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You stare at the glossy magazine cover, the title printed in bold, playful font: "How to Tame a Yandere?" It was a random impulse purchase-snatched off the shelf of that oddly charming new bookstore at the edge of town. You weren't even sure why you bought it. Curiosity? Boredom? Or... maybe, just maybe, because of the way your boyfriend had been acting lately.
"Okay, let's not jump to conclusions," you murmur, flipping the pages. "Satoru's just... intense. Not a yandere...!"
Still, as your eyes scan the article, you feel your stomach tighten.
"Step One: Identify what kind of Yandere he is."
Underneath it, a whole chart appears. Possessive type. Obsessive type. Deranged type. Manipulative. Silent. Flirty but lethal.
Do people like this really exist? you think, squinting.
Your phone buzzes on the bed next to you. You glance at it. Nothing yet.
"...Okay. Let's test him," you whisper to yourself.
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 themđ đť
You stare at the screen, then toss your phone aside, heart thumping. A few seconds pass. Then-
Satoru đŠľ: 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 bothđ¤
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.
You'd known Yuji Itadori your whole life-well, almost. As far back as you could remember, he was always there: the goofy boy with the biggest grin and a habit of spoiling you like a baby sister. It didn't matter that Megumi, your older brother, was strict and overbearing half the time. Yuji would crouch beside your scraped knees when you fell and beam, wiping away your tears with a sleeve too worn from his own clumsiness.
"It's all good now!" he'd say with that stupidly sweet smile, like the world was safe as long as he was there.
And maybe, back then, it was.
As years passed, things didn't really change. He kept spoiling you-bringing little trinkets whenever he came over to see Megumi, picking you up from college despite your grumbled complaints. He always found excuses to treat you, even when you tried to swat him off and call him annoying. Of course, Megumi never helped. He'd just say, "Stop whining. You've got two big brothers, live with it."
But Yuji wasn't really your brother. Not by blood. And over time, the line between comfort and affection had started to blur-at least for you.
Today had been no different.
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.
The front door creaked open, the low groan of the hinges echoing into the stillness of the apartment as Toji stepped inside, the scent of sweat and smoke from the outside world trailing in behind him. He rolled his shoulders with a quiet grunt, the weight of the day sloughing off his tense frame as he expected the usual comfort-your presence, your voice, the warmth that came with you.
But the air was hollow. Too quiet.
No soft rustle of feet padding toward him, no hum of a song from the kitchen, no warmth of your arms wrapping around him like they always did-desperate, loving, foolishly loyal. The lights were dim. The air stale. The TV off. Couch untouched.
His thick brows drew together. The silence clawed at him like a warning. Something wasn't right.
He kicked off his shoes with a thud and scanned the room. Not a single thing was out of place-exactly how he'd left it this morning. Too untouched. Too still. No half-empty glass by the sink, no scent of your perfume in the air. Just the suffocating emptiness.
Where the fuck are you?
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, naĂŻve 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.
Dark themes, yandere behavior, obsession, manipulation, gaslighting, emotional dependency, financial control (sugar daddy dynamics), family neglect, implied captivity themes, toxic relationship, psychological torment, mild physical intimacy, possessiveness, power imbalance, hidden intentions, deceit, mention of lies, unhealthy romance.
Please DO NOT read if you're uncomfortable with yandere dynamics, toxic/abusive relationships, manipulation, or psychological torment. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Masterlist
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.
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This story contains extremely dark and potentially disturbing themes, including:
Non-consensual sexual content, Graphic sexual violence, Dubious consent, Kidnapping and captivity, Stalking and obsessive surveillance, Psychological manipulation, Forced restraint, Fear-based coercion, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse, Weapon and chemical threats, Blood and gore, Menstrual blood and bodily fluid references, Fetishistic behavior, Invasion of privacy, Theft of personal belongings, Collection of intimate personal items, Graphic sexual acts, Disturbing power dynamics, Emotional distress, Isolation, Trauma responses, Psychological horror, Unhealthy obsession, Yandere themes, Murder references, Disturbing imagery.
Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to these subjects.
đŤ IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences capable of separating fantasy from reality. The behaviors, relationships, and dynamics portrayed in this story are abusive, criminal, and deeply unhealthy, and are not meant to be viewed as romantic or acceptable in real life. This work is written solely for psychological horror, suspense, and dark fictional storytelling purposes.
Masterlist
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. âYeah, 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. "Sirâ"
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.
"OhâŚ" 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.
â
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.
â
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.
â
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 stopâ someone was standing directly outside.
âChosoâ?â
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.
â......â 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.
âUmm,â 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.
âOh okay.â 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 awkwardâŚ
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.
â
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?"
âYeah." 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 thenâGone. 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.
"OhâŚâ 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.â
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.
â
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 alwaysâŚ
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.
âAs 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 genuineâlike 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 mindâŚ
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."
ââŚ..â 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."
ââŚâŚâ
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.
"OkayâŚ"
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.
â
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.
AquariumsâŚ
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. âFair enough.â
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."
âThere'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 orâŚ
"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 toâŚ."
"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.
âOkay."
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 majorâjust 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 personalâŚ
You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.
âAh..." 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.
â
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."
âHmm? What's wrong?â
ââŚ..â 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.â 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 youâŚâ
You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.
â
The next day at work, your pretty, little, period startedâŚ
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 pausedâand 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 strangeâŚ
But every answer was the sameâŚ
âNo.â
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.
â
A whole month had passed like thatâthe same thing every morning and evening.
At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.
You thought the absence would feel obvious somehowâthat 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 onwardâŚ
Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentrationâ
Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. â[Name], have you received the letter yet?â
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.
âWhat letter?â 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.
âOh, guess you havenât heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,â 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.
âDid I do something?â you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldnât quite suppress.
But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. âOh, nothing like that. Youâre just getting transferred for your good work,â she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.
âMaybe you should talk to the manager yourself.â
You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the managerâs 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 saidâyes, 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.
â
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!â
"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.
â
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'sâwhen 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 timeâ
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 â 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 doorâŚ?â
â......â
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 inâ"
"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.â
You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!â
âI'mâI'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?â
âWhen 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 likeânormal 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 notâthat'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 beforeâthe 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 demeanorâa 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 foundâŚ" he mumbled, barely audible. âDon't do this⌠I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."
âWhatâwhat 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. âYou said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-â
"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 willâŚ"
"There is no ââthereâ, I'm not going anywhere withâ"
"You don't have a choice.â
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 vialâclear 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.
â
â......â
You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink againstâno 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 closedâthere 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. "Stopâpleaseâlet 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 fragmentsâfirst 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 tanksâdozens 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 thenâa thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.
â...W-whatâŚâ
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?
âŚFrom 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 tooâŚ
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 handsâa 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.
âTell meâŚ" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?â
â........â You couldnât 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.
âLet me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! Youâre insane! Youâre fucking insane!â
Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.
âI trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?âYou fucking stalked meâget away from me, get away!â
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 didnât make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.
âWhy are you acting so difficult?â
The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritationâjust 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.
âAh... again?â
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.
âNoâNO, STOP! Donât do it, hey! Donât you fucking dare!â 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.
âMm,â he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. âYou smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.â
You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. âGet off me! I swear Iâllââ
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 holeâor, 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.
âThis one is going to my collection as well,â 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 redâor, 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.
âHeard of a trick?â 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.
âIf you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... youâd be at ease.â
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 brutalâyour 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.
âHm?â 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. âWhat are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!â
ââŚ.Shh...â His fingers finally found what they were looking forâyou 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 handâthe one that had held the pillowâmoved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a momentâs 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, âYou feel so good when youâre like this.â
He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was overâthat 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.
âHm?â 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 everywhereâbetween 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 agoâit 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 knewâyou knewâIt 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..."
â......â
Before you could form a response, he lifted his handâthe one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wetâand 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.
âUhck-â 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 mindâhis 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 returnedâsoft, 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 youâŚ"
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 instantlyâcopper, 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 itâthe 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.
"AhâŚ" 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, unhingedâa 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 droolâŚ
"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 entryâjust 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.
âAugh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this bloodâit'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 rhythmâfast, punishing, relentlessâhis 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.
"MoreâŚ" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need moreâŚ. so much more⌠ngh-"
He came inside you the first timeâhot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and redâbut 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.
âHahâŚ" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. âYou'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibitionâŚâ
âAnd then it'd finally be finishedâŚâ
â
The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.
A staff memberâone of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expressionâleaned 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 clothesâdark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulderâbut 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 filledâpacked, actuallyâwith 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 themâamusement, perhaps?
"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.
Derek waited for moreâa name, a species, anythingâbut 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, uhâyou 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.
ââŚâŚâ Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throatâa shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.
"YeahâŚ" 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.
Genre: Dark Fiction, Psychological Horror, Yandere, Slowburn, Obsessive Romance, Thriller
Word Count: 9.7k
â ď¸ Content Warning:
This story contains extremely dark and potentially triggering themes. Including:
Non-consensual sexual content, Dubious consent, Emotional dependency, Psychological manipulation, Obsessive and possessive behavior, Emotional abuse, Self-harm references, Blood and injury, Violence, Drugging/poisoning implications, Medical horror elements, Dissociation, Trauma responses, Mental instability, Captivity implications, Unhealthy attachment dynamics, Disturbing character mindsets, Graphic sexual content, Panic attacks, Delusional behavior, Codependency, Body fluids/blood themes, Psychological breakdowns, Extreme yandere dynamics.
Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to these subjects.
đŤ IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for a mature audience capable of separating fantasy from reality. The behaviors, relationships, and actions depicted in this story are toxic, dangerous, and not meant to represent healthy relationships in real life.
The purpose of this piece is to explore psychological horror, obsession, dependency, and disturbing character dynamics through fictional storytelling only.
Masterlist
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. Untilâ
âWhen will you come back?â
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. âI donât really know yet.â You reached for your bag near the counter. âIâll try to head back quickly.â
âButâŚâ His brows pulled together slightly. âItâs your day off.â
âItâs not my off day, Choso.â Your tone softened despite yourself. âSome of my colleagues arranged a meetup. Since Iâm part of the department, I kinda have to attend.â
His jaw tightened faintly. ââŚBut, You never told meâŚâ
âI did.â You laughed lightly. âTwice.â
Choso stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. âYouâll be gone for hours.â
â......."
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. âChoso.â
ââŚâŚâ His eyes flickered up briefly before dropping again.
âYou know I have a life outside of you, right?â
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.
ââŚI know butââ A pause. Then brieflyâ âI just like when youâre here.â
SighhhâŚ
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. âIâll be back soon.â
This time, he moved away from the doorway without protest. Still refusing to meet your eyes.
ââŚOkay. I⌠I wait.â
â
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.
ââŚIâm serious,â one of the residents groaned dramatically. âIf they put me on another double shift this month Iâm actually quitting.â
âYou say that every week,â another snorted.
âBecause every week I mean it!â
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.
ChosoâŚ
A small sigh escaped you before you quickly pressed the phone face-down onto the table and switched it to silent. Unfortunately, the movement didnât go unnoticed.
âOho?â One of the nurses across from you leaned forward instantly with a grin.
âBoyfriend?â
Another immediately gasped dramatically. âI KNEW IT.â
âOh my god, finallyââ
âWho is it!?â
You nearly choked on your drink. âNoâ no one.â You waved a hand quickly. âItâs literally just spam calls.â
The entire table stared at you. Unconvinced. Then one of the older doctors snorted. âWeâre not stupid.â
Another pointed a fry at you accusingly. âYouâve been acting weird for weeks.â
âWeirdâŚ?â you repeated.
âYes, weird,â she laughed. âSmiling at your phone. Leaving work with someone. Looking distracted all the timeââ
Your stomach tightened slightlyâŚ
Someone else suddenly leaned forward with narrowed teasing eyes. ââŚWait.â
âIs it that patient of yours?â
You nearly inhaled wrong. âWhat?â
âThe tall one,â another coworker chimed in immediately. âAlways wearing black.â
âThe one who only comes to your office!â
âThe one who stares at you like a kicked puppyââ
âOh my god it IS him!!!â
Heat crawled rapidly up your neck. âI said itâs spam,â you muttered weakly.
âLiar,â someone laughed immediately.
The serious one among the group rested their chin against their hand before saying flatly: âWe already know.â
Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass.
âWe just wanna hear it from you,â they added.
Another nurse nudged your shoulder teasingly. âCâmon, donât be shy now.â
You laughed nervously under your breath, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your face.
The table immediately erupted again.
âHow did you two even happen?â
âDid he confess first?â
âWAITâdid YOU confess?â
You opened your mouth automaticallyâAnd stopped. Your smile faltered slightly. Confusion flickered quietly across your face. Because suddenlyâYou genuinely couldnât remember.
How did it even happen?
â
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. âSorry, doctor⌠butââ
You nearly laughed from exhaustion. âOh, please don't tell meâŚâ
âOne more walk-in emergency,â the nurse informed you. âNameâs Choso. Laceration on the forearm.â
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. âFine. Send him in.â
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 didnât 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.
âHold still,â 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.
âTake these twice a day for the pain. Donât strain the arm for at least a week or youâll reopen it again.â
A quiet voice answered after a pause. ââŚOkay.â 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 seriouslyâwhy 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. ââŚCome on,â you muttered. âLet me look at it.â
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. âThis injury looks new. Did you hurt yourself again?â
The man blinked slowly at you. ââŚYou treated it yesterday.â
ââŚâŚâ
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 tooâalmost like a tattoo maybe?
You couldnât really tell from this close. His hair looked messy, unevenly tied back like he either forgot to fix it or just didnât care enough to bother anymore.
And more than anythingâHe looked tired. The kind of tired that sat inside a person for months. Maybe years.
Something in your expression softened without meaning to. ââŚRight,â you murmured quietly. âSorry. Long shift.â
He immediately shook his head. âNo, itâs okay...â
You cleaned the injury again more carefully this time, noticing the way he kept watching your hands in silence.
âYou need to be more careful,â you told him while wrapping fresh bandages around his arm. âThese wounds arenât going to heal properly if you keep doing this.â
ââŚSorry.â
âYou donât need to apologize to me.â You glanced up briefly. âJust take care of yourself, alright?â
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 shouldâve been treated immediately but somehow werenât.
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 youâd 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.
âAre you even taking the medicine I gave you?â Your voice came out sharper than intended.
Immediately, his shoulders drew inward slightly. Like heâd physically recoiled from the tone. Guilt hit you almost instantly.
You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to relax while setting the ointment aside. ââŚLook,â you said more quietly, âIâm serious. This isnât normal.â
You hesitated before finally saying the thing youâd been thinking for weeks. âMaybe you should try therapy.â
His head lifted slightly.
âWe can arrange counseling for you,â you continued carefully. âDifferent department. Professional help would probablyââ
âNo.â
The answer came so fast it caught you off guard. âWhat?â
His fingers curled tightly against the sleeve of his coat. âI donâtâŚâ He swallowed hard without looking at you. âI donât want anyone else.â
Your brows pulled together. âThatâs not really an excuse.â
âI donât like talking to them.â
âYou havenât even met them yetâŚâ
â.......â
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.
ââŚWhat?â
Without speaking, he held it out toward you.
