coworkers about it. Casually, of course. You didn't want to sound strange…

But every answer was the same…

“No.”

Nobody had seen anything, nobody knew where your belongings were going.

As the days passed, the disappearances began piling on top of each other until they formed something impossible to ignore. It wasn't just frustrating anymore. It was unsettling.

By the end of your shift, you found yourself zoning out more often than usual. Questions from visitors sometimes had to be repeated before you realized they were speaking to you. Conversations drifted past without fully registering. Even your coworkers noticed.

"You okay?"

The question came more than once. You always answered the same way. "Yeah. Just tired."

It was easier than explaining.

Because how exactly were you supposed to explain these shits? The concerns sounded ridiculous the moment you tried putting them into words.

So you kept them to yourself.

But even as you continued working, smiling at visitors and carrying on with your responsibilities, your thoughts kept circling back to the same things.

—

A whole month had passed like that—the same thing every morning and evening.

At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.

You thought the absence would feel obvious somehow—that you'd keep looking toward the entrance every morning expecting to see familiar dark clothing stepping through the doors, or catch yourself scanning the exhibits whenever someone tall passed by.

But… he had simply disappeared. Exactly as he'd said he would.

For the first week, you barely thought about it.

By the second, you occasionally found yourself wondering whether his project was finally finished.

By the third, you caught yourself glancing toward the entrance more often than you cared to admit.

Then slowly, you stopped expecting him entirely. Whatever work had pulled him away must have been keeping him busy.

Besides, you had enough things occupying your thoughts already. The disappearing belongings hadn't stopped. If anything, they'd become more irritating.

Eventually, you stopped bringing it up altogether.

It was easier to accept the frustration than continue sounding like someone convinced their belongings were developing legs and walking away on their own.

The month rolled onward…

Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentration—

Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. “[Name], have you received the letter yet?”

The question hung in the air, and you blinked, your hand pausing mid-motion. Letter? You frowned, trying to recall any notice or memo that had crossed your desk, but nothing came to mind.

“What letter?” you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

Your colleague let out a light laugh, shaking her head as if she had expected your answer.

“Oh, guess you haven’t heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,” she said, her tone dropping into something more conspiratorial, as if she were sharing a secret that everyone else already knew.

Your brow furrowed deeper, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. Move? Why? You could feel the heat of concern rising in your chest as you set down the documents, your mind racing through possibilities.

“Did I do something?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldn’t quite suppress.

But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. “Oh, nothing like that. You’re just getting transferred for your good work,” she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.

“Maybe you should talk to the manager yourself.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the manager’s office, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.

He welcomed you with a genial smile, as if he had been expecting you, and confirmed everything your colleague had said—yes, you were being transferred, a promotion of sorts, a recognition of your efforts.

You would receive the official email or letter soon, he said, his tone final and administrative, leaving little room for further questions.

You thanked him, your mind already churning with a mix of frustration and resignation, feeling the wheels of change turning without your consent.

—

When you finally returned home that evening, there was an envelope waiting inside your mailbox.

You stared at it for a moment before pulling it free. Your name was printed neatly across the front.

The organization's logo occupied the upper corner.

You carried it inside.

The subject line was formal, the body of the letter filled with praise for your dedication and skill, thanking you for your contributions and expressing their delight in having you move to the new position.

By the time you reached the end, however, all you could manage was a long sigh. Your head dropped backward against the couch.

The transfer was good news. Yet somehow it still felt so exhausting.

After setting the letter aside, your attention shifted toward the envelope resting on the table.

Your name, address, personal information printed clearly across the front.

You reached for it automatically, intending to throw it away. Then paused. A memory surfaced unexpectedly.

Your mother standing beside a trash bin years ago. Her voice carrying the same warning she'd repeated countless times throughout your childhood.

"Don't throw things away like that."

You remembered rolling your eyes. "It's just paper!”

"And it's also your information." She'd always insisted on tearing documents apart before discarding them. Letters, bills, packages. Anything containing personal details.

At the time, you'd thought she was being overly dramatic. Paranoid, even. Nobody was digging through trash looking for random pieces of paper.

At least, that's what you'd always believed.

But lately...

With belongings disappearing. Items going missing without explanation. Questions that never seemed to have answers.

You looked down at the envelope. Then slowly folded it in half and tore it. Reducing it to several uneven pieces before finally dropping them into the trash can.

Only then did you stand and make your way toward your bedroom. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you collapsed onto it with a tired groan.

The room was quiet. Outside, distant traffic drifted faintly through the window.

You stared up at the ceiling with so many thoughts.

Day after tomorrow… that was when the new position started. A completely different workplace.

You wondered what it would be like. Whether you'd fit in, whether the people there would be friendly, whether you'd miss the aquarium more than you expected.

—

The apartment has the particular silence of a place that has already half-emptied itself, and you are the only thing left breathing in it.

It's 1:04 in the morning, and you are still awake. You don't think you're going to stop being awake any time soon.

And that's—when the knock comes.

Three soft, even raps against the door. Not loud. Almost polite… you slowly move from the bed before the knocks come again.

Nobody should come here at this time—

You don't let yourself finish that thought and quickly put your eye to the peephole.

For one full second, your brain simply refuses to process what it's looking at — dark hair, tall, still posture, hands clasped in front of him like he's waiting to be let into somewhere holy.

Choso.

Standing in your hallway. Inside the apartment whose address you never, not once, gave him.

A short, stupid, unthinking flood of it, warm in your chest before your mind even catches up to ask the question it should have asked first: Why is he here? And how?

"Choso?" Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, muffled through the door.

He doesn't answer right away. You watch him through the warped little lens, and something about his stillness.

"It's me," he says finally. The same voice you remember. Low. Even. Almost gentle. "Can you open the door…?”

“......”

You will ask yourself later why you didn't just speak through the door. Why some old, trusting part of you hadn't yet caught up with everything else that was already screaming.

But a month of silence from someone you'd quietly, helplessly worried about does strange, traitorous things to your judgment.

You unlocked the door, your hands trembling slightly, and pulled it open, the chain still on. "Choso?" you said, your voice a mix of relief and confusion, the words tumbling out before you could think. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in—"

"I need your help," he said, cutting you off. His voice was calm.

He didn't smile, didn't offer any explanation for his disappearance. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and unwavering. "You have to come with me. It's important.”

You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!”

“I'm—I'm packing. I have a transfer. Can we talk tomorrow?" You gestured vaguely behind you at the boxes, the chaos of your apartment, hoping he would understand.

But he didn't. His brow furrowed, a line of confusion cutting across his forehead, as if the concept of tomorrow was foreign to him.

"No... It has to be now. You said you would help me… You told me, remember?”

“When I needed it, you would be there."

The words hit you like a cold splash. You did remember. You had offered a platitude, the kind of kindness you gave to strangers. "If you ever need anything, I'll help you," you had said, not thinking much of it, assuming it would never come to this.

"Choso, I meant like—normal situations," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a thread of unease was winding through your chest.

"Not showing up at my door at one in the morning and asking me to leave without telling me why. That's not—that's not what I meant."

His expression didn't change. If anything, he seemed to grow stiller, a statue in the dim light. "You said help. You didn't say when or how. I need you now."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to rest on the doorframe, and you noticed his fingers were trembling slightly, though his face betrayed no emotion. "Something is happening. I can't explain it here. But you have to come."

You noticed details you hadn't before—the way his pupils seemed too large, swallowing the iris, the faint smell of something sharp and chemical clinging to his clothes, like antiseptic or a cleaning agent.

And then a thought struck you, cold and distant: how did he find your address? You had never told him where you lived. You had never mentioned the street name, the building, nothing.

"I can't," you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart was hammering. "I'm not going anywhere with you at this hour. I don't even know where you've been for the past month. And now you show up like this?" You started to close the door, the chain grinding against the lock.

But his hand shot out, pressing against the wood, stopping it. Not violently, not with aggression, but with a quiet insistence that sent a jolt through your arm.

"You don't understand," he said, and his voice dropped, softer now, almost a whisper. "I've been… Just… Please come with me for once."

The words didn't make sense. You stared at him, your breath shallow, and in that pause, you saw something shift in his demeanor—a flicker of something not quite sane, hidden behind the calm facade.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he had solved but was waiting for you to catch up.

"I found…" he mumbled, barely audible. “Don't do this… I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."

“What—what are you even talking about?"

"I went through everything," Choso says, not quite anger, but the fraying impatience of a man whose generosity is being met, in his own mind. “You said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-”

"Choso, please!" Your voice cracks slightly, every polite, disbelieving thread that's held you here finally snapping at once. "Let go of the door. Please. I need you to leave. Right now!"

"I… can't do that." He says it gently. Almost apologetically. As though your request simply doesn't exist.

"I told you. This is important. More important than you understand right now. You'll understand once we're there. I promise you, you will…"

"There is no ‘’there’, I'm not going anywhere with—"

"You don't have a choice.”

Choso says, stripped at last of every last trace of politeness, "I wish you didn't have to be afraid right now. I never wanted that part of this."

He reached into his pocket, and your muscles tensed, ready to slam the door shut, but he pulled out only a small vial—clear liquid inside, catching the light.

He uncorked it with a soft pop, and before you could react, he flicked his wrist, sending a fine mist toward your face. The sharp chemical smell hit you full force, burning your nostrils, and a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

The hallway began to warp, the edges of your vision blurring, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else.

Your knees buckled, and you felt the door frame slide against your palm as you tried to hold yourself upright. Choso's face swam in front of you, his expression still that same calm, terrible certainty.

—

“......”

You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink against—no light, no shapes, no hint of where you were or what had happened.

The last thing you remembered was the sharp chemical sting in your nostrils, the way your legs had given out, the feeling of Choso's hands catching you before you hit the floor.

And now this: a void so complete it pressed against your eyes like a physical weight. Your heart lurched, a wild, panicked animal trapped in your ribcage, and you tried to move, tried to lift your arms, but they wouldn't budge.

Something tight bit into your wrists, rough fabric or rope, and your ankles were bound too, the pressure anchoring you to what felt like a hard chair beneath you. You were sitting. You were tied. You couldn't see.

Panic erupted in your chest, hot and suffocating. You gasped, but the air tasted stale, heavy with the smell of stagnant water and something metallic, like old coins.

Your fingers curled into fists, straining against the restraints, and you jerked your legs, but the bindings held firm, digging into your skin.

A whimper escaped your throat, and then you tried to scream, but your voice came out cracked and thin, barely a whisper. "Hello? Hello?! Choso! Choso, where are you? What did you do to me?!"