You pointed at yourself instinctively. âFor me?â
He nodded once. Still holding it there. Still refusing to look directly at you. You hesitated before slowly taking it from his hand.
ââŚAh. Thanks.â
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. âIâll eat it later,â you said. âItâs kinda late and I still haveââ
You stopped. Because he wasnât reacting at all. Wasnât 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.
âJust take your medicine properly this time,â you said while standing. âAnd come back after a week so I can check theââ
He had suddenly bent forward in his seat, both hands gripping his head tightly while staring down toward the floor.
You froze. ââŚWhatâs wrong?â
No answer.
You looked toward the hallway again. âNurse?â you called out.
NothingâŚthe 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. ââŚOh,â you muttered awkwardly while unwrapping it. âIt actually smells pretty nice.â
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 honestlyâIt tasted ridiculously good. Sweet at first, then softer somehow, calming in a way you couldnât explain. Some of the tension sitting behind your eyes eased before you even realized it.
You almost forgot why youâd taken it out in the first place.
Then Choso suddenly looked up at you again. Carefully. Quietly.
âDo you like it?â
The question caught you off guard mostly because of how intently he was staring at you now. Waiting.
You chewed once before nodding slightly. ââŚYeah,â you admitted. âItâs good.â
And looking back nowâyou think that was the exact moment everything started changing.
â
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. Youâd 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.
Heâd sit quietly on the examination bed while you cleaned his injuries, and youâd ask the same tired questions every time. âDoes this hurt?â
âA little...â
âYou shouldâve come earlier.â
ââŚSorryâŚâ
At that, heâd usually go quiet and lower his eyes like he genuinely didnât know what else to say.
You learned quickly that Choso wasnât 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, âWhere do you even live?â
You expected a simple answer. Instead, he hesitated. ââŚNowhere permanent.â
You looked up briefly. âWhatâŚ?â
âIâm still looking.â His voice stayed quiet. âIâm new here.â
Your hands slowed slightly. âYou moved recently?â
He nodded once.
âFrom where?â
âA smaller town.â He shrugged faintly. âThere wasnât really anything there anymore.â
You listened while finishing the bandages around his wrist, occasionally humming so he knew you were paying attention.
Apparently, he still hadnât found steady work yet. Heâd been staying in cheap places whenever he had enough money, sometimes sleeping wherever he could when he didnât.
Every answer came out awkward and reluctant, like he hated admitting any of it out loud.
You shouldâve ended the conversation there. Instead, your stupid mouth moved before your brain caught up.
âWellâŚâ You cleared your throat awkwardly. âYou could stay with me for a while.â
You blinked. Then immediately regretted everything. ââŚUntil you find somewhere else,â you added quickly. âI mean...â
ââŚâŚ.â Choso stared at you like heâd stopped breathing.
You awkwardly avoided eye contact while putting the medical tape away. âI have a spare room,â you muttered. âItâs not a big deal.â
You finally glanced back at himâonly to nearly pause at the expression on his face. Overwhelmed⌠completely overwhelmed.
â......â His lips parted slightly like he wanted to speak, but no words came out at first.
ââŚReally?â he asked eventually, so quietly you almost missed it.
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.
â
You sat cross-legged near the end of the couch scrolling through next weekâs duty schedule on your phone with a tired frown.
âWhy the hell am I on morning shifts three days in a rowâŚâ you muttered under your breath.
From the kitchen, you heard quiet movement followed by Chosoâs voice. âIs it bad?â
âTerrible,â you answered immediately. âIâm being punished for something, probably.â
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, heâd 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. ââŚI wasnât sure what you wanted tonight.â
You stood and wandered toward the kitchen, peeking over his shoulder. Brows lifted immediately. âSeriously?â you laughed softly. âYou made all this?â
His ears turned pink almost instantly. âItâs not much.â
âThereâs enough food here to feed five people.â You looked down at the table again before shaking your head with disbelief.
âChoso, if you keep cooking like this, Iâm genuinely gonna get spoiled.â
âIââ He nearly choked at that.
âWell, I meanâŚâ You grinned while leaning against the counter. âWhat happens after you move out? Iâll probably die eating instant noodles again.â
Immediately, he looked away. Flustered. ââŚYou wonât.â
âOh?â You smirked slightly. âYou planning to cook forever?â
That only made him worse. His grip tightened around the spoon in his hand while he stared stubbornly at the counter instead of you.
âIfâŚâ He swallowed nervously. âIf you wanted me to.â
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.
Youâd 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 werenât 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 heâd 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?
â
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. ââŚHello? Earth to doctor?â
You looked up to find half the table staring at you expectantly. âWhat?â
One of the nurses narrowed her eyes suspiciously. âYou completely zoned out.â Another immediately smirked. âThinking about your boyfriend?â
Heat crawled up your neck again. âHeâs notââ You stopped yourself halfway with a tired sigh before pushing your glass aside. âActually⌠I think Iâm gonna head home.â
Almost instantly, protests erupted around the table.
âWhat? Already?â
âItâs not even that late!â
âWe literally just ordered another round!â
You forced out a small laugh while reaching for your coat hanging behind your chair. âIâve got morning shift tomorrow,â you explained. âIf I stay any longer, Iâm actually gonna die at work.â
One of the older doctors leaned back in her seat, studying you carefully for a moment before speaking.
ââŚDidnât like the food?â
You blinked. âHuh?â
âYou barely touched anything all night.â
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..
ââŚOh.â You stared at the plate for another second before shaking your head lightly. âIâm just not feeling great tonight, I think.â
Concern flickered briefly across a few faces around the table. âYou okay?â
âYou look kinda pale actually.â
âDid you catch something from work?â
You waved a hand quickly before they could start spiraling into medical interrogation.
âIâm fine,â you assured them. âJust tired.â
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. Youâd hear movement from the kitchen. Maybe quiet music playing from Chosoâs phone while he cooked. But tonight, there was nothingâŚ
You paused slightly after stepping inside. ââŚChoso?â
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 apartmentâAnd 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 itâChoso.
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.
âChosoâ?!â
You rushed toward him so fast you nearly slipped on broken glass yourself, dropping to your knees beside him.
âHeyâhey, look at me!!â 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.
âChosoâwhat happened?â Panic rose so fast your voice barely sounded steady anymore. âOh my god, youâre bleeding so muchââ
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.
âWhy didnât you callââ 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.
ââŚOhâŚâ
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.
âItâs okay,â you said quickly, though the panic cracking through your voice ruined the reassurance completely. âItâs okay, Iâm here now.â
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.
âIâm sorry,â you heard yourself mumble shakily while grabbing gauze with unsteady hands. âI⌠I shouldnât have left you alone for this long.âYour words kept stumbling over themselves. âI shouldnât have ignored the calls, Iââ
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.
âLook at me,â you whispered desperately. âPlease look at me.â Slowly, you pushed damp strands of dark hair back from his forehead so you could properly check the injuryâAnd 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.
âLock me up,â he choked out weakly. âP-pleaseâŚâ
His fingers curled weakly into your sleeve like he was terrified youâd disappear if he let go. âLock me up,â he repeated through uneven sobs. âBut donât leave meâŚâ
âPlease donât leave me aloneâŚâ
ââŚâŚâ Your mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out.
âIâm sorry,â he kept mumbling desperately, words falling apart between shaky breaths. âIâll be good⌠I wonât upset you anymore⌠please donât abandon me⌠donât forget me⌠I'm sorryâŚâ
Every sentence sounded more frantic than the last.
You had no idea what to say. No idea what to do. Youâd met patients who were grieving. Patients who were unstable. Patients who needed saving in ways medicine alone couldnât fix.
But this? This felt different. And you realized you had absolutely no idea how to help him.
Then suddenlyâChoso 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 mouthâAnd he froze. Like reality crashed back into him all at once.
His eyes widened immediately. âNoââ
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.
âIâNoâIâm sorryââ
âI didnâtâI wasnât trying toââ His hands immediately came up to cover part of his face, fingers trembling badly enough you could see it.
âIâm sorry,â he repeated again, voice cracking this time. âI know you donâtâI know you probably donât wantââ
The words kept tangling over themselves. He looked terrified of himself. Like he genuinely believed heâd ruined everything in a single second.
âChosoââ
âIâm sorry,â he choked out again, shoulders shaking harder now. âPlease donât look at me like thatâŚâ
Your chest tightened painfully. Because you werenât even looking at him badly. You were just shocked.
But somehow heâd already convinced himself he crossed a line unforgivable enough to make you leave him.
At this point, you werenât 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 couldnât stop.
A quiet sigh escaped you before you moved without thinking too deeply about it. Your fingers curled lightly around his wrist. âHey.â
Choso flinched. âNoâIâŚâ
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 didnât even kiss back. Didnât breathe. Didnât 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.
âListen to me...â you said softly, trying to sound calmer than you felt. âDonât move for now, alright? You need to rest while I clean this up.â
Choso stayed quiet for a moment, head lowered while his breathing steadied unevenly.
âNo.â
Before you could react, he pushed weakly against the cabinet behind him and started trying to stand.
Your eyes widened immediately. âChosoâwhat are you doing?â
âI have toâŚâ His voice came out rough from crying. âI have to cook.â
You stared at him in disbelief. âWhatâŚ?â
âYouâre hungry.â
The words hit so unexpectedly that you froze for a second. BecauseâHow did he know that?
And despite everything that had just happenedâDespite the blood. The panic attack. The tears still clinging faintly to his lashesâHe was still thinking about whether youâd eaten dinner.
âChosoâŚâ you said carefully, standing quickly to steady him before he lost balance again. âYou do not need to cook right now.â
But he shook his head immediately. âI can.â He swallowed hard, avoiding your eyes while trying to wipe at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. âIâm okay now.â
âYou are literally bleeding...â
âIâm okay,â he repeated stubbornly, though his voice still trembled slightly. âYou came back, so I⌠I'm okay nowâŚâ
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 normallyâChoso wasnât normal. You knew that already. You just didnât know what to do about it.
ââŚAt least sit down while I clean the cuts properly first,â you murmured.
This time, he didnât argue. âFineâŚâ
You guided him carefully toward one of the chairs that hadnât 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. âYou should go shower.â
You frowned slightly. âWhat?â
âThereâs blood on your hands.â He glanced briefly toward your sleeve. âAnd your clothes.â
You looked down automatically. âOh.â
âIâll make food while you wash up,â he said softly. âOkay?â
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.
ââŚFine,â you muttered quietly. âBut call me if you feel dizzy or anything.â
The tension in his shoulders eased almost immediately. ââŚOkay.â
You hesitated for another second before finally heading toward your room.
â
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.
âYou should be resting now,â you muttered automatically while approaching the kitchen.
âIâm almost done.â
âYou always say that. Do you have some beef with sleeping or what?â
A faint flush spread across his cheeks at the mild scolding. ââŚSorry.â
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. ââŚThis is amazing.â
The relief on his face appeared instantly. âReally?â
âYes, really.â You shook your head lightly. âHow are you this good at cooking?â
His ears turned pink again almost immediately. âI justâŚâ He looked away awkwardly. âI wanted you to like it.â
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. ââŚThereâs still some left.â
You blinked at him. ââŚWere you seriously thinking about that this whole time?â
His gaze dropped instantly. ââŚMaybe.â
A quiet laugh escaped you before you rubbed tiredly at your forehead. âUnbelievable.â
Stillâyou found yourself taking another bite anyway. And the way his entire expression softened afterward made it painfully obvious heâd 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.
âChoso. Stop.â
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.
â
The apartment finally grew quiet sometime past midnight. You barely remembered pulling the blanket over yourself before sleep dragged you under.
At leastâuntil 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 thoughtâGhost.
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.
ââŚChoso?â
âWhat are you doing over there?â 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 couldnât sleep again.
You crouched carefully beside him, voice still rough from sleep. âChosoâŚâ
Nothing.
âChoso?â 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.
âIâm sorryââ
âIâm sorry for what I didâŚâ His breathing turned uneven again almost immediately. âI know you hate me nowâI know I made you uncomfortableâI really didnât mean toâI swear I didnât mean toââ
âChosoââ
You paused, for a second, you couldâve 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. âDid it just moveâŚ?â
âIâIâm sorry,â he repeated shakily, tears already gathering again. âI justâI couldnât stop thinking about itâI know I shouldnât have done thatââ
Your chest twisted painfully at the sight of him trying so hard not to completely fall apart in front of you.
âHey,â you said softly, reaching toward him again. âCalm down firstââ
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.
âI canât sleep,â he admitted weakly against your shoulder. âI tried to but I canât stop thinkingâŚâ
His voice cracked apart quietly. âThinking youâll get tired of me.â
âI know Iâm too much,â he kept mumbling unevenly. âI know I keep bothering you and showing up and ruining things andââ
âYouâre not ruining anythingâŚâ
âBut I am!â His grip tightened again. âYou looked shocked earlier⌠I made you uncomfortable⌠I know you did it just to calm me downâŚâ
You exhaled shakily before carefully pulling back just enough to look at him properly. His face looked exhausted.
âChoso, listen to me?â you murmured gently. âYou really think I hate you?â
âI donât,â you said quietly. âI could never hate you.â
He stared at you silently like he genuinely couldnât 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.
âSee?â you whispered softly. âIâm still here.â
The kiss lingered just long enough for Chosoâs 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 heâd short-circuited completely.
You opened your mouth to say something soft, to ease the tensionâbut 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.
OhâŚ
Heat rushed to your own cheeks before you could stop it. You felt your pulse jump, suddenly hyperaware of the way your own body respondedâa 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.
âS-sorry!â His voice cracked again. âIâm sorryâI didnât mean toâI canât help it, you kissed me and IâUh, Iâm so sorry, Iâll just leaveââ
He tried to stand, but his legs were shaky, and you caught his wrist before he could stumble away. The touch made him freeze.
âChoso,â you said, your own voice coming out lower, breathier than you intended. âItâs okay.â
âItâs not okay!â He was already shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut. âYou donât have toâI know youâre just being nice, I know you donât actually wantâIâm disgusting, Iâm sorry, Iâllââ
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. âLook at me,â you murmured.
He did, reluctantly, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. â.......â
âI kissed you because I wanted to,â you said softly. âNot because I felt sorry for you. Not because Iâm being nice. I wanted to.â
His lips parted, a small, broken sound escaping him. âBut I⌠I donât deserveâŚâ
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.
âLet me show you what you deserve,â you whispered.
His breath stuttered. âIâI donât know if I canâif Iâll embarrass myselfââ
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 freeâthick, 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. âPlease... donât hate me,â 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 Adamâs apple bob as he swallowed hard. âThat feelsâahâthat feels soââ
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 tongueâsalt 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.
Chosoâs hands hovered near your shoulders, trembling, not quite daring to touch. âCan Iâpleaseâcan I hold you?â
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. âIâm sorryâsorry for being so loudâfuckâit just feelsâyouâre so warmââ
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. âIâIâm close,â he warned, voice cracking. âPleaseâIâm sorryâI canât hold itââ
âMmhâŚâ 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 faceâthick 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. âSorryâsorryâI got it on your faceâIâm sorryââ
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.
âDonât say sorry now,â you murmured against his skin.
â.......â 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. "Youâ" 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. "WaitâI don'tâI've neverâ"
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 openâhe 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.
"Noâno, no, I'm sorryâ" His voice cracked, panic rising. "IâI couldn'tâcouldn't hold itâpleaseâ"
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.
âIt'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.
"Ahhâis thatâ" he gasped, as if he couldn't believe it. "I'mâI'm inside you!â"
"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 goâpleaseâdon't let go of meâ"
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 ownâthrusting up into you desperately, frantically, no rhythm, just pure need. "Yesâyesâ" he sobbed against your skin. "Don't let goâdon't ever let goâ"
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 closeâŚ" you gasped. "Chosoâ"
"Cum with meâpleaseâcum with meâ" His voice was wrecked, desperate. "I love youâI love you so muchâ"
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 youâpulse 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 stopâdon't stop holding meâ" he begged, his voice barely a whisper now. "Pleaseâpleaseâ"
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.
â
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.
ââŚOwâFuck.â Your voice came out weak and rough.
Beside the bed, Choso stirred almost instantly. You hadnât even realized heâd fallen asleep there sometime during the night, curled awkwardly near the edge of the mattress with one arm resting beside your blanket like heâd 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. âWhatâs wrong?â
You rubbed weakly at your forehead. âNothing, I justâŚâ 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.
âYou don't have to go today,â he said quietly.
âButâŚâ 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. âDonât go.â
Normally, you wouldâve argued. Normally, you wouldâve 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 itâChoso 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 wasnât 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.
âThereâs medicine in the second drawer,â you whispered weakly at one point. âWhite bottle⌠not the blue oneâŚâ
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, heâd 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, youâd find him sitting on the floor beside the bed with his head resting quietly against the mattress near your arm.
Other times heâd 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 shouldnât be lasting this longâŚ
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. âAhâ!â
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 youâd 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 arenât you answering?
Are you okay??
Even the department group chat had exploded with notifications.
Your brows pulled together weakly. âHow long had your phone been on silent?â
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:â
âPatient 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!â
Below the notice sat a photograph:
Dark hair tied messily back. Heavy eyes. That same exhausted expression youâd memorized over months.
ChosoâŚ
Your body trembled suddenly, though whether from fever or shock you genuinely couldnât 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 slowlyâvery slowlyâyou 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 hadnât noticed you yet. And then you saw himâ
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 cockâhard, flushed, glistening with precumâstroking 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 tensedâa 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 faceâstretching until it seemed to reach his ears, splitting his cheeks. His head tilted to the side, almost mechanically, like a doll's.
âI was just⌠waiting until you loved me enough.â
This story contains extremely dark and potentially disturbing themes, including:
Non-consensual sexual content, Graphic sexual violence, Dubious consent, Kidnapping and captivity, Stalking and obsessive surveillance, Psychological manipulation, Forced restraint, Fear-based coercion, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse, Weapon and chemical threats, Blood and gore, Menstrual blood and bodily fluid references, Fetishistic behavior, Invasion of privacy, Theft of personal belongings, Collection of intimate personal items, Graphic sexual acts, Disturbing power dynamics, Emotional distress, Isolation, Trauma responses, Psychological horror, Unhealthy obsession, Yandere themes, Murder references, Disturbing imagery.
Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to these subjects.
đŤ IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences capable of separating fantasy from reality. The behaviors, relationships, and dynamics portrayed in this story are abusive, criminal, and deeply unhealthy, and are not meant to be viewed as romantic or acceptable in real life. This work is written solely for psychological horror, suspense, and dark fictional storytelling purposes.
Masterlist
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. âYeah, 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. "Sirâ"
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.
"OhâŚ" 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.
â
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.
â
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.
â
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 stopâ someone was standing directly outside.
âChosoâ?â
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.
â......â 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.
âUmm,â 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.
âOh okay.â 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 awkwardâŚ
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.
â
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?"
âYeah." 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 thenâGone. 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.
"OhâŚâ 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.â
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.
â
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 alwaysâŚ
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.
âAs 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 genuineâlike 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 mindâŚ
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."
ââŚ..â 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."
ââŚâŚâ
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.
"OkayâŚ"
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.
â
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.
AquariumsâŚ
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. âFair enough.â
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."
âThere'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 orâŚ
"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 toâŚ."
"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.
âOkay."
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 majorâjust 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 personalâŚ
You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.
âAh..." 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.
â
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."
âHmm? What's wrong?â
ââŚ..â 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.â 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 youâŚâ
You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.
â
The next day at work, your pretty, little, period startedâŚ
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 pausedâand 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 strangeâŚ
But every answer was the sameâŚ
âNo.â
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.
â
A whole month had passed like thatâthe same thing every morning and evening.
At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.
You thought the absence would feel obvious somehowâthat 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 onwardâŚ
Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentrationâ
Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. â[Name], have you received the letter yet?â
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.
âWhat letter?â 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.
âOh, guess you havenât heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,â 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.
âDid I do something?â you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldnât quite suppress.
But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. âOh, nothing like that. Youâre just getting transferred for your good work,â she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.
âMaybe you should talk to the manager yourself.â
You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the managerâs 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 saidâyes, 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.
â
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!â
"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.
â
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'sâwhen 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 timeâ
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 â 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 doorâŚ?â
â......â
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 inâ"
"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.â
You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!â
âI'mâI'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?â
âWhen 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 likeânormal 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 notâthat'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 beforeâthe 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 demeanorâa 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 foundâŚ" he mumbled, barely audible. âDon't do this⌠I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."
âWhatâwhat 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. âYou said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-â
"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 willâŚ"
"There is no ââthereâ, I'm not going anywhere withâ"
"You don't have a choice.â
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 vialâclear 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.
â
â......â
You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink againstâno 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 closedâthere 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. "Stopâpleaseâlet 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 fragmentsâfirst 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 tanksâdozens 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 thenâa thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.
â...W-whatâŚâ
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?
âŚFrom 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 tooâŚ
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 handsâa 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.
âTell meâŚ" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?â
â........â You couldnât 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.
âLet me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! Youâre insane! Youâre fucking insane!â
Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.
âI trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?âYou fucking stalked meâget away from me, get away!â
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 didnât make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.
âWhy are you acting so difficult?â
The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritationâjust 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.
âAh... again?â
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.
âNoâNO, STOP! Donât do it, hey! Donât you fucking dare!â 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.
âMm,â he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. âYou smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.â
You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. âGet off me! I swear Iâllââ
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 holeâor, 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.
âThis one is going to my collection as well,â 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 redâor, 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.
âHeard of a trick?â 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.
âIf you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... youâd be at ease.â
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 brutalâyour 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.
âHm?â 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. âWhat are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!â
ââŚ.Shh...â His fingers finally found what they were looking forâyou 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 handâthe one that had held the pillowâmoved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a momentâs 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, âYou feel so good when youâre like this.â
He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was overâthat 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.
âHm?â 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 everywhereâbetween 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 agoâit 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 knewâyou knewâIt 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..."
â......â
Before you could form a response, he lifted his handâthe one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wetâand 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.
âUhck-â 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 mindâhis 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 returnedâsoft, 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 youâŚ"
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 instantlyâcopper, 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 itâthe 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.
"AhâŚ" 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, unhingedâa 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 droolâŚ
"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 entryâjust 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.
âAugh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this bloodâit'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 rhythmâfast, punishing, relentlessâhis 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.
"MoreâŚ" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need moreâŚ. so much more⌠ngh-"
He came inside you the first timeâhot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and redâbut 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.
âHahâŚ" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. âYou'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibitionâŚâ
âAnd then it'd finally be finishedâŚâ
â
The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.
A staff memberâone of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expressionâleaned 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 clothesâdark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulderâbut 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 filledâpacked, actuallyâwith 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 themâamusement, perhaps?
"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.
Derek waited for moreâa name, a species, anythingâbut 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, uhâyou 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.
ââŚâŚâ Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throatâa shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.
"YeahâŚ" 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.
This story contains extremely dark and potentially disturbing themes, including:
Non-consensual sexual content, Graphic sexual violence, Dubious consent, Kidnapping and captivity, Stalking and obsessive surveillance, Psychological manipulation, Forced restraint, Fear-based coercion, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse, Weapon and chemical threats, Blood and gore, Menstrual blood and bodily fluid references, Fetishistic behavior, Invasion of privacy, Theft of personal belongings, Collection of intimate personal items, Graphic sexual acts, Disturbing power dynamics, Emotional distress, Isolation, Trauma responses, Psychological horror, Unhealthy obsession, Yandere themes, Murder references, Disturbing imagery.
Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to these subjects.
đŤ IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences capable of separating fantasy from reality. The behaviors, relationships, and dynamics portrayed in this story are abusive, criminal, and deeply unhealthy, and are not meant to be viewed as romantic or acceptable in real life. This work is written solely for psychological horror, suspense, and dark fictional storytelling purposes.
Masterlist
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. âYeah, 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. "Sirâ"
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.
"OhâŚ" 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.
â
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.
â
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.
â
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 stopâ someone was standing directly outside.
âChosoâ?â
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.
â......â 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.
âUmm,â 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.
âOh okay.â 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 awkwardâŚ
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.
â
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?"
âYeah." 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 thenâGone. 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.
"OhâŚâ 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.â
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.
â
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 alwaysâŚ
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.
âAs 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 genuineâlike 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 mindâŚ
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."
ââŚ..â 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."
ââŚâŚâ
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.
"OkayâŚ"
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.
â
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.
AquariumsâŚ
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. âFair enough.â
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."
âThere'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 orâŚ
"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 toâŚ."
"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.
âOkay."
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 majorâjust 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 personalâŚ
You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.
âAh..." 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.
â
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."
âHmm? What's wrong?â
ââŚ..â 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.â 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 youâŚâ
You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.
â
The next day at work, your pretty, little, period startedâŚ
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 pausedâand 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 strangeâŚ
But every answer was the sameâŚ
âNo.â
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.
â
A whole month had passed like thatâthe same thing every morning and evening.
At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.
You thought the absence would feel obvious somehowâthat 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 onwardâŚ
Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentrationâ
Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. â[Name], have you received the letter yet?â
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.
âWhat letter?â 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.
âOh, guess you havenât heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,â 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.
âDid I do something?â you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldnât quite suppress.
But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. âOh, nothing like that. Youâre just getting transferred for your good work,â she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.
âMaybe you should talk to the manager yourself.â
You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the managerâs 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 saidâyes, 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.
â
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!â
"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.
â
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'sâwhen 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 timeâ
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 â 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 doorâŚ?â
â......â
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 inâ"
"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.â
You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!â
âI'mâI'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?â
âWhen 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 likeânormal 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 notâthat'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 beforeâthe 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 demeanorâa 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 foundâŚ" he mumbled, barely audible. âDon't do this⌠I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."
âWhatâwhat 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. âYou said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-â
"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 willâŚ"
"There is no ââthereâ, I'm not going anywhere withâ"
"You don't have a choice.â
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 vialâclear 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.
â
â......â
You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink againstâno 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 closedâthere 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. "Stopâpleaseâlet 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 fragmentsâfirst 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 tanksâdozens 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 thenâa thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.
â...W-whatâŚâ
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?
âŚFrom 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 tooâŚ
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 handsâa 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.
âTell meâŚ" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?â
â........â You couldnât 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.
âLet me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! Youâre insane! Youâre fucking insane!â
Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.
âI trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?âYou fucking stalked meâget away from me, get away!â
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 didnât make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.
âWhy are you acting so difficult?â
The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritationâjust 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.
âAh... again?â
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.
âNoâNO, STOP! Donât do it, hey! Donât you fucking dare!â 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.
âMm,â he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. âYou smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.â
You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. âGet off me! I swear Iâllââ
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 holeâor, 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.
âThis one is going to my collection as well,â 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 redâor, 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.
âHeard of a trick?â 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.
âIf you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... youâd be at ease.â
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 brutalâyour 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.
âHm?â 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. âWhat are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!â
ââŚ.Shh...â His fingers finally found what they were looking forâyou 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 handâthe one that had held the pillowâmoved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a momentâs 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, âYou feel so good when youâre like this.â
He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was overâthat 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.
âHm?â 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 everywhereâbetween 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 agoâit 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 knewâyou knewâIt 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..."
â......â
Before you could form a response, he lifted his handâthe one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wetâand 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.
âUhck-â 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 mindâhis 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 returnedâsoft, 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 youâŚ"
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 instantlyâcopper, 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 itâthe 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.
"AhâŚ" 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, unhingedâa 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 droolâŚ
"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 entryâjust 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.
âAugh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this bloodâit'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 rhythmâfast, punishing, relentlessâhis 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.
"MoreâŚ" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need moreâŚ. so much more⌠ngh-"
He came inside you the first timeâhot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and redâbut 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.
âHahâŚ" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. âYou'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibitionâŚâ
âAnd then it'd finally be finishedâŚâ
â
The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.
A staff memberâone of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expressionâleaned 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 clothesâdark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulderâbut 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 filledâpacked, actuallyâwith 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 themâamusement, perhaps?
"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.
Derek waited for moreâa name, a species, anythingâbut 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, uhâyou 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.
ââŚâŚâ Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throatâa shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.
"YeahâŚ" 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.
This story contains extremely dark and potentially disturbing themes, including:
Non-consensual sexual content, Graphic sexual violence, Dubious consent, Kidnapping and captivity, Stalking and obsessive surveillance, Psychological manipulation, Forced restraint, Fear-based coercion, Physical abuse, Emotional abuse, Weapon and chemical threats, Blood and gore, Menstrual blood and bodily fluid references, Fetishistic behavior, Invasion of privacy, Theft of personal belongings, Collection of intimate personal items, Graphic sexual acts, Disturbing power dynamics, Emotional distress, Isolation, Trauma responses, Psychological horror, Unhealthy obsession, Yandere themes, Murder references, Disturbing imagery.
Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to these subjects.
đŤ IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences capable of separating fantasy from reality. The behaviors, relationships, and dynamics portrayed in this story are abusive, criminal, and deeply unhealthy, and are not meant to be viewed as romantic or acceptable in real life. This work is written solely for psychological horror, suspense, and dark fictional storytelling purposes.
Masterlist
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. âYeah, 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. "Sirâ"
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.
"OhâŚ" 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.
â
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.
â
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.
â
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 stopâ someone was standing directly outside.
âChosoâ?â
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.
â......â 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.
âUmm,â 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.
âOh okay.â 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 awkwardâŚ
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.
â
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?"
âYeah." 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 thenâGone. 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.
"OhâŚâ 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.â
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.
â
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 alwaysâŚ
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.
âAs 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 genuineâlike 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 mindâŚ
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."
ââŚ..â 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."
ââŚâŚâ
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.
"OkayâŚ"
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.
â
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.
AquariumsâŚ
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. âFair enough.â
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."
âThere'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 orâŚ
"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 toâŚ."
"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.
âOkay."
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 majorâjust 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 personalâŚ
You glanced back at him, momentarily caught off guard.
âAh..." 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.
â
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."
âHmm? What's wrong?â
ââŚ..â 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.â 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 youâŚâ
You watched the car disappear down the road before beginning the walk home.