Silence answered, thick and waiting. Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a struggle against the blackness that surrounded you.

You didn't know if your eyes were open or closed—there was no difference, no reference point, just the endless void that made you feel like you had been buried alive.

Your skin crawled with the sensation of being watched, of something close, too close, but invisible.

The panic clawed up your throat, and you screamed again, louder this time, a raw, desperate sound. "Stop—please—let me go! I don't know what you want, but this isn't funny! Choso!"

A faint rustle to your left. Then a whisper of breath against your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a violent shudder down your spine.

You flinched, jerking away, but the ropes held you in place. The voice came soft, almost tender, right beside your ear.

"It's just a blindfold."

Choso's voice.

You turned your head sharply away, but he followed, his lips hovering just above your skin.

"I want to surprise you," he murmured, and there was a smile in his voice, thin and satisfied. "You've been so stressed lately. I thought you deserved something special."

"Let me go!" you snarled, your voice cracking with fury and fear. "What the hell are you doing?! Stop this right now!"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out exhale that carried an edge of disappointment. "You really seem to forget things nowadays, don't you?"

His hand brushed against your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that made your stomach turn. "Remember? You said you wanted to see my hidden exhibition. All those times at the aquarium, you asked about my projects. I told you it wasn't finished yet.

"I'm done now," he continued, his voice dropping lower, conspiratorial. "And I want to show you… I... I've been waiting for this. For you to see it."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Uncertainty crept into your chest. You didn't want to see anything he had made.

His fingers found the knot at the back of your head, and you felt the fabric loosen. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled the blindfold away, and the world rushed back in fragments—first a blur of dim light, then shapes, then colors, your eyes struggling to adjust.

And then you saw.

The room was huge. The walls were lined with fish tanks—dozens of them, stacked in rows.

The tanks were filled with water, murky and still, and inside them, suspended in the liquid like grotesque ornaments, were fish.

But they weren't moving at all.

Their bodies floated at odd angles, eyes glazed and clouded, fins limp, bellies pale. Some were pressed against the glass as if trying to escape, frozen in the final moment of their death.

You stared, your breath catching in your throat. Row after row of dead fish, arranged in silent, rotting rows. The smell hit you then—a thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.

“...W-what…”

A low, creepy giggle bubbled out of Choso's throat, soft at first, then growing, a sound that didn't belong to the calm man you had known.

He was standing beside you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wide and gleaming with a hollow satisfaction. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he whispered.

"I've been collecting them for months. From the aquarium. From anywhere I could find them. They're all part of the exhibition now."

You couldn't speak. Your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth, your mind reeling, trying to reject what you were seeing. He watched your reaction with intensity, his head tilted, his smile thin and knowing.

Then he lifted his hands, and you saw what he was holding: a small pillow, roughly stitched together, its surface covered in a dark, matted material.

That was a damn hair.

Human hair, woven and compacted into a dense, soft mass. He cradled it like a treasure, bringing it up to his nose, inhaling deeply, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

"Look at this," he said, his voice dreamy. "Can you tell which one of your hair I made it from?"

You stared at the pillow, your mind struggling to grasp everything.

Your hair? He had taken your hair? When? How?

…From your brushes, your combs, the strands that fell behind normally. Even the restroom sink… he had collected them, saved them, woven them into this grotesque object.

He waited, his eyes fixed on you, his smile fading slightly as the silence stretched.

"You're right," he said finally, a note of approval in his voice. "It's mixed. I used hair from your head, from your clothes, from everywhere I could find. But..."

He brought the pillow to his face again, burying his nose in it, inhaling with a deep, shuddering breath. "I love the smell of your down hair more."

He had taken that too…

From your underwear, from your laundry, from the intimate remnants of your body that you had never imagined anyone would touch.

The violation was so deep, that a sob broke from your chest.

He didn't seem to notice. He was still nuzzling the pillow, his eyes half-closed, lost in a sensory world you couldn't comprehend.

Then, as if remembering something, he paused, his head snapping up, his gaze sharpening.

"Oh. Right." He turned away quickly, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor as he crossed to a bag lying near one of the tanks.

He rummaged inside, and when he turned back, he was holding something in his hands—a piece of paper, crumpled and fragile, covered in strips of white tape.

He held it up in front of your face, close enough that you could see the faint text, the creases where it had been torn.

Your envelope. The one you had torn apart and thrown into the trash.

But here it was, every piece fitted back together, the tape holding it like stitches on a wound. He had found it. He had taken it. He had put it back together, piece by piece, just to find you.

Choso tilted his head, bringing his face close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an eager, childlike earnestness that was more terrifying than any rage.

“Tell me…" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?”

“........” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The horror that had been building in your chest exploded.

Your body thrashed against the ropes, your shoulders wrenching, your wrists burning as you tried to break free, but the bindings held you fast, biting deeper into your skin with every violent jerk.

“Let me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re insane! You’re fucking insane!”

Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.

“I trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?—You fucking stalked me—get away from me, get away!”

Choso stood perfectly still, watching you with that same calm, patient expression, but his brows slowly knitted together, a crease forming between them.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that didn’t make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.

“Why are you acting so difficult?”

The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritation—just confusion.

He stepped closer, and you tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against your hair, and then he began to sniff you. Starting at the top of your head, moving down the side of your face, pausing at your neck where he breathed in deep, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

He continued downward, his face trailing over your collarbone, across your chest, your stomach, your hips, until he was crouched low, his nose hovering just above your thighs.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body locked tight, your panting uneven and shallow.

He paused there, his face inches from your cunt, and then he lifted his gaze, looking up at you through his lashes, a faint, almost shy smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“Ah... again?”

Before you could process what that meant, his hands shot out and grabbed your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a firm, possessive grip.

You screamed, twisting wildly, but your bound legs were useless against his strength. He spread them apart, forcing your knees wide, and despite your frantic wriggling, he hooked your ankles over his shoulders, your tied feet resting against his back.

His head was now positioned directly between your thighs, his face level with the damp fabric of your panties.

“No—NO, STOP! Don’t do it, hey! Don’t you fucking dare!” Your voice was high and ragged, but he paid no attention.

He pressed his face against your crotch, his nose grinding hard against your clit through the thin cotton, and you felt the heat of his breath, the moisture of his lips as he placed slow, deliberate kisses over the outline of your lips.

The fabric grew wetter, darkening from your own arousal and his saliva. Your hands clawed at empty air, reaching for him, trying to push his head away, but the ropes held you back, your fingers twitching uselessly in the space where his hair should have been.

“Mm,” he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. “You smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.”

You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. “Get off me! I swear I’ll—”

But his hand moved, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties and sliding them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the dim yellow light.

The air hit your wet folds, cold and wrong, and you caught sight of the white-pinkish string of your tampon resting just inside your hole—or, if you wore pads instead, the crumpled pad stained with a faint rust color, shifted out of place.

He stared at it with the same eerie reverence he had shown the pillow of hair, his smile softening into something almost tender, almost sheepish.

“This one is going to my collection as well,” he murmured, his fingertip toying with the edge of the string, pulling it gently, letting it slip back, watching it disappear into your body.

Your entire being screamed in protest. But his fingers closed around the string, and within a single second, he yanked it out in one swift, clean motion.

The tampon slid free, soaked deep red—or, if you used pads instead, the pad peeled away, heavy with blood. A thin trickle immediately began to run down, tracing your inner thigh before pooling in the crease of your groin.

The pain was sharp, a sudden cramp in your lower abdomen, and you gasped, your body arching against the ropes.

Choso held the bloody tampon/pad up between his thumb and forefinger, examining it like a curious artifact. Then he dropped it on the floor beside the pillow, his attention returning to your blood-slicked cunt. He licked his lips.

“Heard of a trick?” he said, his voice casual, almost conversational. He brought his other hand up, spat onto his own fingers, coating them with a thick, glistening saliva.

“If you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... you’d be at ease.”

His mouth descended on your clit at the same moment his two thick, rough fingers forced their way into your cunt, plunging deep without warning.

The stretch was brutal—your walls clenched, trying to reject the invasion, but he was relentless, his digits driving deeper, curling, searching, scraping against the tender inner flesh.

The pain exploded from your abdomen and your vagina simultaneously, a white-hot spike that stole your breath and left you wheezing, tears pouring down your face.

“Stop—stop! Please—you’re hurting me—!”

“Hm?” He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing your clit as his tongue flicked out, licking a long, slow stripe directly over the swollen nub, tasting the mix of your blood and your natural slick.

His fingers continued to pump inside you, each thrust sending a fresh wave of agony through your pelvis, and you felt him searching for something, his fingertips pressing against the walls, digging, trying to hook onto something.

Your body was rigid, every muscle locked in a desperate attempt to endure, but your sobs were uncontrollable now, your throat raw. “What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!”

“….Shh...” His fingers finally found what they were looking for—you looked down through your tears and saw his hand, the one that had been inside you, pull out, coated in thick red blood that dripped onto the floor.

Without wiping it, he rested that hand on the concrete, palm flat, leaving a crimson print, and then his other hand—the one that had held the pillow—moved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a moment’s pause, starting the brutal rhythm all over again.

He hummed against your clit, his mouth smeared with the mix of your juices and your blood, and between licks he murmured, soft and dreamy, “You feel so good when you’re like this.”

He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was over—that maybe he had satisfied whatever sick curiosity had driven him.

But then he tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach clench.

“Hm?” His face was serious now, no trace of that sheepish smile, no dreamy hum. Just a flat, observing stillness.

You could only pant, your chest heaving violently, your body slick with sweat. The mess was everywhere—between your thighs, smeared across your inner legs, pooling on the concrete floor beneath.

You were too scared to look down. But you felt it.

The pain in your abdomen that had been a sharp, twisting knot just moments ago—it was gone. Vanished. Like it had never existed.

Your body felt empty in a way that should have been relief, but instead, it only amplified the horror, because you knew—you knew—It was his doing. His fingers.

Your silence stretched, and Choso's lips curled into a slow, creeping chuckle.

"So," he said, his voice low and smug, "I'm better at researching than you, hm..."

“......”

Before you could form a response, he lifted his hand—the one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wet—and brought it to his lips.

He held your gaze, unwavering, as his tongue slid out, slow and deliberate, and he licked a long, flat stripe up the length of his palm, from the base of his wrist to the tips of his fingers, tasting your blood like it was fine wine.

His eyes fluttered half-closed, a soft moan escaping his throat as he savored it, his lips parting to reveal a tongue stained red.

“Uhck-” A gag rose in your throat, bitter and acidic, and you turned your head away, but there was nowhere to hide.