â
The next day at work, your pretty, little, period startedâŚ
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 pausedâand 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 strangeâŚ
But every answer was the sameâŚ
âNo.â
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.
â
A whole month had passed like thatâthe same thing every morning and evening.
At first, you thought you'd notice the difference immediately.
You thought the absence would feel obvious somehowâthat 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 onwardâŚ
Then one afternoon, just as you were sorting through a stack of documents, a voice broke through your concentrationâ
Your colleague, leaning over the cubicle divider with a curious tilt of her head. â[Name], have you received the letter yet?â
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.
âWhat letter?â 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.
âOh, guess you havenât heard it yet. Actually, the manager was asking you to move,â 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.
âDid I do something?â you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness you couldnât quite suppress.
But she waved a hand dismissively, her expression softening into reassurance. âOh, nothing like that. Youâre just getting transferred for your good work,â she explained, and you noticed the subtle note of envy in her voice.
âMaybe you should talk to the manager yourself.â
You nodded slowly, absorbing the information, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, you made your way to the managerâs 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 saidâyes, 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.
â
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!â
"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.
â
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'sâwhen 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 timeâ
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 â 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 doorâŚ?â
â......â
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 inâ"
"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.â
You blinked, processing the abruptness. "What? Now? It's the middle of the night, Choso!â
âI'mâI'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?â
âWhen 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 likeânormal 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 notâthat'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 beforeâthe 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 demeanorâa 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 foundâŚ" he mumbled, barely audible. âDon't do this⌠I know you're moving. I know you think you're going somewhere else. But you're not..."
âWhatâwhat 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. âYou said you're no longer uncomfortable around me. You said you trust me. You called me nice. You-â
"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 willâŚ"
"There is no ââthereâ, I'm not going anywhere withâ"
"You don't have a choice.â
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 vialâclear 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.
â
â......â
You tried to blink, but there was nothing to blink againstâno 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 closedâthere 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. "Stopâpleaseâlet 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 fragmentsâfirst 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 tanksâdozens 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 thenâa thick, sweet, putrid odor that had been hiding beneath the metallic tang, now unmistakable.
â...W-whatâŚâ
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?
âŚFrom 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 tooâŚ
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 handsâa 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.
âTell meâŚ" he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Did I do good?â
â........â You couldnât 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.
âLet me go! Let me go, you sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?! Youâre insane! Youâre fucking insane!â
Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurred by the sting of them.
âI trusted you! I thought you were normal! Why are you even doing this!?âYou fucking stalked meâget away from me, get away!â
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 didnât make sense. His lips parted slightly, and he let out a soft, confused exhale.
âWhy are you acting so difficult?â
The question came out flat, genuinely bewildered. There was no anger in his voice, no irritationâjust 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.
âAh... again?â
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.
âNoâNO, STOP! Donât do it, hey! Donât you fucking dare!â 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.
âMm,â he hummed against you, the vibration sending a sick shudder through your core. âYou smell so good here. Even better than I remembered.â
You sobbed, a mix of fury and helplessness. âGet off me! I swear Iâllââ
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 holeâor, 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.
âThis one is going to my collection as well,â 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 redâor, 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.
âHeard of a trick?â 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.
âIf you stick your fingers in and pull out the whole thing... youâd be at ease.â
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 brutalâyour 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.
âHm?â 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. âWhat are you doing? What the fuck are you doing to me?!â
ââŚ.Shh...â His fingers finally found what they were looking forâyou 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 handâthe one that had held the pillowâmoved to replace it, two fingers sliding into your sopping, bloody entrance without a momentâs 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, âYou feel so good when youâre like this.â
He slowly pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth against your clit left a cold ache, you thought it was overâthat 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.
âHm?â 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 everywhereâbetween 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 agoâit 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 knewâyou knewâIt 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..."
â......â
Before you could form a response, he lifted his handâthe one coated in your blood, fingers still glistening wetâand 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.
âUhck-â 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 mindâhis 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 returnedâsoft, 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 youâŚ"
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 instantlyâcopper, 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 itâthe 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.
"AhâŚ" 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, unhingedâa 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 droolâŚ
"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 entryâjust 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.
âAugh," he groaned, his voice shaking. "You're so tight. So warm. And all this bloodâit'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 rhythmâfast, punishing, relentlessâhis 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.
"MoreâŚ" he gasped, his pace never slowing. "I need moreâŚ. so much more⌠ngh-"
He came inside you the first timeâhot, thick spurts that painted your insides white and redâbut 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.
âHahâŚ" he whispered, kissing the bite marks on your shoulder. âYou'd be the most expensive thing in my exhibitionâŚâ
âAnd then it'd finally be finishedâŚâ
â
The aquarium's main hall was quiet in the late afternoon.
A staff memberâone of your former coworkers, a young man named Derek with a bored expressionâleaned 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 clothesâdark hoodie, jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulderâbut 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 filledâpacked, actuallyâwith 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 themâamusement, perhaps?
"It's one of my favorite kinds," Choso said, his lips curving into a small, secretive smile.
Derek waited for moreâa name, a species, anythingâbut 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, uhâyou 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.
ââŚâŚâ Choso stood by the open car door, he looked down at the tank, and his breath caught in his throatâa shaky, almost, that ran through his entire body.
"YeahâŚ" 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.
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Genre: Dark fiction, Psychological horror, Yandere, Thriller, Non-con, Possessive obsession
Word Count: 7.1k
â ď¸ Content Warning:
This story contains extremely dark and potentially disturbing themes, including:
Non-consensual sexual content, Dubious consent, Psychological manipulation, Stalking, Captivity and restraint, Violence, Blood and gore, Weapon threats, Physical abuse, Forced intimidation, Trauma responses, Fear-based coercion, Murder references, Graphic sexual content, Obsessive and possessive behavior, Disturbing power dynamics, Emotional distress, Isolation, Yandere themes.
Please DO NOT read if you are sensitive to these subjects.
đŤ IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences capable of separating fantasy from reality. The behaviors and dynamics portrayed in this story are not healthy, romantic ideals and should not be normalized in real life. This piece is written purely for horror, psychological tension, and dark fictional storytelling purposes.
Inspired by the atmosphere and setting of the game Fears to Fathom: Ironbark Lookout.
Masterlist
The job was simple.
At least, thatâs what they told you.
Stay at the Ironbark fire lookout tower for a month, monitor the weather conditions, send daily reports, and contact the station immediately if anything unusual happened around the forest area.
Temporary work until they found a better replacement and easier approach for the placeâwhatever that meant.
You hadnât even planned on accepting it at first.
A lonely tower in the middle of nowhere surrounded by endless forest didnât exactly sound appealing, especially when the nearest town sat almost an hour away.
But after hearing the payment amountâand the promise of bigger opportunities afterwardâyou eventually gave in.
Double pay for one monthâŚ. Couldnât be that bad, right?
So now here you wereâŚ
Standing on the small wooden balcony outside the tower with a warm cup of coffee resting between your hands while the cold afternoon wind brushed against your face.
The view was honestly beautiful.
Tall pine trees stretched endlessly beneath the tower, their dark green tops moving gently with the wind while distant mountains sat beneath the cloudy sky. Everything felt so quiet up here. Peaceful.
The city could never compare to this.
Though⌠the tower itself looked a little rough around the edges.
The wooden walls creaked whenever the wind hit too hard, and some parts inside clearly hadnât been renovated in years. Still, for the amount they were paying you, it felt worth it enough.
The old radio sat near the window beside your desk, its dull metal surface glowing faintly beneath the small green lights blinking across the panel. Half the buttons looked worn out from years of use.
A loud crackle suddenly buzzed through the speaker, making you glance over instinctively before a manâs voice pushed through the static.
âTower Four, do you copy?â
You quickly reached for the microphone beside it. âYeah, I copyâŚâ
The call was short. Mostly reminders:
âEverything going alright up there?â the man from the station asked through the phone.
âYeahâŚâ you answered, leaning against the balcony railing. âStill trying to figure out half the equipment though.â
A quiet chuckle came from the other side. âYouâll get used to it. First dayâs always annoying.â
You hummed absentmindedly, staring out at the endless forest below.
âOh, and one more thing,â he added after a moment. âThereâs a chance local police might stop by the tower sometime this week.â
Your brows furrowed slightly. âPolice?â
âRoutine checks. Weâve had a few incidents around the forest area lately, so they occasionally patrol near the lookout towers too.â
Papers shuffled faintly in the background before he continued, âIf someone comes by, just show them your work ID and cooperate normally.â
Simple enough.
âUhm okay,â you replied easily.
âAnd make sure the doors stay locked after dark.â
The sudden seriousness in his tone made you pause for a second before brushing it off. âUh⌠ofcourse.â
âGood.â His voice relaxed again. âYouâll submit todayâs weather report before six, right?â
âYeah, though it might take longer,â you admitted. âStill trying to understand this whole thingâŚâ
Another small laugh.
âFair enough. Just send it whenever youâre done.â
âBeepâ
The call ended soon after.
Later, You headed back inside the tower and got to work.
At first, the equipment looked confusing as hell, forcing you to reread the instructions more than once before finally understanding what you were doing.
By the time you finished organizing everything and submitting the report to the station, almost two hours had already passed.
WellâŚ
First day. Mistakes happened.
Afterward, you made yourself something quick to eat before slowly making your way around the tower one last time, checking the locked windows and wooden door out of habit.
The forest outside had already grown darker by then. Too dark.
Pushing the uncomfortable feeling aside, you turned off the lights and headed to bed soon after.
Day one completed.
â
âDay 2â
You had been sent out to check the nearby area for any signs of fire, smoke, illegal camping, or anything suspicious around the forest.
Which honestly sounded way easier on paper.
It had been around fifteen minutes since you left the tower, walking through the narrow dirt trail while making sure the lookout tower stayed somewhere within your sight at all times.
Because no way in hell were you going deeper than necessary. They werenât paying you enough for that.
Itâs not like someone was secretly watching to see whether you were slacking off anyway. The thought made you snort quietly to yourself. Proudly, even.
Your steps slowed after a while upon noticing two separate paths ahead.
ââŚEh?â You paused, looking around the area carefully.
Did you walk too far?
Turning back quickly, you let out a small relieved sigh after spotting the tower still visible between the trees.
Okay⌠good enough.
Your gaze shifted back toward the two paths again.
One trail looked almost untouched, hidden beneath overgrown bushes and thick trees as if nobody had stepped there in years. The other path looked slightly clearer, though still creepy enough to make your stomach tighten.
You stood there thinking for a solid minute. Then another. Before eventually turning around with a low amused chuckle.
âWho said I was going anyway?â Yeah. Absolutely not.
You were already about to head back when sudden rustling noises came from the bushes nearby.
Your entire body froze instantly.
âOh⌠Hell nah...â You didnât even bother checking what it was. Couldâve been an animal. Couldâve been a person. Didnât matter.
You turned around and immediately started speed-walking back toward the tower before eventually breaking into a full run by the time the wooden structure came closer into view.
By the time you got back inside the cabin, your breathing had turned uneven. The silence inside somehow felt worse now.
The radio suddenly buzzed, Static filled the small room before a familiar voice pushed through the noise.
âNew one, Do you copy?â
You nearly jumped before quickly answering it. âYes.. what's up?â
âHey,â the familiar station worker spoke casually from the other side. âHave you checked the area yet?â
You wiped sweat from your forehead while trying to calm your breathing. âUh Yeah.â
âSee any smoke? Fires? Campers around there?â
A brief pause.
ââŚNope,â you answered confidently despite not checking shit properly.
âAlright then. Just submit todayâs weather report before nighttime. And check the surrounding area again tomorrow too.â
âNo!â The answer came out so fast that even you blinked in surprise.
ââŚNo?â the man repeated slowly.
You immediately straightened. âI meanânot no, justâŚâ You rubbed your face tiredly. âItâs kinda weird around here.â
The line stayed quiet for a moment before the man sighed softly.
âThatâs normal.â
You frowned slightly.
âMost people get uneasy their first week up there,â he continued. âYouâre alone in the middle of the forest. Your brain starts making every little sound feel bigger than it is.â
You stayed quiet.
âYouâll get used to it,â he reassured calmly. âGive it time. Eventually all this becomes normal.â After saying a few more things meant to comfort you, the call eventually ended.
You stared at the screen for a second before slowly lowering itâalready regretting taking this job on the second day.
â
The next few days went⌠okay enough. Nothing really happened.
You stayed inside the tower most of the time, checking the weather, sending reports back to the station, eating whatever quick meals you could make, then sleeping only to repeat the same thing again the next day. It was repetitive. Boring evenâŚ
At some point, it genuinely started feeling like you were slowly losing your mind out here. The only voices you had heard in almost a week were your own during calls with the station workers.
And the forest⌠Well. That thing never shut up.
Wind moving through trees. Leaves rustling. Branches creaking at night. Sometimes footsteps that were probably animals⌠Sometimes sounds you couldnât even explain at allâŚ
Still, the sixth day eventually came. And the weather had gotten way worse.
Rain had been pouring nonstop since midnight, slamming hard against the tower walls and windows loud enough to keep you awake half the night. Which honestly annoyed you more than anything because yesterdayâs report predicted clear weather for today.
Yet here you were. Curled beneath the thin blanket on your bed with a tired sigh while rain hammered endlessly outside.
The tower door was locked. Only one window remained slightly open behind your bed to let some air in.
3:37 PM.
But the sky looked almost black from the heavy storm clouds covering everything.
You felt weirdly sleepy. Too sleepy. Your eyes had barely started drifting shut whenâCreak.
A sound⌠Outside. Footsteps�
You froze beneath the blanket without moving an inch. For almost a full minute, you stayed completely still, waiting to hear it again. But nothing came. Only rain. Maybe you imagined it.
Slowly, you turned your head toward the open window behind you and carefully peeked through it, but the angle blocked most of the outside view. All you could really see were blurry trees moving violently in the storm.
And honestly?
You didnât have the courage to open the door and check properly. Whatever it was, you wanted no part in it.
When suddenly the radio crackled beside you, nearly making you jump.
âDo you copy?â
You quickly sat up, clearing your throat. âY-Yeah,â you answered, âWhatâs up?â
âRemember the patrol we mentioned earlier this week?â
Your brows furrowed slightly.
âThey might arrive later than expected because of the rain,â the man continued through the static. âJust stay alert tonight, alright? And copy down their details once they check in.â
Right⌠The police patrol thing.
âOkay,â you replied before the call ended shortly after.
You relaxed with a soft sigh. Then suddenly remembered something that made your stomach drop. ââŚShit.â
The generator. You forgot to refill it last night.
Which meant if the power cut during this storm, youâd be completely screwed. For a second, you seriously considered ignoring it.
But then you remembered the station worker repeatedly telling you to keep the lights running at night because wild animals sometimes wandered near the tower during heavy weather.
ââŚGreat.â With another groan, you dragged yourself out of bed before grabbing your flashlight and throwing a towel over your head.
âRun down. Grab the stuff. Run back up,â you muttered to yourself. âEasy.â That was the plan at least. And somehow, you actually managed to do it.
You got the generator running again, grabbed the fuel container and the small pile of wood near the lower storage area, then immediately started climbing the stairs back toward the tower as rain soaked through your clothes almost instantly. Quick steps. Careful but quick.