The sight was seared into your mind—his mouth glistening with your essence, his satisfaction written in every line of his face. You were disgusting to yourself, and he was reveling in it.

He lowered his hand, but he didn't wipe it clean. Instead, he leaned over you, his body casting a shadow that swallowed you whole.

His eyes drifted down to your wrists, where the ropes had bitten deep, leaving angry red welts and raw, chafed skin.

He looked back at your face, and the smile returned—soft, almost fond, but with a glint in his eye that promised more.

"Well," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "I, yet have to go through you…"

He smashed his mouth against yours, hard and bruising, his lips wet and slick with the residue of your blood.

The taste hit your tongue instantly—copper, salt, the unmistakable metallic tang of your own body flooding your senses.

His mouth moved against yours, not gently, not exploring, but taking as his tongue pushed past your lips and swept inside, spreading the taste of yourself deeper, coating your palate, forcing you to swallow the mixture of his saliva and your blood.

You tried to pull away, but your head was trapped, his hand came up to grip your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you in place.

When he finally broke away, a thin string of red-tinted saliva stretched between your lips before snapping. Your breath came in ragged, broken gasps, your lips numb, your tongue heavy with the taste you couldn't spit out.

Your eyes dropped, dragging across his body with a sick kind of involuntary curiosity, and that's when you saw it—the dark, glistening stain spreading across the front of his pants.

Despite the zipper being closed, despite the denim being buttoned tight, the fabric was soaked through, a dark patch of wetness blooming from his crotch down his thigh, as if he had been leaking this entire time.

The material clung to him, transparent in places, revealing the outline of his cock straining beneath, the tip pressing against the seam like it was trying to break free.

Like a dog in heat.

He had been dripping, drooling inside his pants while he kissed you, while he licked your blood off his fingers, while he smiled at your terror.

Choso followed your gaze, then looked back up at you with that same soft, dreamy smile. He didn't seem embarrassed. He seemed proud.

"Ah…" he breathed, his voice husky, almost reverent. "You noticed."

He reached down, not to hide it, but to cup himself, his palm pressing against the soaked fabric, squeezing gently as a low moan escaped his lips.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the pressure, and when they opened again, the innocence was gone. What stared back was raw, hungry, unhinged—a yandere's glaze that promised nothing but consumption.

"I've been really holding back," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "waiting for the right moment. But I can't anymore hngh... You're too... good."

He fumbled with the button of his jeans, his fingers slick with a mixture of your fluids and his own, and the metal clinked as it came undone.

His cock sprang free, jutting out from the opening of his underwear, fully erect, veined and leaking.

You tried to turn your head away, but he grabbed your jaw again, forcing you to look.

"Watch," he commanded, his tone soft but steel-edged. "You need to see what you do to me. What you've always done to me."

He was salivating, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth as he stared at your bound, trembling form, and when he leaned in, his tongue darted out to catch the drool…

"Don't worry," he murmured, positioning the head of his cock against your soaked, battered entrance. "I'll make you feel everything."

He pushed.

There was no teasing, no slow entry—just a single, brutal thrust that buried himself inside you to the hilt.

Your back arched, a scream tearing from your throat, but the sound was swallowed by the wet, obscene squelch as his cock drove through your blood and your slick, stretching you beyond what you thought possible.

He filled you completely, his hips flush against yours, and for a moment, he just stayed there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Augh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this blood—it's like a glove made just for me."

He pulled back, nearly all the way out, and then slammed in again, harder this time. He set a rhythm—fast, punishing, relentless—his balls slapping against your skin with every drive.

One time. Two. Three. You stopped counting after ten, after twenty, after the world dissolved into a haze of pain and the slick, filthy noise of his hips meeting yours.

He fucked you through the ropes, through your tears, through the blood that dripped from between your thighs to pool beneath.

His drool fell onto your chest, onto your neck, mixing with your sweat, and he licked it off you between thrusts, his tongue scraping against your skin like he was trying to consume you.

"More…" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need more…. so much more… ngh-"

He came inside you the first time—hot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and red—but he didn't stop.

He kept thrusting, his softening cock sliding in and out of his own cum and your blood, and within seconds, he was hard again, grinding against your oversensitive flesh.

A second time, a third, he lost count himself, he fucked you until your mind went blank, until all you could do was stare at the ceiling with glassy, unfocused eyes, your mouth hanging open, drool mixing with his on your chin.

When he finally pulled out, cock still half-hard, dripping with a milky red sludge, he collapsed on top of you, panting, nuzzling into your neck. His voice was soft now, almost affectionate.

“Hah…" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. “You'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibition…”

“And then it'd finally be finished…”

—

The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.

A staff member—one of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expression—leaned against the counter near the exit, scrolling through his phone.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he looked up, his face shifting into a practiced, pleasant smile.

Choso walked in, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty space. He was dressed in his usual plain clothes—dark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder—but there was something different about him today.

A faint, almost imperceptible sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Hey, welcome back," Derek said, straightening. "Haven't seen you in a while, man. Thought you might've found a new place to hang out."

Choso didn't respond immediately. He walked past the counter, heading toward the back where the larger tanks were kept, the ones used for special orders. Derek followed, curiosity piqued.

Choso stopped in front of a massive tank sitting on a wheeled dolly. It was nearly the size of a refrigerator, made of thick glass, its top sealed with a dark, opaque lid.

The tank was already filled—packed, actually—with what looked like water, but the lid prevented any view of the contents.

"This one," Choso said, his voice calm, almost casual. He placed a hand on the tank's surface, his fingers spreading wide as if claiming it.

Derek blinked. "That's a big tank. What kind of fish you planning to put in there? Something from the deep sea?"

Choso's head turned slowly, his eyes meeting Derek's. There was a flicker of something behind them—amusement, perhaps?

"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.

Derek waited for more—a name, a species, anything—but Choso simply turned back to the tank, his hand still resting on the glass.

The other guy scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the price tag taped to the side. It was high. Very high. More than enough to make the manager happy, and frankly, Derek didn't care enough to pry.

"Well, uh—you want help loading it into your car?" he asked, stepping forward. "It's pretty heavy. I can grab a cart."

Choso nodded, a single, quiet motion. "That would be good."

They worked in near silence, Derek wheeling the dolly toward the loading bay while Choso walked beside him.

Derek grunted as they maneuvered it into the back of Choso's old sedan, he wiped his hands on his pants.

"Alright, that should do it. Take care of that fish, yeah?" Derek said, forcing a grin.

“……” Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throat—a shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.

"Yeah…" he whispered, more to himself than to the other dude. "I will."

He got into the driver's seat, closed the door, and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Derek watched him go, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

Something felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He shrugged, turned, and walked back inside, already pulling out his phone.

Choso watched the aquarium shrink in his rearview mirror, the grin spreading across his face. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, and his breathing was shallow, rapid.

The pieces he had collected till now, pieces of you.

It'll be all completed now…

You had always preferred the aquarium before opening hours. The absence of visitors transformed the entire place into something almost dreamlike.

Water flowed through pipes above and beneath the exhibits, creating a steady background noise that had long since become comforting. Schools of fish drifted lazily through carefully maintained habitats while artificial reefs cast shifting shadows across the glass.

Usually people would probably find it repetitive after a while, spending every day surrounded by the same exhibits and routines, but you never had. If anything, the familiarity was exactly what kept you here.

Most of your work consisted of checking water parameters, monitoring temperatures, cleaning viewing panels, inspecting filtration equipment, and ensuring each habitat remained stable.

The animals themselves required constant attention as well. Feeding schedules had to be followed precisely, certain species needed closer observation than others, and every new arrival required proper acclimation before being introduced into a display tank. To be honest, most days weren't difficult at all.

You were finishing a final inspection of one of the freshwater displays when a familiar coworker approached from behind, clipboard tucked beneath their arm. They glanced briefly toward the back storage area before turning their attention to you.

"Did you finish preparing that setup?"

You straightened from where you'd been crouching beside the tank and nodded. "The custom order? Yeah. Everything's ready."

Your coworker seemed satisfied with the answer, "Good. I wasn't sure if the decorations arrived yesterday." But before they could continue, another thought crossed your mind.

"Did he come by yet?"

The look they gave you was immediate. "The fish guy?"

A small laugh escaped you. “Yeah, him."

"I haven't seen him today. Choso, right? But if he's coming, it'll probably be soon. Didn't he ask you to hold those butterfly koi?"

You nodded. For nearly two weeks now, he'd been stopping by every few days to ask about them. Not because he intended to buy them immediately, but because he wanted to make sure they were healthy, eating properly, and adjusting well.

Most customers pointed at whatever looked pretty and pulled out their wallets. He asked questions. A lot of them.

"Then I'll get everything prepared just in case."

"Honestly, at this point we should just give him employee benefits!"

You rolled your eyes as your coworker walked away, though the comment wasn't entirely inaccurate. He visited often enough that nearly everyone recognized him by now. Not in an annoying-customer sort of way, either.

He was polite, respectful, and genuinely interested in the animals. Compared to some of the people you dealt with on a daily basis, he was probably one of your favorite regulars.

The sound of the entrance doors opening drew your attention toward the front of the building. Without thinking, your gaze lifted from the clipboard in your hands. Right on time.

The man who stepped inside looked much the same as he always did. Dark clothing hung comfortably from his tall frame, loose enough to appear casual without looking careless. Long black hair had been pulled back, though a few strands had escaped near his face, softening otherwise sharp features.

A pair of silver piercings caught the overhead lighting briefly whenever he moved, creating small flashes of reflected light before disappearing again. There was nothing particularly loud or attention-seeking about his appearance, yet somehow he always stood out among the usual visitors.

Several employees greeted him as he passed. "Morning."

"Good to see you again."

"Back already?"

He acknowledged each greeting with a small nod before continuing further inside.

You found yourself smiling slightly as you approached. "Good morning."

His gaze shifted toward you immediately. There was something oddly reassuring about that.

No matter how busy the aquarium was, no matter how many people happened to be around, he always seemed to notice you first.

"Morning."

"What are you looking for today?" you asked to make sure.

"The butterfly koi."

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "They've become your favorites, huh?"

"They're beautiful."

That was another thing you'd noticed about him over the months. Whenever he talked about fish, there was a genuine fondness in his voice that was difficult to miss.

He'd told you before that collecting different species had become a hobby of his years ago, something he'd gradually expanded until several aquariums occupied entire sections of his home. Most people collected stamps, books, or figures. He collected living ecosystems.

It was strangely charming.

"Well, you're in luck," you said. "They're doing great."

Before either of you could continue, a voice called from behind the counter. "Hey! If he wants to look around, take him to the new arrivals section. We got a shipment in this morning."

You glanced back and nodded. "Sure." Turning toward him once more, you opened your mouth. "Sir—"

You never even finished the sentence.

He was already standing beside you, prepared to follow before you'd actually asked.

For a moment, you simply stared. Then you shook your head with a quiet laugh and started walking, hearing his footsteps fall into place behind you almost immediately.

You spent the next half hour showing him around the new arrivals section.

He walked beside you quietly while you pointed things out, occasionally stopping in front of a display tank as fish drifted between rocks and vegetation.

"These ones are still being monitored," you explained, gesturing toward a smaller tank. "They handled transport pretty well, but we always observe them for a while before introducing them into larger displays."

He hummed softly in acknowledgment. Every now and then he would ask a question about a particular species or comment on a decoration that caught his eye, but otherwise he seemed content simply hearing you talk.

It was strangely easy.

You'd dealt with plenty of customers who interrupted constantly or acted as though they knew more than the employees responsible for caring for the animals.

"My newest aquarium is still unfinished," he said suddenly. "I've been redecorating it."

The way he said it made it sound less like a hobby and more like a long-term project.

"What are you keeping in it?"

"A few koi. Some freshwater species." He studied one of the tanks briefly before continuing. "It's not exactly how I want it yet."

You smiled. "Perfectionist?"

"Maybe."

A laugh escaped you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he looked at you. "Once it's finished, I'd like you to come see it."

The request caught you slightly off guard. You knew he wasn't asking with any strange intentions. At least, you didn't think so. He was one of the aquarium's most trusted customers, after all.

Still. Visiting a customer's home wasn't exactly standard procedure.

"Oh…" You hesitated. "I mean... maybe some other day?"

His gaze lingered on you for a moment. Just quiet. Then he nodded. "Whenever you're free."

Something about that answer immediately eased whatever tension had briefly formed in your shoulders. Just acceptance.

Honestly, that was one of the reasons you found him easy to be around. People could be surprisingly persistent when they wanted something from you. But he never seemed to be.

"Sounds good," you replied with a small smile.

—

Eventually the two of you returned to the counter where the butterfly koi had already been prepared.

The fish floated calmly inside a clear transport bag filled with water and oxygen, secured tightly at the top before being placed inside a protective carrier bag.

You carefully lifted it onto the counter. "Here they are."

Choso reached for the bag at the same time you adjusted your grip. His fingers brushed yours briefly.

The contact lasted no longer than a second before he took the carrier from your hands. "Thank you."

With one final glance toward the koi, he gave a small nod and headed toward the exit.

You watched him leave before returning to work.

—

The next time he visited was two days later. Then again a day after that. And then the day after that.

Eventually his presence became as familiar as the filtration systems humming throughout the building.

Most of the time he wandered between exhibits studying different species with genuine interest. Sometimes he would stop beside a tank and ask a question about compatibility, feeding habits, or habitat requirements.

You often caught him watching while you fed the displays or recorded maintenance notes throughout the day. Not in a way that felt intrusive. Just Curious.

When you explained something, he listened. When he asked questions, they were thoughtful. And whenever he talked about expanding his own collection, there was an unmistakable enthusiasm behind it.

You found yourself looking forward to those conversations. It was nice meeting someone who cared about these things as much as you did.

—

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

The aquarium was busier than usual, enough that you'd barely had a moment to sit down since your shift started. Between helping visitors, checking exhibits, answering questions, and handling a small issue with one of the filtration systems, the hours had slipped by almost without notice.

By the time you finally managed to sneak away for a few minutes, you felt more relieved than anything.

The staff restroom was tucked away near one of the back hallways, far from the main exhibits where guests normally wandered. It was quiet there, removed from the constant chatter and excited voices that echoed through the aquarium.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped into the hallway. Only to stop— someone was standing directly outside.

“Choso—?”

He stood a few feet away, his tall frame nearly filling the narrow corridor. He seemed just as startled as you were. The moment the door opened and his eyes landed on you, he immediately took a small step backward, almost as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been.

You blinked. "What are you doing back here?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

“......” His mouth opened slightly. Then closed again. For a moment, neither of you said anything. And your confusion only deepened.

The hallway wasn't exactly somewhere customers had reason to be. Most visitors never even saw this section of the building.

Maybe he'd gotten lost. That seemed like the most reasonable explanation.

"Oh, this area's for staff only." You lifted a hand and pointed toward the opposite end of the corridor. "The public restrooms are over there. If you keep going left and follow the signs, you'll find them."

His gaze followed the direction you indicated before returning to you. For some reason, he still didn't move.

“Umm,” You shifted your weight slightly. "Do you want me to show you where it is?"

For a second, Choso looked almost hesitant. Then he shook his head.

"No." His voice was quiet. "It's fine. I can..." The sentence trailed off before he seemed to know how to finish it.

“Oh okay.” You gave a small nod, waiting for him to move first.

Expecting him to head toward the public area you'd pointed out. But he just stood there looking back at you as if waiting for something else.

Maybe four seconds? It was kind of getting awkward…

Eventually, deciding there wasn't much more to say, you offered him a polite smile and started walking down the hallway.

One step. Two, three. By the fifth, curiosity got the better of you. You slightly glanced over your shoulder to check but… the corridor was empty.

Gone…?

The hallway wasn't particularly large. There weren't many places to disappear to, and yet somehow Choso was no longer standing where he'd been only seconds earlier.

Maybe he'd turned the corner…? Maybe he'd finally gone toward the public restrooms.

That had to be it. Still, the speed of it felt oddly strange. And, before you could think about it any longer, another voice called from farther down the hall.

"[Name]!!!"

You turned immediately. One of your coworkers was standing near the storage room entrance, struggling with a stack of boxes balanced against their hips.

"Can you help me with these? Please."

The thought vanished from your mind almost instantly. "Yeah, of course." Changing direction, you headed toward them without another glance behind you.

—

After helping with the boxes, you had barely managed to return to your own tasks before another issue demanded attention. A shipment needed logging, supplies had to be reorganized, and someone had misplaced maintenance records that took far longer to locate than they should have.

By the time things finally began settling down, the strange encounter in the hallway had almost slipped from your mind. Almost.

You were carrying a stack of paperwork back toward the front counter when one of the staff members looked up from their computer.

"Hey."

They glanced around the aquarium before looking directly at you. "Did Choso already leave?"

The question caught you off guard.

"What?"

“Yeah." They shrugged. "I haven't seen him in a while."

Another employee nearby laughed. "When have you ever needed to ask that? Just find [Name] and you'll find him somewhere within five minutes."

"That's exactly why I'm asking her!" A few others chuckled quietly.

You rolled your eyes, though there wasn't much argument you could make against that logic.

Over the past few weeks, it had become somewhat of an unspoken joke among the staff.

If Choso was in the building, chances were he was either talking to you, following you around while you explained something, or standing nearby watching you work.

The thought should have been amusing. Instead, your mind immediately drifted back to the hallway. To the way he'd been standing there. To how strangely nervous he'd looked.

And then—Gone. Just... gone.

No goodbye, no quick wave, no small nod before leaving. Nothing… which was odd. Because usually, whenever he was about to leave, he'd let you know.

It wasn't anything formal. Sometimes it was just a brief "See you next time."

Sometimes a quiet nod in your direction while carrying whatever he'd purchased. Once, he'd simply paused beside the counter long enough to say, "Take care."

Small things. But enough that you'd noticed their absence.

But today, why had he left so suddenly? Had something happened? An emergency?

Maybe you were overthinking it. Still… the more you thought about it, the stranger it felt.

"[Name]?"

You blinked.

The employee was still looking at you expectantly.

"Oh…” You shifted the paperwork slightly against your chest. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

You shook your head. "I was busy on the other side of the building."

"Huh. He probably left already then.”

For everyone else, it was a completely ordinary interaction. For you, however, the thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.

—

The next morning passed peacefully.

You were halfway through checking one of the freshwater exhibits when the familiar sound of the entrance doors opening reached your ears.

You looked up automatically. And there he was.

For some reason, relief settled over you immediately. Maybe because the previous day had felt oddly unfinished. Maybe because now you could finally stop wondering.

Choso stepped inside, offering polite nods to several employees who greeted him before his gaze found yours. As always…

A small smile tugged at your lips. You set your clipboard aside and approached him. "Morning."

"Morning."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, the question slipped out.

"Can I ask you something?" You folded your arms loosely. "What happened yesterday?"

"You left really suddenly."

A brief pause.

"You were back near the staff hallway, then next thing I knew you were gone." You laughed lightly.

"I thought maybe something happened."

Another pause. Then Choso gave a small nod. "Something like that."

You blinked. "An emergency?"

"Mm." His answer was quiet, calm. Nothing about him seemed particularly troubled. No signs that whatever had happened was still bothering him.

Almost immediately, your concern eased.

"Oh. Okay, good." You rubbed the back of your neck.

“As you know, you're one of our regular customers. If something happened, I'd want to know."

That wasn't entirely a lie. Maintaining good relationships with regular customers was important. Especially customers like him.

It made sense to be concerned. At least, that's what you told yourself.

The corners of his mouth softened slightly. "I'm fine." The simple answer settled the matter.

Whatever had happened yesterday clearly wasn't serious enough to dwell on. And with that reassurance, the strange feeling that had followed you home finally disappeared.

The two of you resumed walking through the aquarium together, stopping occasionally in front of various exhibits while discussing fish species and habitat setups.

Eventually, the conversation drifted toward his collection again.

"So." You glanced over at him. "Is your aquarium finished yet?"

After all, you'd been hearing about this mysterious project for weeks.

His gaze remained fixed on the exhibit in front of him, following the slow movement of a koi as it glided beneath a cluster of water plants.

"Not yet."

You glanced at him. "Still not finished?"

A quiet sigh escaped him, almost lost beneath the hum of filtration systems running throughout the aquarium.

"I'm stuck."

The admission came without argument. If anything, he sounded vaguely frustrated with himself.

You folded your arms loosely and leaned against the railing separating visitors from the display tank. "What's the problem now?"

For a moment, Choso didn't answer. His eyes lingered on the fish swimming lazily through the water before he finally spoke.

"The decorations. They don't look right..."

A smile tugged at your lips. "According to who?"

His attention shifted toward you. "Me." A faint crease appeared between his brows. "The layout feels unfinished."

"You've said that every single time we've talked about it!"

"Because it does."

The stubbornness in his voice made your smile widen.