You had barely climbed five steps whenâCreak.
Another step sounded behind youâŚ
At first, you didnât fully process it as the rain hammered loudly against the stairs, so for a second your brain tried convincing you it was nothing. Just the storm. Just the wood creaking.
Then you took another step. And something behind you did too.
Heavy⌠Slow⌠actuallyâcopying yours.
And your stomach dropped.
The grip around the fuel can tightened painfully as your body went completely still. Rainwater slid down your face, cold against burning skin while your ears strained desperately over the storm.
It's not an animal. Animals don't walk like thatâNo freaking way.
Every nerve in your body screamed at you not to turn around. Something about the silence behind those footsteps felt wrong enough to make your blood run freezing coldâŚ
You ran.
Not caring about the slippery stairs beneath your feet or the fuel nearly slipping from your hands, you bolted up toward the tower so fast your lungs immediately started burning. The wood and tools crashed somewhere behind you as you nearly stumbled at the top step before throwing yourself inside the cabin.
SLAM.
The door shut hard enough to shake the walls. You locked it instantly with shaking hands before backing away from it, chest heaving violently.
SilenceâŚ
Quickly, you turned off the room light and stood there in darkness, trying desperately to quiet your breathing.
ThenâKnock.
The sound echoed through the tower again. You stayed completely still in the darkness, barely even breathing while staring at the door like it might suddenly burst open on its own.
There was no way you were opening that. Absolutely not.
Your eyes flickered toward the radio sitting across the room for a moment. Maybe you should contact the station.
But what if whoever was outside heard you? What if they were still standing right there listening?
Another knock came. Then finallyâA voice.
âPolice department,â the man called through the rain, his tone calm and professional enough to sound almost comforting. âPatrol check.â
â.......â
Police?
Your fingers stayed locked tightly around the flashlight while your heart continued hammering painfully inside your chest.
A few more seconds passed before the voice spoke again. âHello?â he called, louder this time. âYou working in this tower?â
You swallowed hard. Then you heard faint static. Like a walkie-talkie.
âYeah, Iâm here now,â the man spoke again, though this time sounding slightly farther from the door. âNo response yet. Might just be asleep.â
The professionalism in his voice slowly started calming you down. Right⌠The patrol. The station warned you already.
You let out a shaky breath before wiping the mixture of rainwater and sweat from your face with trembling hands.
âDonât embarrass yourself. Heâs literally a cop.â
Slowly, you unlocked the door. The storm immediately rushed inside with cold air the moment you pulled it open. And then you saw him.
The officer standing outside looked huge enough to block the entire doorway, his dark police uniform soaked completely from the rain while water dripped from the brim of his hat onto the wooden floor. A bandage rested beside his mouth, partly disappearing beneath light stubble.
But it was his eyes that made you pause. Sharp. Heavy. Quietly studying you from above.
The man blinked once, almost looking caught off guard before his brows furrowed slightly.
âWhatâsâŚâ his deep voice trailed for a second. âA lady doing out here?â
âUh-â You cleared your throat awkwardly. âI work here,â you answered quietly, gesturing vaguely around the tower.
That seemed to genuinely surprise him. His eyes flickered toward the inside of the tower before back at you again.
âThe bills canât be that high,â he muttered dryly. A small hint of sarcasm slipped into his voice. Despite everything, you awkwardly snorted a little.
The man then reached into his pocket before pulling out an ID card and holding it toward you. âOfficer Reevesâ
You stared at the card carefully beneath the dim tower light before suddenly remembering the stationâs instructions.
âOhâright.â You straightened quickly. âWait a second.â
You stepped back inside to grab your own work ID before returning and showing it to him properly.
The officer hummed quietly while glancing over it. âSo,â he spoke after a moment, handing it back. âHow longâve you been working here?â
âSix days.â
Another hum. Then his eyes slowly lifted back toward you again. âAnd what took you so long to answer the door?â
The question made you hesitate. You looked away briefly. Part of you felt stupid even bringing it up. But then again⌠he was an officer. If something really was out there, shouldnât you tell him?
ââŚI thought someone followed me earlier,â you admitted quietly.
His expression remained the same. So you kept talking. About the footsteps. The bushes. The stairs. The feeling of someone copying your movements in the rain just moments ago.
He listened without interrupting once. Completely still. Then after a long silence, he finally spoke.
âSoâŚâ his voice stayed calm. âYou think youâve got a stalker?â
The word instantly made your stomach twist. âI-I donât know,â you answered quickly. âMaybe? It just felt weirdââ
âIt is weird,â he cut in casually, glancing toward the dark forest behind him. âHard to survive out here long without supplies.â
Then his eyes narrowed slightly. âUnless they were prepared.â
A pause.
âOr already living out here without anyone noticing.â
Your chest tightened immediately. ââŚWhat do I even do then?â you asked quietly. âI donât wanna stay here anymore.â
The officer looked directly at you again. Long enough to make you strangely aware of how small the tower suddenly felt with him standing inside the doorway.
âHmm.â His voice stayed thoughtful. âWonder why theyâd even give you this post alone.â
âYou should contact the station right now,â he said finally.
You blinked before nodding quickly. âRight⌠yeah.â Turning around, you hurried toward the radio on the desk before grabbing the microphone.
âTower Four requesting response?â
StaticâŚ
You frowned slightly. âHello?â
Nothing. Only loud crackling filled the room. Your grip tightened around the microphone as you tried again. Still nothing. Just static.
You slowly lowered the microphone before turning back toward him. âThey arenât answeringâŚâ
The officer barely reacted. âAlright, donât panic.â His voice stayed calm, almost too calm. âWeather like this messes with signals all the time.â
You tried convincing yourself that made sense. Still, your stomach refused to settle.
The rain outside only kept getting worse, violently crashing against the tower windows while the forest beyond looked almost completely swallowed by darkness now.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then the officer finally broke the silence again. âUntil they answer back,â he said simply, âI can stay here and keep watch.â
Your head lifted immediately. Honestly?
You agreed in your mind before he even finished the sentence. Because despite how embarrassing this whole thing felt, the idea of staying alone here after what happened outside made your chest tighten all over again.
At least he was an officer. At least if something happened, someone else would be here.
ââŚOkay,â you answered quietly. But even then, hesitation still lingered awkwardly between you both. Inviting a stranger inside this late at night still felt weird.
Maybe he noticed the uncertainty on your face because after a second, he just shrugged lightly.
âCan I at least get a towel first?â he asked dryly. The simple normalness of the question somehow snapped you out of your thoughts.
âR-Right. Yeah.â You quickly grabbed one from nearby storage before handing it over.
âThanks.â
He stepped back slightly first to remove his heavy boots outside the doorway before finally stepping inside the tower. Even then, he didnât move far.
Instead, he sat down near the entrance floor with his back partly against the wall, pulling off the soaked police hat before using the towel to wipe rainwater from his hair and face.
âRelax,â he muttered after noticing you still staring. âIâm sitting here. You can stay over there.â His chin tilted slightly toward the bed.
You stayed still for another long second before eventually moving toward it anyway, slowly pulling the blanket back over yourself once you sat down.
And after thatâSilence. Nothing except rain pouring endlessly outside.
The tower door remained partly open beside him while he faced outward toward the storm and dark forest beyond, one arm lazily resting over his knee.
Meanwhile you stayed curled beneath the blanket, occasionally glancing toward the quiet radio every few minutes, waiting for the station to finally answer back.
But hours passed. And nothing came. No voices. No responses. Nothing except the sound of rain and his presence sitting near the doorway.
â
âSeventh dayâ
You didnât even realize when you fell asleep sitting there.
One moment you were staring at the silent radio while listening to rain hit the tower wallsâAnd the next, your eyes suddenly snapped open.
Your neck hurt immediately. ââŚUgh damnâŚâ Still groggy, you slowly pushed yourself upright before looking around the tower in confusion.
The doorway was empty⌠Only the door remained slightly open, letting cold air slip inside together with the distant sound of rain.
Your brows furrowed. Slowly, you got off the bed and carefully peeked outside. Then immediately stepped back after hearing heavy footsteps climbing the stairs.
A second later, the officer appeared. ExceptâHe wasnât wearing the police uniform anymore.
Just a black sleeveless shirt clinging slightly to his body from the rain, thick arms full with chopped wood tucked against his side as he climbed the last step effortlessly.
He glanced at you once before casually putting the wood down beside the small fireplace near the corner of the tower.
âWasnât that uncomfortable?â he asked while crouching down in front of it. âSleeping like that.â
You blinked tiredly. ââŚUh.â Your voice came out rough from sleep. âI donât even know when my eyes closed.â
He hummed quietly before tossing a few gaslogs into the fireplace. A couple clicks later, flames slowly flickered to life, warmth immediately spreading through the cold cabin.
âThere.â He brushed his hands off before standing back up to his full height, one hand resting loosely against his hip. âAt least we wonât freeze now.â
He paused briefly before adding casually, âOh, and donât worry about the generator. Already handled it.â
The situation somehow felt strangely normal for a second. Almost domestic. Until the storm outside reminded you where you actually were.
âWell,â he spoke again, glancing toward you. âGot anything to eat?â
You blinked before looking toward the small fridge. âI think thereâs leftoversâŚâ
Walking over, you opened it and pulled out the lasagna from yesterday before placing it into the microwave sitting above the counter.
Behind you, the bed creaked softly. You glanced back to find him sitting at the edge of it with a tired huff, forearms resting loosely against his knees.
âThey answer yet?â he asked.
You shook your head. âNoâŚâ
âI see.â
Silence settled again for a moment before he looked toward the storm outside. âTry contacting them later,â he muttered. âWeatherâs getting worse.â
He stayed quiet for another second before adding, âLooks like flooding might hit around here soon too.â His eyes narrowed slightly toward the forest below. âMight get stuck here for a while.â
The uneasy feeling inside your chest immediately returned. ââŚYou came here alone?â you asked quietly. âIs there nobody else helping around here?â
He shook his head with a small sigh. âCame with a team.â He reached into his pocket before pulling out a walkie-talkie. âThey got moved around different tower locations.â
His thumb tapped lightly against the device. âLast update I got warned about the flooding too.â He paused briefly. âCanât really do much till it actually hits.â
Silence followed after that. Only rain. And the low hum of the generator outside.
Your thoughts started spiraling again before the loud beep from the microwave suddenly pulled you back.
âDone?â he asked while getting back up from the bed.
You nodded quickly before opening the microwave.
He moved beside you thenâway closer than you expectedâreaching past your shoulder to grab two plates from the shelf above. The sudden closeness made you stiffen slightly before stepping aside.
He didnât seem to notice. Or maybe he did. Without saying much, he split the food between the plates before handing one toward you.
âEat up,â he said simply. âLong day ahead.â
Then he moved away again, taking his own plate before stopping near the open doorway.
You watched him quietly while eating, your attention drifting toward him more than the food itself.
Now that the panic from last night had settled a little, you finally noticed things properly.
The broadness of his shoulders. The rough veins running along his forearms. The way he barely reacted to the cold despite standing near the open doorway half the time. And that bandage beside his mouthâŚ
Your eyes lingered on it for a second too long before you found yourself speaking without thinking. âThat bandageâŚ?â
He glanced at you over his shoulder. Then a slight smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
âLittle reminder to stay alive.â
The answer caught you off guard immediately. Awkward. You quickly looked back down at your food instead, pretending to focus on eating while trying not to think about whatever that response even meant.
The rest of the day went exactly how you expected. Nothing.
You tried contacting the station over and over again through the radio, only for loud static to answer every single time until frustration eventually started setting in.
âNo signalâ glowed across the screen again.
ââŚYouâve gotta be kidding me.â With an exhausted groan, you leaned back against the chair before glancing toward him again.
He had just finished shutting the windows against the storm and now moved toward the counter casually.
âNeed coffee?â he asked while grabbing the kettle.
You shook your head lightly. âNo, Iâm good...â
âHmm.â
You turned back toward the radio screen again, trying once more despite already knowing what would happen.
Static⌠Static⌠More fucking static.
Under your breath, you muttered a quiet curse while rubbing your forehead tiredly. Then suddenlyâSomething pressed lightly against your shoulder.
You stiffened instantly. Looking up, you found him leaning over you from behind, one hand resting casually against the back of your chair while he sipped from his coffee with the other. His eyes briefly scanned the screen.
âAs expected,â he muttered simply. Then he walked away again like nothing happened.
Meanwhile you stayed completely frozen in the chair. Your brain practically short-circuited.
What the fuck�
What the actual fuckâŚ? WhyâWhy were you suddenly so warm?
Your face felt like it was burning alive for absolutely no reason. He just leaned closer. Thatâs it. Thatâs literally it.
So why the hell was your body acting weird now?
You shifted awkwardly in the chair, trying to ignore the weird heat sitting low in your stomach.
What the hell was wrong with you?
Your brows furrowed slightly as you mentally tried counting the dates.
No⌠It wasnât your period. Not even close. Then why were you suddenly feeling soâYou immediately stood up before your thoughts could continue any further.
The movement made him glance over from his coffee. You avoided eye contact completely while grabbing the flashlight near the counter.
âWhereâre you going?â he asked casually.
âThe washroom...â
He paused mid sip. Then quietly placed the cup down. âLetâs go.â
You blinked. ââŚHuh?â
His eyes shifted toward the dark windows outside. âDanger outside, remember?â
Right⌠That. You awkwardly nodded before moving toward the stairs first, hearing his footsteps following behind you soon after.
The rain had calmed slightly compared to before, but the air outside still felt cold and damp enough to make your skin prickle.
By the time you reached the small washroom building near the lower area, he stopped nearby to keep an eye.
âGo ahead,â he said simply while opening the umbrella you handed him earlier.
Once you finished and stepped back out, he was standing a little farther away now, eyes slowly scanning the dark bushes surrounding the area while rainwater soaked the muddy ground beneath his boots.
At the sound of the door, he glanced back. âDone?â
You nodded quickly. Without another word, both of you started heading back toward the tower stairs.
Then suddenlyâEverything went dark. The tower lights shut off instantly. The low hum of electricity disappeared completely.
You froze. Only the flashlight in your hand remained. ââŚWhat the fuck?â
You immediately turned toward him. Even in the darkness, you could still make out his figure standing calmly in the rain.
âWait here,â he said. âIâll check.â Before you could answer, he already started walking toward the generator area.
You followed behind anyway, gripping the flashlight tightly while trying your best not to panic again.
He crouched near the machine, quietly checking something beneath the cover while rainwater dripped from his dark hair.
Silence stretched for a moment. Then he stepped back. âItâs broken.â
ââŚWhat?â
He glanced at you with a slight scoff. âProbably got damaged when the rain got inside.â His voice stayed oddly calm despite the situation. âNot much we can do right now. WellâŚâ
âYou got candles?â
â
The cabin felt smaller now.
Maybe it was because of the darkness. Or maybe because the storm outside kept shaking the wooden walls hard enough to make the entire tower creak every few minutes.
A single candle sat between you both on the floor, its weak flame flickering softly whenever the wind slipped through the cracks of the old cabin.
The door stayed shut now. Locked tightly against the storm. You sat quietly beneath the blanket while watching him from across the room.