Honestly, if anyone else had been this obsessed with arranging a fish tank, you probably would've found it ridiculous. But somehow it felt different coming from him.

Maybe because he genuinely cared about it. Maybe because you'd spent the last few months listening to him talk about aquatic ecosystems with the same seriousness most people reserved for major life decisions.

"You know," you said after a moment, tilting your head thoughtfully, "at some point you're going to have to stop staring at it."

He looked at you. "What if I can't tell what's wrong anymore?" The question sounded surprisingly genuine—like someone who had spent so much time examining every tiny detail that he'd lost all perspective.

Honestly, you understood the feeling. You'd experienced it often enough while designing exhibits for the aquarium. Sometimes you spent so long looking at something that eventually every possible arrangement started to seem wrong.

Before you could stop yourself, the suggestion slipped out. "Okay fine... I could come take a look if you want."

The moment the words left your mouth, you hesitated. Visiting a customer's house wasn't exactly standard procedure. You'd never done it before.

But at the same time… this wasn't exactly a normal customer anymore, was it?

By now Choso was practically part of the aquarium.

The staff knew him by name. Half of them greeted him whenever he walked through the doors. You spent more time talking to him than some of your actual coworkers.

Besides, after hearing about this mysterious aquarium project for weeks, you were curious. Very curious.

Your upcoming days off crossed your mind…

After a brief internal debate, you nodded. "Actually, yeah. I have a couple of days off coming up. I could stop by one afternoon."

For a second, Choso simply stared. The reaction was subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't have noticed.

His eyes widened slightly before he seemed to catch himself. "You would?" The question sounded almost cautious.

You laughed. "Sure."

“…..” His attention remained fixed on you.

"We both like the same things, don't we?" A small smile tugged at your lips. "If you're really stuck, I don't mind helping. Besides, I spend all day building habitats and arranging displays anyway."

The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, but something about it felt strangely significant.

Then, quietly, he said, "Really?"

You blinked. "Yeah. Why are you so surprised?"

For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his expression before disappearing entirely. "I'd appreciate that."

"Then it's settled!"

The words had barely left your mouth before he responded.

"I'll pick you up."

You paused. The offer itself wasn't strange. In fact, it was probably the most practical solution. Still, your immediate answer was a shake of your head.

"No, that's okay."

His expression didn't change, but you could feel his attention sharpen.

You gestured vaguely toward the front entrance. "There's a convenience store near the station, right? The one on the corner?"

He nodded. Almost everyone in the area knew it.

"I'll just wait there."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Choso's gaze settled on your face. "You don't want me to come to your house."

The observation was so blunt and unexpected that you nearly choked.

"What?" The second the word left your mouth, realization seemed to hit him. You watched it happen in real time.

The slight tightening of his shoulders, the brief flicker of regret in his eyes.

"Sorry."

The apology came immediately. Too soon. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

“……”

Honestly, that wasn't where your mind had gone at all. You were simply being careful. You didn't hand out your address to people easily. Especially not to customers.

Yet somehow he'd immediately assumed he'd crossed a boundary.

"It's… not like that." You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. "No, seriously. It's nothing like that."

A small, awkward laugh escaped you. "I just don't give people my address."

He still looked vaguely guilty. As if he was replaying the conversation and trying to pinpoint exactly where he'd gone wrong. The sight was oddly endearing.

"Choso..."

His eyes lifted.

The corners of your mouth curved upward. "I'm literally agreeing to spend my day off helping you rearrange fish decorations."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "You're fine."

The atmosphere finally eased. Deciding it was probably best to leave things there, you glanced toward the maintenance area.

"I should get back to work."

You stepped away before looking back over your shoulder. "You can keep looking around." Then, smiling, you added, "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

His gaze followed you.

"Okay…"

As you walked away, weaving between exhibits and visitors, you found yourself smiling for reasons you couldn't entirely explain.

Choso really was easy to be around. Almost painfully considerate at times. Sometimes a little too considerate. Quick to apologize and blame himself.

It was strange.

But the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself noticing those small things.

And, perhaps without realizing it, beginning to like them.

—

As promised, you arrived at the convenience store near the station two afternoons later. The weather was pleasant enough to make the short wait enjoyable. A light breeze occasionally brushed past as you checked your phone, glancing up every now and then toward the road.

You hadn't been standing there for long when a familiar vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

Choso stepped out almost immediately after parking. His eyes found you before anything else, and some of the tension in his expression seemed to ease once he realized you were already there.

"You've been waiting long?"

You shook your head. "Only a few minutes."

"I see… that's good."

The simple answer made you smile.

The drive to his house was easy. Conversation came and went naturally, never feeling forced. Sometimes you talked about work, sometimes about fish species, and sometimes there was nothing but comfortable silence between you. It was surprisingly relaxing.

As the city gradually gave way to quieter neighborhoods, you found yourself looking out the window more often. Eventually Choso turned into a driveway, and your eyes widened slightly as the house came into view.

It was much nicer than you had imagined. Not extravagant or overly luxurious, but large, well-maintained, and peaceful in a way that immediately felt welcoming.

"You live here?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

A faint amusement flickered across his face. "Yeah."

You stared at the house for another moment. That earned the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he led you inside.

The moment you stepped through the front door, you immediately understood why some of your coworkers referred to him as the fish guy.

Aquariums…

There were aquariums everywhere.

Not enough to make the house look cluttered, but enough that they were impossible to ignore. Several tanks occupied different rooms, each one carefully maintained and decorated.

Some housed freshwater species while others contained fish you rarely saw outside specialty exhibits. Every tank looked healthy and spotless.

"You weren't exaggerating," you said, slowly turning to take everything in.

"I usually don't."

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Fair enough.”

The amount of effort required to maintain so many tanks was impressive enough on its own. The fact that all of them looked this good was even more surprising.

Eventually Choso led you toward the aquarium you had heard so much about over the past several months. The unfinished project that somehow found its way into half your conversations.

The tank was beautiful. Large pieces of driftwood stretched through the water while carefully arranged stones and plants created a natural-looking environment.

Everything felt balanced without looking artificial. Several koi moved gracefully through the water, their colors flashing beneath the lights.

Almost immediately, something caught your attention.

There were noticeably more butterfly koi than anything else in the aquarium. Their flowing fins drifted behind them as they swam, creating elegant movements throughout the tank.

"You practically bought half our stock."

“There's still left..."

The answer was delivered so seriously that you were slightly taken aback.

For a while the two of you discussed the aquarium exactly as you had imagined. You pointed out areas that looked particularly good, offered a few suggestions, and listened as Choso explained some of the changes he'd made since the last time he'd talked about it.

While examining one section near the back of the tank, however, something unusual caught your eye.

You leaned slightly closer to the glass.

There was a thin white shape tucked among the decorations. At first you thought it might be part of the equipment, but the more you looked, the less certain you became.

It looked almost like a string or…

"What's that?" you asked. "The white thing?"

His expression remained unchanged. "Decoration."

You blinked. "Decoration?"

"Mm."

You looked back at the tank. The answer wasn't exactly convincing, but it wasn't alarming either. It was just... strange.

You'd spent years around aquariums and had never really seen anyone decorate a tank with something that looked quite like that.

Still, there was probably some hobbyist explanation behind it.

"Oh. Okay."

The curiosity lingered for another minute or two before eventually fading into the background as your conversation continued.

The afternoon passed more quickly than you expected.

At one point Choso disappeared briefly into another room before returning.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Oh, you don't have to…."

"It's fine."

You hesitated. Accepting things in someone else's home always felt slightly awkward to you, and Choso seemed to notice the uncertainty almost immediately.

"Water is okay too." The suggestion was so straightforward that you laughed.

“Okay."

A few minutes later he returned with a glass, which you accepted with a quiet thank you before continuing to wander between tanks.

The rest of the visit remained peaceful. You spent time discussing different species, admired several of his other aquariums, and helped him make a few small adjustments to the main display tank. Nothing major—just moving a piece of driftwood slightly and suggesting a few changes that might help the overall balance of the layout.

By the time sunlight began turning golden outside the windows, you were genuinely surprised by how much time had passed.

Stepping back from the aquarium one final time, you nodded approvingly.

"Honestly, it looks really good."

A faint smile appeared on his face at the praise. It lingered for a moment before your attention drifted elsewhere, toward the closed door on the left side of the room.

You had noticed it earlier, but with everything else around you, hadn't thought much of it until now.

Tilting your head, you pointed toward it. "Wait... do you have an aquarium in there too?"

His gaze immediately followed yours. For a second, he simply stared at the door. Then he looked down at you.

"...Yes."

Your eyes brightened with curiosity. "Really? Can I see?"

"No."

The answer came so quickly that it caught you completely off guard.

You blinked.

He always took a moment before speaking, before reacting, before deciding what he wanted to say. Yet this time the response had come instantly, almost before you'd even finished asking.

The realization seemed to hit him a second later.

"It's..." He hesitated, fingers tightening slightly at his side. "...too messy in there." His voice lowered. "You wouldn't like it."

A brief pause.

"...Yet."

The last word came out strangely, as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

You watched him for a moment. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way he refused to look directly at you. The faint uneasiness in his expression.

Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe the room genuinely was a mess or maybe you simply shouldn't have asked so suddenly.

Either way, you decided not to push. You smiled instead.

"Okay, no problem."

The visible tension in his posture eased ever so slightly.

"Just let me know when you're finished with it, though." You pointed toward the door again with a small grin. "I'd love to see it."

For a second, he just stared at you. Then you noticed it. A faint shade of red slowly creeping up the tips of his ears.

His eyes dropped to the floor almost immediately. He gave a small nod.

"...Thanks." The word was barely above a murmur.

You were already turning back toward the aquarium when he spoke again.

"You're too nice to me, [Name]."

The sound of your own name on his lips made you freeze. Somehow it felt different this time. More personal…

You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.

“Ah..." A nervous laugh escaped you as you rubbed the back of your neck.

"It's nothing like that." You offered him an easy smile. "But... thanks, anyway."

The redness in his ears only deepened. He lowered his head again and gave a quiet nod, unable to meet your eyes.

And for some reason, the sight left an odd feeling lingering in your chest long after the conversation ended.

—

When it was finally time to leave, he insisted on driving you back despite your brief attempt to argue otherwise. Eventually you gave up and accepted the ride.

The return trip felt just as comfortable as the drive there.

By the time the convenience store came back into view, the sky had begun turning soft shades of gold and orange.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him.

"Thanks for inviting me." You paused before opening the door. "I had a really nice time today."

For a moment, something softened in his expression. "I'm glad..."

You stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door behind you. "See you at work!"