He was focused on fixing the walkie-talkie resting in his lap, rough fingers slowly moving through loose wires and damaged parts beneath the dim candlelight. The silence between you wasnât awkward anymore. Just heavyâŚ
Your eyes drifted absentmindedly toward his hands again. Then paused after seeing something odd⌠his right thumb. Half the nail was gone.
You frowned slightly, blinking as you leaned a little closer, wondering if the dim lighting was making you see things wrongâ
But before you could look properly, he suddenly moved his hand away.
âGo to sleep,â he muttered casually without even looking up. âIâm blowing the candle out soon. Canât waste supplies right now.â
You stared at him for another second before slowly standing. ââŚOkay. Goodnight.â
This time he looked up briefly. âNight.â
You climbed back onto the bed soon after, tucking yourself beneath the sheets while he stayed near the floor a little longer fixing the device. But sleep never came. Not even close.
Your eyes remained half-open in the darkness, carefully peeking toward him from beneath the blanket while waiting for any sign heâd finally fallen asleep.
Eventually, he blew the candle out. Darkness swallowed the room instantly. A few quiet movements followed before you heard him settling down onto the floor, turning toward the opposite side afterward.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound practically hammered inside your skull while you shifted slightly beneath the sheets, thighs pressing together instinctively.
God⌠Your face felt unbearably hot.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a second before slowly opening them again, lips parting with a shaky breath as your thoughts spiraled worse and worse.
This was humiliating. Actually humiliating. You barely even knew this man. Yet somehow your body refused to calm down after the entire day around him.
The closeness. His voice. His hands. The way he looked at you. It made no sense.
Your breathing turned quieter as one hand slowly disappeared beneath the blanket, while the other curled tightly against sheets afterward like you were trying to stop yourself.
But you didnâtâŚ
Instead, your first hand, finally slid beneath the waistband of your underwear. The first touch of your own skin felt electric, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the room.
You let out a shaky, jagged breath, your chest heaving as you began to explore yourself in the secret sanctuary of the sheets.
The other one started with your breasts, your fingers gripping your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. You squeezed and twisted the small buds, feeling them harden into tight, sensitive peaks.
The sensation sent a jolt of heat straight down to your groin, making your toes curl. You groaned softly, the sound muffled by the pillow
Your mind swirling with images of those rough, calloused handsâthe ones that had been fixing that deviceâinstead gripping your breasts and bruising your skin.
Driven by a desperate hunger, your hand migrated lower. You pushed your underwear aside, your fingers finding the swollen, sensitive folds of your pussy.
You were already slick, your natural lubrication coating your fingers as you began to rub your clit in slow, agonizing circles.
You arched your back, pressing your hips upward, almost dry-humping the mattress in a rhythmic, frantic search for more pressure. Your breath hitched, coming in shallow, needy gasps.
You felt lost, your consciousness slipping away into a haze of pure, raw pleasure. All you could think about was himâjust a few feet awayâcompletely unawareâŚ
Your movements became rougher, more urgent. You stopped the gentle rubbing and slid two fingers deep inside your soaking wet heat. Fuckâ!
You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you began to finger yourself with a quick, desperate pace.
You pumped your fingers in and out of your tight walls, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin echoing in your own ears, sounding deafeningly loud in the silence of the cabin.
Your hips bucked instinctively, your internal muscles clamping down hard around your fingers as the orgasm began to build.
Just as your muscles tightened for the final, crushing climax, a low, gravelly voice sliced through the darkness, vibrating through the room.
âCumming already?â
ââ!?â You gasped, a sharp, strangled sound escaping your throat as you instinctively recoiled, shrinking back against the headboard in a desperate attempt to hide your nakedness and your shame.
Before you could even draw another breath, a large, calloused hand shot out of the gloom. His fingers clamped around your ankle like a vice, the grip bruisingly tight and absolute.
With one powerful, effortless tug, you were dragged backward across the sheets, your body sliding helplessly until you were pinned beneath the weight of his presence.
âRelax,â he said quietly. âYouâve been squirming around for the last ten minutes.â A low chuckle left him. âYou always this needy?â
âNoâ! Move!â You couldn't see a damn thing, but you could feel himâthe heat radiating from his body, the scent of rain and old tobacco, and the sheer, overwhelming dominance of his frame looming over you.
He didn't give you a second to recover. His hands moved with a brutal efficiency, grabbing your thighs and wrenching your legs wide apart, exposing your soaking wet, trembling pussy to the cool air of the cabin.
"So⌠Ovulating, huh?" he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to echo inside your very bones.
"Waitâ! That's notâ! Stop!" you stammered, your voice thin and breathless. You tried to struggle, attempting to kick or pull your legs away, but it was useless.
His grip was like iron, locking you in place, leaving you completely open and vulnerable to his scrutiny.
He chuckled, a dark, predatory sound. "Do you really want me to stop?" he asked, his tone dripping with a mocking sort of curiosity. "Or maybe we can do it this way..."
He shifted, leaning over you. You felt his hot, heavy breath ghosting over your clit, the warmth of it making your thighs quiver uncontrollably.
"If I make you cum... there's no stopping. Deal?"
Your mouth fell open, a silent gasp for air, but any protest you had was instantly forgotten as he acted. He didn't start with a kiss or a gentle touch.
Instead, he dragged a long, slow stripe of his tongue from the bottom of your vulva all the way up to your clit, the rough texture of his tongue sending a violent jolt of electricity through your spine.
âMmh⌠youâve got a strong scent,â he chuckled, spitting against your clit before his fingers hooking into your wet folds and parting them wide, exposing the glistening, pulsing hole of your pussy. Without warning, he shoved his tongue deep inside you.
âAhh!? no-!â You let out a loud, broken moan, your back arching off the bed as he began to twirl his tongue against your internal walls, sucking the juices from your heat with a greedy, rhythmic intensity.
He was relentless, his tongue flicking and swirling, hitting every single nerve ending with pinpoint accuracy. âSo sensitive hm?â
ââ!!â You screamed into the silence of the cabin, your body shaking as a massive, crashing orgasm ripped through you, sending waves of pleasure radiating from your core to your fingertips.
But he didn't let up. Even as you peaked, even as your body trembled in the aftershocks of a climax, he doubled his efforts.
He dove back in, licking you with a ferocious hunger, his tongue swirling faster and harder, sucking on your clit until you were sobbing, your mind completely blanking out.
When he finally pulled away from your soaking pussy, you collapsed back onto the mattress, your head hitting the pillow with a thud, your chest heaving as you gasped for air.
You were a complete, tattering messâshaking, drenched in your own juices, and mentally fried from the onslaught of orgasms he'd forced out of you.
But he wasn't done⌠not by a long shot.
Before you could even catch your breath, you felt his massive, calloused hands slam onto your breasts.
âStay still.â he murmured, eyes fixated on your heaving chest. He didn't just touch them; he groped them with a brutal hunger, kneading the soft flesh together, squeezing your tits into a tight, deep cleavage.
As he crushed your breasts together, you felt something thick, hot, and pulsing slide between them.
His cock was throbbing with a life of its own. He adjusted his shaft, rubbing the length of it against your skin, the friction making you whimper.
He was already leaking, the pre-cum slicking the head of his dick and coating your chest in a sticky, salty glaze as he humped rhythmically between your tits.
You opened your mouth, your voice a wrecked whisper, trying to find the words to ask what he was doing or to beg for more, but he didn't want to hear you speak.
With a low grunt, he shifted his weight, guiding his throbbing cock right to your lips. âOh, Fuckâ!â
He didn't ask; he just pushed the broad, leaking head of his dick into your mouth, forcing you to kiss the velvet skin of his shaft.
The taste of himâmusk, salt, and raw desireâfilled your senses. He began to hump between your breasts again, the friction increasing, his breath coming in heavy, jagged rasps above you.
âNgh- FUCK, open up!â He groaned, almost hitting his limit. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his grip on your breasts tightened until your skin flushed red.
He let out a guttural growl, his hips snapping forward in one final, violent thrust against your chest. Then, he blew.
A thick, hot rope of cum squirted directly across your face, the force of it splashing over your cheeks and forehead.
You squeezed your eyes shut instinctively, the warm, viscous fluid blinding you, smelling strongly of sex and dominance.
âHahâŚâ he didn't pull away immediately; he stayed there for a moment, pulsing, emptying himself all over you until he was spent.
As the silence returned to the cabin, save for the rain drumming on the roof, you felt his fingers reach up.
He didn't wipe the mess away; he smeared it. Slowly, carefully, he used his thumb to spread the white cream across your skin, painting your face with his seed.
He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, a satisfied, predatory grin evident in his voice.
"Atta girl..."
â
âEighth dayâ
You stayed curled beneath the blanket long after waking up, still feeling hot from last night.
Meanwhile he had left earlier in the morning to get more supplies. Which honestly sounded insane to you considering the condition outside.
Floodwater had already started gathering around the lower forest areas from the nonstop rain, muddy water swallowing parts of the trail little by little. Yet somehow he still went out there like it was nothing serious.
You stared blankly toward the quiet radio sitting near the desk. Then eventually groaned and forced yourself out of bed.
âFuck thisâŚâ
Throwing a towel over your head, you headed downstairs toward the generator again. Because seriously. What the hell was wrong with that thing?
You stood beside it with an annoyed sigh before kicking the side of it out of frustration.
SilenceâŚ
Then suddenlyâThe machine sputtered loudly back to life.
ââŚHuh!!??â
A second later, loud static echoed from upstairs. You immediately ran back toward the cabin, nearly slipping on the wet stairs before grabbing the radio.
ââNew one, do you copy?â The voice crackled through the speaker suddenly.
Your chest tightened instantly. But before you could answer, you realizedâIt was prerecorded. A voicemail.
âI hope you get this message soon,â the station worker continued through heavy static. âAs soon as the situation calms down, rescue teams will come get you.â
âAnd donât worry about the reports right now. Just⌠stay safe...â A pause followed. Static crackled loudly through the speaker before the man spoke again, his voice noticeably more uneasy this time.
âThereâs also been⌠certain reports coming from nearby stations.â Another pause. âThe news hasnât fully addressed it yet because of the flood situation butââ The line distorted for a second. Then:
âIf you see a man going by the name ZeninâŚâ Static buzzed harshly. âTall build. Mark beside his mouthâŚâ
âStay away from him.â
â.......â
You stared at the radio in complete disbelief while the voice continued again quickly, almost like he regretted even mentioning it.
âWeâre still trying to confirm details, so until rescue arrives, keep your doors locked and stay alert at all times.â Another pause.
âOhâand the patrol checks have officially been canceled because of the weather situation.â
âBeepâ
The line died.
And almost immediately afterâThe generator shut off again. You stood there frozen beside the radio. Your brain felt completely blank.
Canceled? The patrol was canceled? Then�
Your blood ran cold as you heard slow footsteps echoing from the stairs outside. And his voice followed right after.
âYou up?â he called casually from below. âSaw the generator running. You fixed it?â
Panic slammed into your chest so violently it almost made you dizzy. Without thinking, you backed away from the room instantly.
âHey?â His footsteps continued climbing slowly. Heavy. Unhurried.
You looked around desperately before rushing toward the stairs on the opposite side while staying low, trying to move as quietly as possible while he stepped into the cabin.
You heard him stop inside the room.
While you were already halfway down the stairs by then, heart pounding so hard it physically hurt.
Run.
Run.
RUN!
You turned and bolted. Rain immediately soaked through your clothes the second you reached outside, your shoes splashing through muddy water as panic completely took over your body.
Then behind youâA low chuckle. So close it nearly made you stumble.
Genre: Dark fiction, Psychological thriller, Yandere, Memory manipulation, Obsession, Psychological horror, Alternate timeline AU
Word count: 7.9k
Warnings:
Dark content, psychological manipulation, memory tampering, gaslighting, mind break, obsession/possessive behavior, stalking, emotional coercion, distorted reality perception, implied non-con/dub-con elements (non-explicit), unhealthy relationship dynamics, power imbalance, identity confusion, suggestive themes, yandere behavior.
Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to these topics.
AN: This piece explores heavy psychological themes including memory distortion and loss of autonomy. The story takes place in an alternate timeline separate from canon. If youâre uncomfortable with manipulative dynamics, mind break, or yandere characters, please skip. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Masterlist
The moon hung pale and distant above the palace roofs, its light spilling through the silken drapes like a ghost that refused to leave. The air was still â too still â heavy with a silence that seemed to suffocate even the faintest whisper of wind.
You sat before the lacquered mirror, its surface dimly reflecting the flickering candlelight. Your comb slid through your long hair with practiced grace, but there was no calm in your movements â only habit. Each slow stroke was a distraction, a fragile attempt to quiet the pounding in your chest.
This palace⌠your gilded cage. Every wall carried your fatherâs shadow â the tyrant king, the man feared more than loved. His voice still echoed in the marble halls, stern and cold, commanding obedience, demanding perfection. No one ever dared to breathe too freely in his presence. You had learned that lesson early â that fear was the only way to survive under his rule.
Your mother was gone. The servants bowed until their spines ached, and even then, their eyes never met yours. You, the kingâs only daughter â the princess of a cursed throne â were trapped in a silence built from dread.
And now, war had come.
Your father had left days ago, leading his army toward the borders where neighboring kingdoms waited with sharpened blades and vengeful hearts. Everyone knew the truth â his enemies were many, his allies none. Yet he went anyway, arrogance cloaked as courage.
Since that morning, the palace had not known rest. Every servantâs footstep sounded like thunder in the stillness. The guards moved with rigid unease, hands never leaving the hilts of their swords. The halls felt colder, emptier â as if the kingdom itself was holding its breath.
You hadnât slept. Each night you waited â for news, for a letter, for anything. But no one came. No messenger, no sign. Just silence and the endless whisper of your own thoughts.
A weary sigh slipped past your lips as you set the comb down upon the vanity. The night outside looked calm â deceptively so. You rose, the soft rustle of silk trailing behind you as you walked toward the window. The moonlight bathed your face in silver, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to hope â that perhaps tomorrow, he would return victorious.
Then you heard it.
A sound â faint, hurried â from the courtyard below. Metal clinking. Voices, low and strained. You froze, listening.
The unease that had sat quietly in your chest all week stirred violently. Pushing the curtains aside, you stepped onto the wooden balcony, the night air brushing against your skin. Below, the torchlight trembled in the hands of a few guards gathered near the gate. Their voices carried upward â sharp, nervous, panicked.
Your fingers curled around the carved railing. âWhatâs happening down there?â you called, keeping your voice calm though your pulse quickened.
The men below startled, heads snapping up at once. Their armor glinted faintly under the moonlight as they fumbled for words.
âHâHime-samaâŚâ one of them stammered, bowing hastily. âForgive us, but⌠thereâs beenââ
He faltered, exchanging a look with the others. None of them seemed willing to continue.
The tension in your chest tightened. You took a slow breath, forcing your tone steady. âSpeak,â you said softly. âWhat is it?â
The guard swallowed hard, eyes flickering toward the shadows beyond the gate â the place where the forest began, dark and endless.
âHime-samaâŚâ he began again, voice trembling. âThereâs⌠thereâs a man. A wounded soldier. We found him collapsed at the edge of the forest. He bears no crest we can recognizeâŚâ
The words trailed off into the night.