"I..." He hesitated, fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. "I probably won't be coming by for a while."

“Hmm? What's wrong?”

“…..” His eyes remained fixed ahead, avoiding yours. "This month is... busy."

A brief pause.

"Work. Other things." The explanation sounded vague, even to him. "If I get time, I'll visit."

You blinked, momentarily surprised. You studied him for a second, but he didn't elaborate further. Whatever was keeping him occupied, he clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"Well, alright then.” A small smile returned to your face. "Just don't overwork yourself."

His gaze flickered toward you.

"And take care of yourself, okay? The aquarium isn't going anywhere."See you whenever you come back then."

For a second, he simply looked at you. Then gave a small nod. "...Yeah. See you…”

You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.

—

The next day at work, your pretty, little, period started…

It wasn't exactly a surprise. You had been expecting it for the past few days, tracking the familiar signs that always appeared beforehand, but it was still annoying.

The dull ache settling low in your abdomen made it difficult to focus on anything for long, and the slight irritation that came with it only worsened your mood.

Thankfully, you'd thought ahead this time. A few tampons/pads had already been tucked away inside your bag because you knew your cycle was close, which meant you didn't have to deal with the inconvenience of asking around or making an emergency trip to the store during your shift.

Around mid-morning, you slipped away to the employee restroom. The aquarium was relatively quiet at that hour, leaving you with a few minutes to yourself before returning to work.

You changed as usual, wrapped the used tampon/pad carefully in toilet paper, and dropped it into the small trash bin beside the stall before washing your hands. By the time you walked back out, the entire thing had already left your mind.

Almost an hour and a half later or more, however, you found yourself returning to the restroom again.

The moment you stepped into the stall, your attention immediately landed on the trash bin.

You paused—and frowned.

The bin was empty… completely empty.

For several seconds, you simply stared at it, trying to understand what exactly you were looking at. There should have been something there.

You remembered throwing away the used thing earlier because the memory was still fresh in your mind. It had only been a little over two hours ago.

Slowly, confusion settled over your features.

What…?

You looked around the restroom as though the answer might magically appear somewhere else. The sinks were untouched. The floor was clean. Everything looked exactly the same as it had before. Except for the bin.

Your brows furrowed.

Had the cleaner come through? But when?

The cleaner usually came early in the morning before opening hours and then again near closing time, sometime after six in the evening. You had never once seen the restroom serviced in the middle of the day unless there was some kind of emergency.

So who emptied it?

The question lingered long after you left the restroom.

It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. Realistically, there were plenty of explanations. Maybe someone had changed the cleaning schedule. Maybe another staff member had been assigned to it.

Maybe there was some perfectly normal reason that simply hadn't been communicated to you. Yet despite all those possibilities, the sight of the empty bin continued to nag at the back of your mind throughout the rest of the afternoon.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only strange thing occupying your thoughts.

Over the past few weeks, little things had been disappearing.

At first, you hadn't paid much attention to it because everyone misplaced things occasionally. A missing pen wasn't unusual.

Neither was a lost hair tie or a notebook that had somehow ended up in the wrong place. Life got busy. People forgot things. It happened.

Except it kept happening. And the more you thought about it, the harder it became to dismiss.

Items you used almost daily. Even small things that seemed impossible to lose simply stopped existing one day, as though they had been quietly erased from your life.

Normally, lost things turned up eventually. They fell behind furniture, slipped beneath piles of laundry, or appeared in places you'd already checked three times before. But yours never came back.

Lately, it had become so frequent that you found yourself constantly searching for things.

Where did I put that? Didn't I just have it yesterday? Wasn't it right here?

The questions repeated themselves so often that they had become part of your daily routine.

You had even started asking your coworkers about it. Casually, of course. You didn't want to sound strange…

But every answer was the same…

“No.”

Nobody had seen anything, nobody knew where your belongings were going.

As the days passed, the disappearances began piling on top of each other until they formed something impossible to ignore. It wasn't just frustrating anymore. It was unsettling.

By the end of your shift, you found yourself zoning out more often than usual. Questions from visitors sometimes had to be repeated before you realized they were speaking to you. Conversations drifted past without fully registering. Even your coworkers noticed.

"You okay?"

The question came more than once. You always answered the same way. "Yeah. Just tired."

It was easier than explaining.

Because how exactly were you supposed to explain these shits? The concerns sounded ridiculous the moment you tried putting them into words.

So you kept them to yourself.

But even as you continued working, smiling at visitors and carrying on with your responsibilities, your thoughts kept circling back to the same things.

—

A whole month had passed like that—the same thing every morning and evening.

At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.

You thought the absence would feel obvious somehow—that you'd keep looking toward the entrance every morning expecting to see familiar dark clothing stepping through the doors, or catch yourself scanning the exhibits whenever someone tall passed by.

But… he had simply disappeared. Exactly as he'd said he would.

For the first week, you barely thought about it.

By the second, you occasionally found yourself wondering whether his project was finally finished.

By the third, you caught yourself glancing toward the entrance more often than you cared to admit.

Then slowly, you stopped expecting him entirely. Whatever work had pulled him away must have been keeping him busy.

Besides, you had enough things occupying your thoughts already. The disappearing belongings hadn't stopped. If anything, they'd become more irritating.

Eventually, you stopped bringing it up altogether.

It was easier to accept the frustration than continue sounding like someone convinced their belongings were developing legs and walking away on their own.

The month rolled onward…

Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentration—

Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. “[Name], have you received the letter yet?”

The question hung in the air, and you blinked, your hand pausing mid-motion. Letter? You frowned, trying to recall any notice or memo that had crossed your desk, but nothing came to mind.

“What letter?” you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

Your colleague let out a light laugh, shaking her head as if she had expected your answer.

“Oh, guess you haven’t heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,” she said, her tone dropping into something more conspiratorial, as if she were sharing a secret that everyone else already knew.

Your brow furrowed deeper, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. Move? Why? You could feel the heat of concern rising in your chest as you set down the documents, your mind racing through possibilities.

“Did I do something?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldn’t quite suppress.

But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. “Oh, nothing like that. You’re just getting transferred for your good work,” she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.

“Maybe you should talk to the manager yourself.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the manager’s office, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.

He welcomed you with a genial smile, as if he had been expecting you, and confirmed everything your colleague had said—yes, you were being transferred, a promotion of sorts, a recognition of your efforts.

You would receive the official email or letter soon, he said, his tone final and administrative, leaving little room for further questions.

You thanked him, your mind already churning with a mix of frustration and resignation, feeling the wheels of change turning without your consent.

—

When you finally returned home that evening, there was an envelope waiting inside your mailbox.

You stared at it for a moment before pulling it free. Your name was printed neatly across the front.

The organization's logo occupied the upper corner.

You carried it inside.

The subject line was formal, the body of the letter filled with praise for your dedication and skill, thanking you for your contributions and expressing their delight in having you move to the new position.

By the time you reached the end, however, all you could manage was a long sigh. Your head dropped backward against the couch.

The transfer was good news. Yet somehow it still felt so exhausting.

After setting the letter aside, your attention shifted toward the envelope resting on the table.

Your name, address, personal information printed clearly across the front.

You reached for it automatically, intending to throw it away. Then paused. A memory surfaced unexpectedly.

Your mother standing beside a trash bin years ago. Her voice carrying the same warning she'd repeated countless times throughout your childhood.

"Don't throw things away like that."

You remembered rolling your eyes. "It's just paper!”

"And it's also your information." She'd always insisted on tearing documents apart before discarding them. Letters, bills, packages. Anything containing personal details.

At the time, you'd thought she was being overly dramatic. Paranoid, even. Nobody was digging through trash looking for random pieces of paper.

At least, that's what you'd always believed.

But lately...

With belongings disappearing. Items going missing without explanation. Questions that never seemed to have answers.

You looked down at the envelope. Then slowly folded it in half and tore it. Reducing it to several uneven pieces before finally dropping them into the trash can.

Only then did you stand and make your way toward your bedroom. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you collapsed onto it with a tired groan.

The room was quiet. Outside, distant traffic drifted faintly through the window.

You stared up at the ceiling with so many thoughts.

Day after tomorrow… that was when the new position started. A completely different workplace.

You wondered what it would be like. Whether you'd fit in, whether the people there would be friendly, whether you'd miss the aquarium more than you expected.

—

The apartment has the particular silence of a place that has already half-emptied itself, and you are the only thing left breathing in it.

It's 1:04 in the morning, and you are still awake. You don't think you're going to stop being awake any time soon.

And that's—when the knock comes.

Three soft, even raps against the door. Not loud. Almost polite… you slowly move from the bed before the knocks come again.

Nobody should come here at this time—

You don't let yourself finish that thought and quickly put your eye to the peephole.

For one full second, your brain simply refuses to process what it's looking at — dark hair, tall, still posture, hands clasped in front of him like he's waiting to be let into somewhere holy.

Choso.

Standing in your hallway. Inside the apartment whose address you never, not once, gave him.

A short, stupid, unthinking flood of it, warm in your chest before your mind even catches up to ask the question it should have asked first: Why is he here? And how?

"Choso?" Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to, muffled through the door.

He doesn't answer right away. You watch him through the warped little lens, and something about his stillness.

"It's me," he says finally. The same voice you remember. Low. Even. Almost gentle. "Can you open the door…?”

“......”

You will ask yourself later why you didn't just speak through the door. Why some old, trusting part of you hadn't yet caught up with everything else that was already screaming.

But a month of silence from someone you'd quietly, helplessly worried about does strange, traitorous things to your judgment.

You unlocked the door, your hands trembling slightly, and pulled it open, the chain still on. "Choso?" you said, your voice a mix of relief and confusion, the words tumbling out before you could think. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in—"

"I need your help," he said, cutting you off. His voice was calm.

He didn't smile, didn't offer any explanation for his disappearance. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and unwavering. "You have to come with me. It's important.”

You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!”

“I'm—I'm packing. I have a transfer. Can we talk tomorrow?" You gestured vaguely behind you at the boxes, the chaos of your apartment, hoping he would understand.

But he didn't. His brow furrowed, a line of confusion cutting across his forehead, as if the concept of tomorrow was foreign to him.

"No... It has to be now. You said you would help me… You told me, remember?”

“When I needed it, you would be there."

The words hit you like a cold splash. You did remember. You had offered a platitude, the kind of kindness you gave to strangers. "If you ever need anything, I'll help you," you had said, not thinking much of it, assuming it would never come to this.

"Choso, I meant like—normal situations," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a thread of unease was winding through your chest.

"Not showing up at my door at one in the morning and asking me to leave without telling me why. That's not—that's not what I meant."

His expression didn't change. If anything, he seemed to grow stiller, a statue in the dim light. "You said help. You didn't say when or how. I need you now."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to rest on the doorframe, and you noticed his fingers were trembling slightly, though his face betrayed no emotion. "Something is happening. I can't explain it here. But you have to come."

You noticed details you hadn't before—the way his pupils seemed too large, swallowing the iris, the faint smell of something sharp and chemical clinging to his clothes, like antiseptic or a cleaning agent.

And then a thought struck you, cold and distant: how did he find your address? You had never told him where you lived. You had never mentioned the street name, the building, nothing.

"I can't," you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart was hammering. "I'm not going anywhere with you at this hour. I don't even know where you've been for the past month. And now you show up like this?" You started to close the door, the chain grinding against the lock.

But his hand shot out, pressing against the wood, stopping it. Not violently, not with aggression, but with a quiet insistence that sent a jolt through your arm.

"You don't understand," he said, and his voice dropped, softer now, almost a whisper. "I've been… Just… Please come with me for once."

The words didn't make sense. You stared at him, your breath shallow, and in that pause, you saw something shift in his demeanor—a flicker of something not quite sane, hidden behind the calm facade.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he had solved but was waiting for you to catch up.

"I found…" he mumbled, barely audible. “Don't do this… I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."

“What—what are you even talking about?"

"I went through everything," Choso says, not quite anger, but the fraying impatience of a man whose generosity is being met, in his own mind. “You said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-”

"Choso, please!" Your voice cracks slightly, every polite, disbelieving thread that's held you here finally snapping at once. "Let go of the door. Please. I need you to leave. Right now!"

"I… can't do that." He says it gently. Almost apologetically. As though your request simply doesn't exist.

"I told you. This is important. More important than you understand right now. You'll understand once we're there. I promise you, you will…"

"There is no ‘’there’, I'm not going anywhere with—"

"You don't have a choice.”

Choso says, stripped at last of every last trace of politeness, "I wish you didn't have to be afraid right now. I never wanted that part of this."

He reached into his pocket, and your muscles tensed, ready to slam the door shut, but he pulled out only a small vial—clear liquid inside, catching the light.

He uncorked it with a soft pop, and before you could react, he flicked his wrist, sending a fine mist toward your face. The sharp chemical smell hit you full force, burning your nostrils, and a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

The hallway began to warp, the edges of your vision blurring, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else.

Your knees buckled, and you felt the door frame slide against your palm as you tried to hold yourself upright. Choso's face swam in front of you, his expression still that same calm, terrible certainty.

—

“......”

You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink against—no light, no shapes, no hint of where you were or what had happened.

The last thing you remembered was the sharp chemical sting in your nostrils, the way your legs had given out, the feeling of Choso's hands catching you before you hit the floor.

And now this: a void so complete it pressed against your eyes like a physical weight. Your heart lurched, a wild, panicked animal trapped in your ribcage, and you tried to move, tried to lift your arms, but they wouldn't budge.

Something tight bit into your wrists, rough fabric or rope, and your ankles were bound too, the pressure anchoring you to what felt like a hard chair beneath you. You were sitting. You were tied. You couldn't see.

Panic erupted in your chest, hot and suffocating. You gasped, but the air tasted stale, heavy with the smell of stagnant water and something metallic, like old coins.

Your fingers curled into fists, straining against the restraints, and you jerked your legs, but the bindings held firm, digging into your skin.

A whimper escaped your throat, and then you tried to scream, but your voice came out cracked and thin, barely a whisper. "Hello? Hello?! Choso! Choso, where are you? What did you do to me?!"

Silence answered, thick and waiting. Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a struggle against the blackness that surrounded you.

You didn't know if your eyes were open or closed—there was no difference, no reference point, just the endless void that made you feel like you had been buried alive.

Your skin crawled with the sensation of being watched, of something close, too close, but invisible.

The panic clawed up your throat, and you screamed again, louder this time, a raw, desperate sound. "Stop—please—let me go! I don't know what you want, but this isn't funny! Choso!"

A faint rustle to your left. Then a whisper of breath against your neck, warm and deliberate, sending a violent shudder down your spine.

You flinched, jerking away, but the ropes held you in place. The voice came soft, almost tender, right beside your ear.

"It's just a blindfold."

Choso's voice.

You turned your head sharply away, but he followed, his lips hovering just above your skin.

"I want to surprise you," he murmured, and there was a smile in his voice, thin and satisfied. "You've been so stressed lately. I thought you deserved something special."

"Let me go!" you snarled, your voice cracking with fury and fear. "What the hell are you doing?! Stop this right now!"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out exhale that carried an edge of disappointment. "You really seem to forget things nowadays, don't you?"

His hand brushed against your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that made your stomach turn. "Remember? You said you wanted to see my hidden exhibition. All those times at the aquarium, you asked about my projects. I told you it wasn't finished yet.

"I'm done now," he continued, his voice dropping lower, conspiratorial. "And I want to show you… I... I've been waiting for this. For you to see it."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Uncertainty crept into your chest. You didn't want to see anything he had made.

His fingers found the knot at the back of your head, and you felt the fabric loosen. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled the blindfold away, and the world rushed back in fragments—first a blur of dim light, then shapes, then colors, your eyes struggling to adjust.

And then you saw.

The room was huge. The walls were lined with fish tanks—dozens of them, stacked in rows.

The tanks were filled with water, murky and still, and inside them, suspended in the liquid like grotesque ornaments, were fish.

But they weren't moving at all.

Their bodies floated at odd angles, eyes glazed and clouded, fins limp, bellies pale. Some were pressed against the glass as if trying to escape, frozen in the final moment of their death.

You stared, your breath catching in your throat. Row after row of dead fish, arranged in silent, rotting rows. The smell hit you then—a thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.

“...W-what…”

A low, creepy giggle bubbled out of Choso's throat, soft at first, then growing, a sound that didn't belong to the calm man you had known.

He was standing beside you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wide and gleaming with a hollow satisfaction. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he whispered.

"I've been collecting them for months. From the aquarium. From anywhere I could find them. They're all part of the exhibition now."

You couldn't speak. Your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth, your mind reeling, trying to reject what you were seeing. He watched your reaction with intensity, his head tilted, his smile thin and knowing.

Then he lifted his hands, and you saw what he was holding: a small pillow, roughly stitched together, its surface covered in a dark, matted material.

That was a damn hair.

Human hair, woven and compacted into a dense, soft mass. He cradled it like a treasure, bringing it up to his nose, inhaling deeply, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

"Look at this," he said, his voice dreamy. "Can you tell which one of your hair I made it from?"

You stared at the pillow, your mind struggling to grasp everything.

Your hair? He had taken your hair? When? How?

…From your brushes, your combs, the strands that fell behind normally. Even the restroom sink… he had collected them, saved them, woven them into this grotesque object.

He waited, his eyes fixed on you, his smile fading slightly as the silence stretched.

"You're right," he said finally, a note of approval in his voice. "It's mixed. I used hair from your head, from your clothes, from everywhere I could find. But..."

He brought the pillow to his face again, burying his nose in it, inhaling with a deep, shuddering breath. "I love the smell of your down hair more."

He had taken that too…

From your underwear, from your laundry, from the intimate remnants of your body that you had never imagined anyone would touch.

The violation was so deep, that a sob broke from your chest.

He didn't seem to notice. He was still nuzzling the pillow, his eyes half-closed, lost in a sensory world you couldn't comprehend.

Then, as if remembering something, he paused, his head snapping up, his gaze sharpening.

"Oh. Right." He turned away quickly, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor as he crossed to a bag lying near one of the tanks.

He rummaged inside, and when he turned back, he was holding something in his hands—a piece of paper, crumpled and fragile, covered in strips of white tape.

He held it up in front of your face, close enough that you could see the faint text, the creases where it had been torn.

Your envelope. The one you had torn apart and thrown into the trash.

But here it was, every piece fitted back together, the tape holding it like stitches on a wound. He had found it. He had taken it. He had put it back together, piece by piece, just to find you.

Choso tilted his head, bringing his face close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek, his eyes searching yours with an eager, childlike earnestness that was more terrifying than any rage.

“Tell me…" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?”

“........” You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The horror that had been building in your chest exploded.

Your body thrashed against the ropes, your shoulders wrenching, your wrists burning as you tried to break free, but the bindings held you fast, biting deeper into your skin with every violent jerk.

“Let me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re insane! You’re fucking insane!”

Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.

“I trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?—You fucking stalked me—get away from me, get away!”

Choso stood perfectly still, watching you with that same calm, patient expression, but his brows slowly knitted together, a crease forming between them.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that didn’t make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.

“Why are you acting so difficult?”

The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritation—just confusion.

He stepped closer, and you tried to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against your hair, and then he began to sniff you. Starting at the top of your head, moving down the side of your face, pausing at your neck where he breathed in deep, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

He continued downward, his face trailing over your collarbone, across your chest, your stomach, your hips, until he was crouched low, his nose hovering just above your thighs.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body locked tight, your panting uneven and shallow.

He paused there, his face inches from your cunt, and then he lifted his gaze, looking up at you through his lashes, a faint, almost shy smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“Ah... again?”

Before you could process what that meant, his hands shot out and grabbed your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a firm, possessive grip.

You screamed, twisting wildly, but your bound legs were useless against his strength. He spread them apart, forcing your knees wide, and despite your frantic wriggling, he hooked your ankles over his shoulders, your tied feet resting against his back.

His head was now positioned directly between your thighs, his face level with the damp fabric of your panties.

“No—NO, STOP! Don’t do it, hey! Don’t you fucking dare!” Your voice was high and ragged, but he paid no attention.

He pressed his face against your crotch, his nose grinding hard against your clit through the thin cotton, and you felt the heat of his breath, the moisture of his lips as he placed slow, deliberate kisses over the outline of your lips.

The fabric grew wetter, darkening from your own arousal and his saliva. Your hands clawed at empty air, reaching for him, trying to push his head away, but the ropes held you back, your fingers twitching uselessly in the space where his hair should have been.

“Mm,” he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. “You smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.”

You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. “Get off me! I swear I’ll—”

But his hand moved, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties and sliding them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the dim yellow light.

The air hit your wet folds, cold and wrong, and you caught sight of the white-pinkish string of your tampon resting just inside your hole—or, if you wore pads instead, the crumpled pad stained with a faint rust color, shifted out of place.

He stared at it with the same eerie reverence he had shown the pillow of hair, his smile softening into something almost tender, almost sheepish.