Your breath caught for a second.
A wounded soldier�
The words echoed in your mind, sharp and urgent. Could it beâsomeone from your fatherâs army? Someone who had escaped the battlefield? Someone who might know what happened?
Hope flared like a dying flame suddenly catching air. You leaned slightly over the railing, voice tightening with impatience.
âWhat are you waiting for?â you called out. âHurry! We need to bring him inside before he bleeds to death!â
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, shifting their weight. The one who had spoken raised a hand, bowing deeply.
âHime-sama,â he said carefully, âforgive us, but⌠we cannot allow you to go down there. Especially not at night.â
You froze.
Of course. Not at night.
The familiar sting of helplessness burned beneath your ribs. You looked away, your fingers tightening against the railing until your knuckles whitened. You werenât even permitted to step outside during the day without your fatherâs consentâwhat made you think you could now?
ââŚVery well,â you murmured after a moment, forcing your voice to steady. âGo, then. Bring him here.â
The men bowed once more and hurried off into the darkness, their torches bobbing like restless fireflies. You remained there a while longer, staring at the moon until it blurred through the tears you refused to let fall.
---
By the time the guards returned, the palace was bathed in a hush broken only by hurried footsteps and the soft clatter of armor. You followed the faint noise through the corridors until you reached one of the guest chambers â the air thick with the scent of herbs and blood.
The royal physician â an old man with silver hair and weary eyes â worked in silence, pressing bandages over wounds that looked far too deep to have been survived. The stranger lay on the bed, bare chest streaked with dried blood, his breathing shallow but steady.
You stepped inside, and instantly every head bowed low.
âHime-sama,â the physician murmured, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. The guards followed his lead, stepping back to make space for you.
You barely heard them. Your eyes had already fallen to the man on the bed.
Long, black hair spilled across the white pillow, strands tangled and damp with sweat. His features were sharp, almost too perfect â high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that looked like theyâd been carved from silence itself. He looked nothing like the men your father commanded. There was something unfamiliar about him, something heavy in the air around him â like he carried the night with him even while unconscious.
Your gaze drifted over the scars across his skin â signs of countless battles. A man like this⌠how could even he fall?
If someone this strong was struck down so brutally⌠then FatherâŚ
Your thoughts stilled, dread closing around your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
âThis is the soldier?â
One of the guards, the same who had spoken earlier, hesitated. âWeâre not certain, Hime-sama. There were no crests, no insignia, no proof of where he came from. Unless he wakes, we cannot say for sure. And if heâs not one of ours, then perhapsââ The manâs hand drifted toward his sword.
âEnough.â
Your voice cut through the room, quiet but firm. The guard froze mid-motion.
âDo not say such things,â you said, taking a slow step closer to the bed. âYouâll not speak of him as a threat while he lies half-dead under this roof. Heâs to be treated until he wakes. Then, and only then, weâll know the truth.â
âHime-samaââ
âThat is an order.â
The men lowered their heads at once. âAs you command.â
You let out a breath you hadnât realized you were holding and turned your gaze back to the stranger. His face was still â calm in a way that unsettled you. The candlelight flickered across his skin, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw, the faint rise and fall of his chest.
There was something⌠strangely peaceful about him.
You shook the thought away. âKeep someone stationed here,â you said softly. âIf he stirs, send word immediately.â
With that, you turned and stepped out of the room, the soft echo of your footsteps fading into the silence of the hallâŚ
â
The morning light spilled softly through the paper screens, brushing gold against the polished floors. You were halfway through a cup of tea you hadnât really tasted when a young servant knelt beside you, head bowed.
âHime-sama,â she whispered, voice trembling slightly, âthe man we brought in last nightâhe has regained consciousness.â
Your hand stilled mid-motion, the porcelain cup gently clinking against its saucer. For a moment, your heart skipped.
ââŚHeâs awake?â you asked quietly.
âYes, Hime-sama. The physician says heâs stable now.â
You nodded once, setting the cup aside. âPrepare the room,â you murmured. âIâll see him.â
The girl bowed low before scurrying out. You rose, smoothing the folds of your robe, trying to steady the unease that had begun to coil in your chest. You didnât know why, but the thought of facing himâthis nameless soldier who had appeared from the darknessâmade your pulse quicken.
---
The air inside the room was thick with the scent of medicine and incense. The wounded man sat upright on the bed now, his body bound in clean white bandages. He was silent, his long dark hair falling over one shoulder, and his gazeâthose dark, calm eyesâlifted to you the moment you entered.
You froze.
It wasnât hostility that met you. It wasnât even pain. It was something deeper⌠an awareness. His eyes seemed to hold too much, as if heâd seen and known things no ordinary man should. For an instant, you forgot to breathe.
âHime-sama,â the physician greeted, bowing low. The guards followed, heads dipping.
You nodded faintly, your attention never fully leaving the man on the bed. âYouâre awake,â you said softly, stepping closer. âI was told you were gravely injured. Are you feeling better now?â
Silence.
He didnât answerâdidnât even blink. Just stared at you, steady and unreadable. The stillness stretched, sharp enough to make your skin prickle.
One of the guards broke. He took a step forward, fury flashing across his face.
âHow dare you!â he barked. âOur Hime-sama is speaking to you! You refuse to answer any of our questions and now you insult her with silence!?â
âEnough.â
But your voice was lost beneath anotherâcalm, deep, and oddly familiar.
You turned toward the doorway, eyes widening.
A tall man stepped inside, robes of muted crimson flowing behind him. His hair was streaked with faint gray, his features bearing the same sharpness as your fatherâs, yet softerâwarmer, somehow. It was your fatherâs younger brother.
âUncleâŚ?â you breathed, barely hiding your surprise.
Lord RenzĹâthat was his name, though you rarely used it aloud. Everyone called him RenzĹ-dono, the kingâs estranged brother, the man who wanted nothing to do with the crown or the cruelty that came with it. He rarely visited the palace, and when he did, it was like a shadow passing briefly through sunlight.
Why was he here now?
He smiled faintly, stepping into the room. âHeâs still recovering,â he said mildly, looking toward the injured man. âWe shouldnât rush him, right?â
That last wordâright?âwas spoken as his eyes flicked to yours. His tone was light, but there was something deliberate beneath it, something that made you hesitate.
You blinked once, then slowly nodded. âYouâre right,â you said softly, glancing toward the furious guard. âStand down.â
The guard hesitated, clenching his jaw before bowing. âAs you command, Hime-sama.â
He stepped back, lowering his head. The room fell quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the brazier.
Your uncle crossed the space between you, his expression unreadable. His hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze following.
âI heard whatâs been happening,â he said, voice low but steady. âSo I couldnât stay away.â
You looked up at him, searching for meaning behind the sudden warmth in his tone. Heâd never been the type to involve himself in your fatherâs affairs.
âDonât worry,â he continued, his smile faint but practiced. âYour father isnât the type to lose.â
You blinked, momentarily thrown off. Heâd never said such words beforeânever shown confidence in the man he openly despised. Why now?
Your eyes shifted briefly to the stranger on the bedâhis gaze was still fixed on you, silent and heavy. The moment your eyes met, you felt it againâthat strange awareness, like he was listening to every word, every breath.
You turned away first. âYou must be tired, Uncle,â you said softly, forcing a small smile. âIâll tell the maids to prepare your chambers.â
RenzĹ inclined his head, his smile deepening just slightly. âThank you, Hime-sama,â he said. Then, as he moved past you, his voice dropped lowerâbarely above a whisper. âI appreciate⌠whatever you do.â
A shiver crawled down your spine, though you couldnât say why.
You looked back once, to the man still sitting on the bed, watching everything in silence. His gaze followed RenzĹâs departing form for a moment before returning to you.
You didnât understand thenâbut something in that quiet, in those eyes, felt like the calm before a storm you couldnât yet see.
â
You could still feel his eyes.
Even when you werenât looking, even when you pretended to busy yourself with letters and documents, the memory of those dark, unblinking stares lingeredâquiet, patient, and far too deep. Every time you entered that room, he never spoke, never moved muchâjust watched you. It wasnât the kind of gaze that was empty or lost. No, it was knowing. Like he could see through the silk, through the poise, straight into the restless, frightened heart you tried to hide from everyone else.
It made your stomach twist. You told yourself it was nonsenseâthat he was merely recovering, that the stillness came from pain or exhaustion. But the unease only grew.
Because those eyes⌠they didnât belong to a wounded soldier.
They belonged to someone who understood far more than he should.
Your hands had begun to clench without you realizing. He knows. That thought burned inside you, clear and sharp.
âHe was there. He mustâve seen my father. He must know whatâs happening in the war.â
So you promised yourself that youâd make him speakâtoday, or tomorrowâbut you would hear the truth from him.
Exceptâhe didnât speak.
Not that day. Not the next. Not the one after.
Each morning passed with whispers following you through the corridors. Servants spoke in hushed tones; guards exchanged wary looks whenever you walked by. Everyone had begun to question why the stranger still remained.
âHeâs dangerous, Hime-sama.â
âNo soldier of ours would bear no crest.â
âPlease, send him away before misfortune strikes.â
Their words clung to you like shadows. And though you tried to ignore them, you felt your patience thinning. Maybe they were right. Maybe you were being foolish.
So, that morning, you went to him againâperhaps for the last time.
---
The air in his chamber was cool, filtered through the thin shĹji screens that let in threads of pale daylight. The scent of herbs hung faintly in the air, and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps filled the space.
He sat as alwaysâupright on the futon, bandages wrapping his torso and arms. His hair fell loosely over his shoulder, dark as ink against the white sheets. His eyes lifted to you the moment you entered.
You didnât speak at first. The weight of his gaze made your breath slow. His silence felt heavier now, almost deliberate.
You exhaled, steadying your tone. âYouâve recovered enough to talk now, havenât you?â
He didnât answer. His face gave nothing away.
A flicker of irritation lit in your chest. You took another step closer. âYouâve been silent for days. If you truly served under my father, you must tell me what you know. Is heââ
âThe Lord has ordered to send the remaining soldiers to the south side by sunset.â
The words cut clean through the air, calm and low.
You froze.
He looked at you steadily as he continued, his voice measured, emotionless.
âWeâre on the verge of losing. He said we need to change our tacticsâthatâs what he told me to deliver, Hime-sama.â
Your breath caught. âWeâre⌠losing?â
He said nothing, and that silence felt louder than any answer.
You took a step forward, the tremor in your voice breaking through the mask you tried to hold. âWhyâwhy didnât you say this sooner!? Youâve been lying here all this time, and youâ!â
He looked away then, for the first time, his expression unreadableâbut his voice softer, almost remorseful.
âI apologize. I was on my way to deliver this message. But⌠they caught me before I could reach the palace.â
His hand lifted slightly, brushing the edge of the bandages on his neck. âItâs not safe anymore,â he murmured. âTheyâre getting closer⌠to the palace.â
You felt your knees weaken.
Your eyes trailed over himâthe dark bruises, the deep cuts along his shoulder, his arm, the scar at his throat. The words couldnât be false. No spy could have survived wounds like that.
Heâs telling the truth.
You forced your breathing to steady, the tremor in your fingers barely under control. âI seeâŚâ you whispered.
Then you turned sharply and left the room before your panic could show.
---
The wind hit your face as soon as you reached the roof terraceâone of the highest points of the palace overlooking the courtyards below. The guards on duty straightened in shock as you appeared, but you didnât stop. You moved to the edge, the air alive with tension, your pulse hammering.
âEveryone, listen!â
Your voice echoed down into the courtyards. Every head turnedâsoldiers, servants, archers stationed by the gates.
âGather the remaining troops!â you ordered, raising your voice louder. âBy the command of the King, move the forces to the southern side before sunset! You are to reinforce the defense there immediately!â
The men blinked in confusion for a moment before snapping into action, shouting orders to one another.
You turned to the captain of the guards standing below. âDouble the patrols! Tighten the watch around the palaceâno one enters or leaves without approval!â
âYes, Hime-sama!â
The courtyard burst into motion, men rushing toward the armory, banners rising, the clang of weapons breaking through the still morning.
You stood there for a long moment, wind tugging at your hair, trying to calm the pounding in your chest.
âPlease⌠please let this workâŚâ
For a fleeting second, you looked back toward the palaceâthe faint shadow of the room where the silent man waitedâand your heart beat even faster, though you didnât yet know whyâŚ
â
The night was restless.
Even after the orders were given, even after the soldiers marched out toward the southern border, silence did not bring you peace. The air felt too heavy; every breath you took seemed to taste of dread. You had done what you thought was right, yet doubt crept through the corners of your mind like fog.
You sat by the open window of your chamber, staring at the distant torches flickering across the palace walls. âFather⌠please, be safe.â The prayer slipped from your heart silently, lost to the wind.
Then, a faint knock sounded at your door.
âHime-sama,â came a servantâs hesitant voice, âthe wounded man⌠he wishes to speak with you.â
You hesitated, your fingers tightening on the fabric of your robe. Why now? Part of you wanted to refuseâtoo tired, too uncertainâbut the thought of his calm, unreadable face would not leave your mind. Perhaps he had more news. Perhaps⌠something about your father.
ââŚIâll go,â you said quietly.
---
His room was dim when you entered, lit only by a single lantern. Shadows moved like soft waves across the paper walls. The man was awake, sitting upright, one arm resting lightly across his bandaged torso. When he saw you, he inclined his head just slightlyâmore a gesture of respect than of servitude.
You closed the door behind you. âYou asked for me,â you said.
âI did.â His voice was lower than you remembered, quiet but clear. âI wanted to thank you, Hime-sama. For trusting my words when I had done nothing to earn that trust.â
You stayed near the doorway at first, unsure. âI only did what had to be done.â
âStill,â he said, a faint trace of warmth touching his tone, âit saved lives. Perhaps even mine.â
You didnât answer. The silence between you stretched again, heavy yet strangely calm. You could hear the faint crackle of the lantern flame, the soft rustle of his breath.
Finally, you spoke. âYou never told me your name.â
He lifted his eyes to yours then. The faintest smile curved his lips.
âSuguru.â
The syllables rolled softly, almost reverent. You repeated it under your breath as if testing the sound. âSuguruâŚâ
Something about it lingered in the airâsimple, but grounding.
You drew a quiet breath. âSuguru. You were⌠part of the battlefield, werenât you? You must have seen my father.â
He looked down for a moment, then nodded once. âI did.â
The answer made your pulse quicken. âAnd⌠heâs safe?â
There was a pause. His gaze lifted again, gentle but unreadable. âHe was alive when I last saw him. But the front is chaos, Hime-sama. No one truly knows what the next hour brings.â
You swallowed hard, that sick feeling of fear curling tighter in your chest. âThen why didnât you speak sooner?â
âIâm sorry.â His eyes softened, guilt touching his voice like a sigh. âI wanted to⌠but I couldnât be sure who I could trust. I was half-dead when they found me. For all I knew, the palace might already have been infiltrated. If I spoke too soon and endangered youâŚâ
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Endangered me?
He smiled faintly, though the expression carried a trace of pain. âIâve seen too many good hearts crushed by war. I didnât want yours to be next.â
â......." You said nothing, but your chest felt tight.