“This one is going to my collection as well,” he murmured, his fingertip toying with the edge of the string, pulling it gently, letting it slip back, watching it disappear into your body.

Your entire being screamed in protest. But his fingers closed around the string, and within a single second, he yanked it out in one swift, clean motion.

The tampon slid free, soaked deep red—or, if you used pads instead, the pad peeled away, heavy with blood. A thin trickle immediately began to run down, tracing your inner thigh before pooling in the crease of your groin.

The pain was sharp, a sudden cramp in your lower abdomen, and you gasped, your body arching against the ropes.

Choso held the bloody tampon/pad up between his thumb and forefinger, examining it like a curious artifact. Then he dropped it on the floor beside the pillow, his attention returning to your blood-slicked cunt. He licked his lips.

“Heard of a trick?” he said, his voice casual, almost conversational. He brought his other hand up, spat onto his own fingers, coating them with a thick, glistening saliva.

“If you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... you’d be at ease.”

His mouth descended on your clit at the same moment his two thick, rough fingers forced their way into your cunt, plunging deep without warning.

The stretch was brutal—your walls clenched, trying to reject the invasion, but he was relentless, his digits driving deeper, curling, searching, scraping against the tender inner flesh.

The pain exploded from your abdomen and your vagina simultaneously, a white-hot spike that stole your breath and left you wheezing, tears pouring down your face.

“Stop—stop! Please—you’re hurting me—!”

“Hm?” He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing your clit as his tongue flicked out, licking a long, slow stripe directly over the swollen nub, tasting the mix of your blood and your natural slick.

His fingers continued to pump inside you, each thrust sending a fresh wave of agony through your pelvis, and you felt him searching for something, his fingertips pressing against the walls, digging, trying to hook onto something.

Your body was rigid, every muscle locked in a desperate attempt to endure, but your sobs were uncontrollable now, your throat raw. “What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!”

“….Shh...” His fingers finally found what they were looking for—you looked down through your tears and saw his hand, the one that had been inside you, pull out, coated in thick red blood that dripped onto the floor.

Without wiping it, he rested that hand on the concrete, palm flat, leaving a crimson print, and then his other hand—the one that had held the pillow—moved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a moment’s pause, starting the brutal rhythm all over again.

He hummed against your clit, his mouth smeared with the mix of your juices and your blood, and between licks he murmured, soft and dreamy, “You feel so good when you’re like this.”

He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was over—that maybe he had satisfied whatever sick curiosity had driven him.

But then he tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach clench.

“Hm?” His face was serious now, no trace of that sheepish smile, no dreamy hum. Just a flat, observing stillness.

You could only pant, your chest heaving violently, your body slick with sweat. The mess was everywhere—between your thighs, smeared across your inner legs, pooling on the concrete floor beneath.

You were too scared to look down. But you felt it.

The pain in your abdomen that had been a sharp, twisting knot just moments ago—it was gone. Vanished. Like it had never existed.

Your body felt empty in a way that should have been relief, but instead, it only amplified the horror, because you knew—you knew—It was his doing. His fingers.

Your silence stretched, and Choso's lips curled into a slow, creeping chuckle.

"So," he said, his voice low and smug, "I'm better at researching than you, hm..."

“......”

Before you could form a response, he lifted his hand—the one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wet—and brought it to his lips.

He held your gaze, unwavering, as his tongue slid out, slow and deliberate, and he licked a long, flat stripe up the length of his palm, from the base of his wrist to the tips of his fingers, tasting your blood like it was fine wine.

His eyes fluttered half-closed, a soft moan escaping his throat as he savored it, his lips parting to reveal a tongue stained red.

“Uhck-” A gag rose in your throat, bitter and acidic, and you turned your head away, but there was nowhere to hide.

The sight was seared into your mind—his mouth glistening with your essence, his satisfaction written in every line of his face. You were disgusting to yourself, and he was reveling in it.

He lowered his hand, but he didn't wipe it clean. Instead, he leaned over you, his body casting a shadow that swallowed you whole.

His eyes drifted down to your wrists, where the ropes had bitten deep, leaving angry red welts and raw, chafed skin.

He looked back at your face, and the smile returned—soft, almost fond, but with a glint in his eye that promised more.

"Well," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "I, yet have to go through you…"

He smashed his mouth against yours, hard and bruising, his lips wet and slick with the residue of your blood.

The taste hit your tongue instantly—copper, salt, the unmistakable metallic tang of your own body flooding your senses.

His mouth moved against yours, not gently, not exploring, but taking as his tongue pushed past your lips and swept inside, spreading the taste of yourself deeper, coating your palate, forcing you to swallow the mixture of his saliva and your blood.

You tried to pull away, but your head was trapped, his hand came up to grip your jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding you in place.

When he finally broke away, a thin string of red-tinted saliva stretched between your lips before snapping. Your breath came in ragged, broken gasps, your lips numb, your tongue heavy with the taste you couldn't spit out.

Your eyes dropped, dragging across his body with a sick kind of involuntary curiosity, and that's when you saw it—the dark, glistening stain spreading across the front of his pants.

Despite the zipper being closed, despite the denim being buttoned tight, the fabric was soaked through, a dark patch of wetness blooming from his crotch down his thigh, as if he had been leaking this entire time.

The material clung to him, transparent in places, revealing the outline of his cock straining beneath, the tip pressing against the seam like it was trying to break free.

Like a dog in heat.

He had been dripping, drooling inside his pants while he kissed you, while he licked your blood off his fingers, while he smiled at your terror.

Choso followed your gaze, then looked back up at you with that same soft, dreamy smile. He didn't seem embarrassed. He seemed proud.

"Ah…" he breathed, his voice husky, almost reverent. "You noticed."

He reached down, not to hide it, but to cup himself, his palm pressing against the soaked fabric, squeezing gently as a low moan escaped his lips.

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the pressure, and when they opened again, the innocence was gone. What stared back was raw, hungry, unhinged—a yandere's glaze that promised nothing but consumption.

"I've been really holding back," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "waiting for the right moment. But I can't anymore hngh... You're too... good."

He fumbled with the button of his jeans, his fingers slick with a mixture of your fluids and his own, and the metal clinked as it came undone.

His cock sprang free, jutting out from the opening of his underwear, fully erect, veined and leaking.

You tried to turn your head away, but he grabbed your jaw again, forcing you to look.

"Watch," he commanded, his tone soft but steel-edged. "You need to see what you do to me. What you've always done to me."

He was salivating, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth as he stared at your bound, trembling form, and when he leaned in, his tongue darted out to catch the drool…

"Don't worry," he murmured, positioning the head of his cock against your soaked, battered entrance. "I'll make you feel everything."

He pushed.

There was no teasing, no slow entry—just a single, brutal thrust that buried himself inside you to the hilt.

Your back arched, a scream tearing from your throat, but the sound was swallowed by the wet, obscene squelch as his cock drove through your blood and your slick, stretching you beyond what you thought possible.

He filled you completely, his hips flush against yours, and for a moment, he just stayed there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Augh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this blood—it's like a glove made just for me."

He pulled back, nearly all the way out, and then slammed in again, harder this time. He set a rhythm—fast, punishing, relentless—his balls slapping against your skin with every drive.

One time. Two. Three. You stopped counting after ten, after twenty, after the world dissolved into a haze of pain and the slick, filthy noise of his hips meeting yours.

He fucked you through the ropes, through your tears, through the blood that dripped from between your thighs to pool beneath.

His drool fell onto your chest, onto your neck, mixing with your sweat, and he licked it off you between thrusts, his tongue scraping against your skin like he was trying to consume you.

"More…" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need more…. so much more… ngh-"

He came inside you the first time—hot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and red—but he didn't stop.

He kept thrusting, his softening cock sliding in and out of his own cum and your blood, and within seconds, he was hard again, grinding against your oversensitive flesh.

A second time, a third, he lost count himself, he fucked you until your mind went blank, until all you could do was stare at the ceiling with glassy, unfocused eyes, your mouth hanging open, drool mixing with his on your chin.

When he finally pulled out, cock still half-hard, dripping with a milky red sludge, he collapsed on top of you, panting, nuzzling into your neck. His voice was soft now, almost affectionate.

“Hah…" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. “You'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibition…”

“And then it'd finally be finished…”

—

The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.

A staff member—one of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expression—leaned against the counter near the exit, scrolling through his phone.

The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he looked up, his face shifting into a practiced, pleasant smile.

Choso walked in, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty space. He was dressed in his usual plain clothes—dark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder—but there was something different about him today.

A faint, almost imperceptible sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Hey, welcome back," Derek said, straightening. "Haven't seen you in a while, man. Thought you might've found a new place to hang out."

Choso didn't respond immediately. He walked past the counter, heading toward the back where the larger tanks were kept, the ones used for special orders. Derek followed, curiosity piqued.

Choso stopped in front of a massive tank sitting on a wheeled dolly. It was nearly the size of a refrigerator, made of thick glass, its top sealed with a dark, opaque lid.

The tank was already filled—packed, actually—with what looked like water, but the lid prevented any view of the contents.

"This one," Choso said, his voice calm, almost casual. He placed a hand on the tank's surface, his fingers spreading wide as if claiming it.

Derek blinked. "That's a big tank. What kind of fish you planning to put in there? Something from the deep sea?"

Choso's head turned slowly, his eyes meeting Derek's. There was a flicker of something behind them—amusement, perhaps?

"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.

Derek waited for more—a name, a species, anything—but Choso simply turned back to the tank, his hand still resting on the glass.

The other guy scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the price tag taped to the side. It was high. Very high. More than enough to make the manager happy, and frankly, Derek didn't care enough to pry.

"Well, uh—you want help loading it into your car?" he asked, stepping forward. "It's pretty heavy. I can grab a cart."

Choso nodded, a single, quiet motion. "That would be good."

They worked in near silence, Derek wheeling the dolly toward the loading bay while Choso walked beside him.

Derek grunted as they maneuvered it into the back of Choso's old sedan, he wiped his hands on his pants.

"Alright, that should do it. Take care of that fish, yeah?" Derek said, forcing a grin.

“……” Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throat—a shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.

"Yeah…" he whispered, more to himself than to the other dude. "I will."

He got into the driver's seat, closed the door, and started the engine. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Derek watched him go, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

Something felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He shrugged, turned, and walked back inside, already pulling out his phone.

Choso watched the aquarium shrink in his rearview mirror, the grin spreading across his face. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, and his breathing was shallow, rapid.

The pieces he had collected till now, pieces of you.

It'll be all completed now…