He shifted slightly, the movement drawing a quiet hiss through his teeth as pain shot through his bandaged arm. You stepped forward without thinking. âYou shouldnât moveââ
âIâll manage,â he murmured. His voice was calm again, but softer this time, almost coaxing. âThese wounds are the price I pay. Iâve survived worse...â
You frowned. âYou shouldnât speak of it so lightly.â
He looked up at you then, and in the glow of the lantern, his eyes looked warmer than beforeâgentle, deep, endless.
âI donât,â he said quietly. âBut⌠if I must bear the pain to keep you safe, then I will. Donât worry, Hime-sama⌠Iâll always protect you. Until my last breath.â
The words caught you off guard. You felt your throat tighten, a rush of warmth spreading through your chest before you could stop it.
No one had ever said such things to youânot your father, not the soldiers sworn to your name. You had lived your whole life behind walls of fear and silence, and now, this stranger with his calm voice and wounded body spoke to you as though you were someone worth protecting.
You lowered your gaze, hiding the sudden rush of emotion behind your lashes. âYou shouldnât make promises like that,â you whispered.
He smiled faintly. âI never make promises I donât intend to keep.â
For a heartbeat, the world outside the walls seemed to disappear. The lantern flame wavered between you, painting soft gold across his face, and something in his eyesâsteady, unyieldingâfelt like a shield you didnât know you needed.
Somehow, his words made your heart ache.
It wasnât the promise alone. It was the way he said itâso quiet, so certain, as if protecting you had already become something inevitable to him.
Your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
His voice lingered in your mind even after the words had faded, low and steady like a distant echo you couldnât escape. And his eyes⌠the way they watched you so carefully, so gentlyâthere was something inside them. Something unspoken.
As if he wanted to say more.
As if the words were already resting on the edge of his lips but never quite finding the courage to fall.
Your chest felt strangely heavy.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed against your mindâsoft and distant, like a memory seen through fog.
Iâve felt this before.
The feeling of being looked at like that.
The warmth spreading through your chest.
The strange ache that came with it.
But no matter how hard you tried to grasp it, the memory slipped through your fingers like water.
You didnât understand it.
And perhaps⌠you didnât want to.
Slowly, you lowered your gaze, forcing the unfamiliar feeling down before it could grow any stronger.
âThis is foolish,â you murmured quietly, though you werenât sure whether you meant him⌠or yourself.
Without another word, you turned away.
Your steps were quiet as you moved toward the door, the soft rustle of your robes the only sound breaking the stillness of the room. You paused for the briefest moment with your hand resting on the sliding door.
You didnât look back.
If you did, you feared you might see those eyes againâsteady, patient, waiting.
And something inside you might answer them.
So instead, you slid the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, leaving the wounded stranger and the strange, aching feeling behind you.
Or at least⌠you tried to.
â
Days passed.
The palace that once echoed with the sounds of armored steps and morning drills now felt hollow. Every corridor whispered with emptiness. Every flickering lantern seemed weaker than before, shadows stretching too long against the gold-painted walls.
Most of the guards had already marched south. Those who remained stayed close to the gates, leaving the inner palace silent. You could hear your own footsteps too clearly now⌠and sometimes, when the wind brushed against the windows, it sounded almost like voicesâfaint, distant, and gone before you could listen again.
You hated that silence.
Every night, you told yourself you wouldnât go to his room again. But then, when the air grew cold and your chest tightened with fear, your feet would move before your mind could stop them.
And so tonight again, you found yourself walking through the dim hall, carrying a single lantern. The flame trembled slightly with your hands.
When you opened the door, Suguru was awake.
He was sitting near the window, moonlight pooling over his bandaged arms. His long dark hair had been tied loosely behind him, and though he still looked pale, his posture was strongâtoo strong for someone who had nearly died days ago.
He turned at the sound of the door and smiled faintly. âYou shouldnât be walking around alone, Hime-sama. Itâs dangerous at night.â
You exhaled shakily. âThereâs no one left here to hurt me.â
âThatâs not true,â he said calmly.
There was an unfamiliar curve to his smile now. Something subtle. Something⌠unreadable. As if a thought lingered behind it that he had chosen not to share.
The lantern light flickered between you, casting wavering shadows along the walls.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Suguru tilted his head slightly, studying you with quiet curiosity.
ââŚWhy didnât you come sooner?â
Your brows knit together faintly.
âI asked the servants about you,â he continued calmly. âBut none of them answered me.â
His gaze never left your face.
The smile remained on his lips, yet something in his eyes felt differentâdeeper, searching.
âDid I do something wrongâŚ?â he asked softly.
A pause.
âUnpleasant, Hime-sama?â
The way he said it made your chest tighten.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words refused to come. Your mind felt strangely empty as you looked at him.
Suguru hadnât moved from the bed.
Yet somehow his presence filled the entire room.
âIâŚâ Your thoughts drifted, your gaze lingering on him longer than it should haveâthe fall of his dark hair, the quiet steadiness in his expression, the strange warmth in his eyes.
For a moment you werenât even sure what he had asked.
You were simply⌠staring.
And thenâ
You blinked.
Suguru was suddenly standing in front of you.
Too close.
Your breath caught in your throat.
You hadnât even seen him move.
The lantern in your hand trembled slightly as his shadow fell over you, tall and quiet beneath the soft moonlight.
His long dark hair slipped forward as he leaned down just slightly, strands brushing near your shoulder.
Before you could step backâ
His hands gently took hold of yours.
Your fingers stiffened.
The warmth of his palms wrapped around them so naturally, as though they had always belonged there.
Yet you couldnât move.
Couldnât speak.
Your body felt strangely still, frozen in place as if you had turned into nothing more than a statue standing beneath his gaze.
Suguru lowered his eyes briefly to your hands.
Slowlyâalmost thoughtfullyâhe lifted one of them.
And thenâ
He pressed a soft kiss against your palm.
Your breath hitched sharply.
The warmth of it burned against your skin.
Not painfully.
But enough to send a sudden wave of heat rushing through your chest.
A quiet hiss of breath nearly escaped you, the sound dying somewhere deep in your throat as you stared up at him in shock.
Suguru was very close now.
So close that you could see the faint shadow beneath his eyes⌠the calm curve of his lips⌠the way a few loose strands of his dark hair slipped forward, brushing near your cheek as he leaned slightly over you.
His other hand rose slowly.
Your heart pounded in your ears as his fingers hovered near your face.
Then, gentlyâalmost absentmindedlyâhis fingertips brushed across your upper lip.
The touch was light.
Careful.
As if he were studying something delicate.
His gaze darkened slightly as he looked at you.
And when he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a low whisper.
ââŚPretty lips.â
âBut enough to send a sudden wave of heat
âWould look better around my cock,â Suguru murmured, his voice a husky rumble that vibrated through the air between you, laced with raw intent.
His thumb traced the swell of your lower lip, parting it slightly as if imagining the stretch, the wet slide of his thick shaft pushing past. âImagine it, Hime-Sama⌠those soft lips wrapped tight around me, sucking me deep until you're choking on every inch. Hmm⌠you'd take it so well, wouldn't you?â
Your eyes widened in shock, a flush exploding across your cheeks and down your neck, heat pooling low in your belly like molten fire. The words hit you like a slap, filthy and unyielding, stripping away any pretense of innocence in the room.
You wanted to gasp, to protest, to pull awayâbut your body betrayed you, locking in place as if invisible chains held you down. Every muscle froze, your limbs heavy and unresponsive, heart slamming against your ribs while your mind reeled in flustered chaos.
Oh god, he didn't just say that⌠not to meâŚ
The thought swirled, but no sound escaped; your throat tightened, words dying unspoken.
Suguru's gaze never left yours, dark eyes gleaming with possession as his fingers continued their slow caress along your jaw, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his stare.
âDon't you want to? Hm?â he drawled, the words stretching out languidly, each syllable a deliberate tease that sent shivers racing over your skin.
His touch was feather-light on your cheek now, stroking down to the pulse point at your neck, feeling the frantic beat there. âI can see it in your eyes, princess⌠that needy little spark. You crave it, don't you?â
âWell⌠you always didâŚâ
Before you could even process the haze of his words, his other handâthe one that had cradled your palmâslid away, trailing a path of fire down your side. It ghosted over the curve of your waist, fingers splaying wide to claim the dip of your hip through the thin fabric of your clothes.
Your breath caught again, sharper this time, but still no movement came. You were rooted, pinned by the weight of his presence, the room shrinking to just the heat of him so near.
Lower his hand ventured, deliberate and unhurried, skimming the edge of your thigh before cupping your mound possessively. His palm pressed firm against the warmth between your legs, fingers curling slightly to mold to your shape, the pressure igniting a spark that made your core clench involuntarily.
Fabric was no barrier to the intent in his gripâhe owned that space now, rubbing slow circles that had your hips twitching faintly, the only rebellion your body could muster.
âThis hereâŚâ Suguru whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in closer, his body shifting to press fully against you.
You felt it thenâthe hard poke of his manhood straining against his pants, thick and insistent as it nudged your belly through the layers.
He was too close, deliberately so, grinding just enough to let you feel the rigid length of him, the heat radiating like a promise of what could come. âThis is being really naughty, Hime-Sama. Soaking for me already, isn't it? Your needy thing begging for attention, clenching around nothing while you pretend to be all shy.â
A whimper built in your chest, but it stayed trapped, your lips parting only to let out a silent plea. Shame and desire twisted inside you, your mind a whirlwind of no, yes, stop, more as his fingers worked with expert patience.
He hooked them under the edge of your underwear, pushing the fabric aside to expose your slick folds to the cool air of the room. The first direct touchâhis fingertips gliding through your wetnessâdrew a shudder from deep within, your walls fluttering at the invasion.
Suguru chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your skin as he nuzzled your neck, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. âThat's it, Hime-Sama⌠let me feel how wet you are for me. Hmm, you're dripping already, just from my words. This is such a shameful act of youâthe noble lady⌠the only Hime-Sama dripping from a stranger's touchâŚâ
His middle finger circled your entrance teasingly, dipping in shallowly before retreating, building the ache until it bordered on pain. Then, with a possessive growl, he pushed deeper, two fingers now, curling to stroke that spot inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
You couldn't move, couldn't speakâyour body a prisoner to the sensations crashing over you. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles that had your thighs quivering despite the freeze.
Heat built relentlessly, coiling tight in your core as he pumped his fingers in and out, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room obscenely.
It's too much⌠he's everywhereâŚ
Your thoughts fragmented, pleasure sharpening to a razor's edge while his free hand cradled your face, thumb brushing your lips again as if reminding you of his earlier words.
âGonna make you come for me, Hime-Sama,â he breathed, voice rough with his own need, his cock twitching against your belly in rhythm with his thrusts.
âCome all over my fingers like the needy girl you are. Show me how much you want thisâhow much you want me to ruin you senseless after.â He added a third finger, stretching you fuller, his pace quickening as he watched your face, drinking in every frozen twitch, every silent gasp.
The pressure mounted, your body betraying you with slick gushes that coated his hand, the friction on your clit pushing you higher.
Foreplay blurred into pure tormentâhe leaned down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, tongue invading your mouth just as his fingers invaded below, mimicking the thrust he craved.
You tasted yourself on his breath somehow, or maybe it was just the rawness of it all. His body pinned you gently but firmly, that hard bulge grinding against you, promising more even as he focused solely on unraveling you. Sensations layered: the scrape of his teeth on your lip, the curl of his fingers hitting deep, the relentless rub that had your vision blurring.
The orgasm built like a storm, crashing without mercy. Your walls clamped down on his fingers, pulsing wildly as waves of ecstasy ripped through you, quaking your frozen form from the inside out.
A muffled cry escaped at last, vibrating against his mouth, your body arching involuntarily into his arms as you shattered.
He held you through it, fingers slowing to milk every aftershock, his whispers turning soothing yet still laced with possession: âGood girl⌠that's my Hime-Sama, coming so hard for me.â
You collapsed against him, limp and spent, falling into the solid warmth of his chest as tremors faded. But thenâreality snapped back.
âHime-Sama?â
Your eyes flew open.
The room was as it had been. Suguru sat on the edge of the bed, unmoved, his posture relaxed and unchanged, those dark strands of hair still neatly in place.
No hands on you, no press of his body, no lingering wetness between your thighs. It had all been in your mindâa vivid, shameful fantasy spun from that single kiss on your palm, the brush of his fingers on your lip.
Heat flooded your face anew, mortification twisting in your gut at the realization.
I just⌠imagined him doing that? Right here, in front of him? God, what if he could tell?
Before he could tilt his head further or voice the concern gathering in his eyesââAre you okay?ââpanic surged.
You bolted upright, scrambling off the bed on unsteady legs, the ghost of that phantom pleasure making your core throb with residual ache. Your pussy felt slick, traitorous, as if the dream had left echoes behind, dripping faintly against your underwear as you fled.
Shame burned hot, propelling you toward the door without a backward glance, the click of the latch echoing your frantic escape into the hallway.
Behind you, Suguru's voice followed, soft and puzzled, but you didn't stopâcouldn't face the knowing look that might be there, the one that saw straight through your frozen facade to the desires you'd just unleashed in silence.
â
The morning did not greet you gently.
It came in fragmentsâthin streaks of pale light slipping through the curtains, the distant hum of life beyond your walls, and the slow, disorienting awareness of your own body. You stirred beneath the sheets, breath catching faintly as warmth lingered where it shouldnât, coiling low and unfamiliar, like an echo that refused to fade.
Your eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, you didnât move. You simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, your pulse uneven, your skin still carrying the ghost of something that wasnât realâyet felt far too vivid to be dismissed as just a dream.
ââŚnoâŚâ you whispered under your breath, voice barely audible.
But your body betrayed you. The heat, the sensitivityâit all clung stubbornly, refusing to dissolve into morning logic.
And then it came back.
Not fully. Not clearly. Just flashes.
A voiceâlow, trembling ever so slightly as it spoke your name.
A touchâhesitant at first, then firm, as if afraid youâd disappear if he didnât hold on tight enough.
Those dirty words-
Your breath hitched, and you immediately turned onto your side, burying half your face into the pillow as if it could hide the sudden rush of embarrassment flooding through you.
âNo, no, noâŚâ you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.
âAt this moment⌠I'm thinking of such things⌠this was not expected from meâŚâ Your fingers curled into the sheets.
âButâŚ. Why would I even dream thatâŚ?â
Because it hadnât felt like a dream. That was the problem.
It had felt real. Too real. The warmth of him, the closeness, the way your name had sounded on his lipsâit lingered in your ears like a secret you werenât supposed to remember.
A soft groan escaped you as you pulled the blanket higher, as if that could somehow shield you from your own thoughts.
âAnd I justâran awayâŚâ you muttered, peeking out from the covers with a mortified expression.
The memory of last night surfaced nextâclearer, sharper.
The way you had avoided his gaze.
The way your heart had pounded as you turned your back on him, retreating too quickly, too obviouslyâ
You pressed your palms against your burning cheeks.
âHe definitely noticed,â you whispered in horror. âThereâs no way he didnât noticeâŚâ
Your stomach twisted, half from embarrassment, half from something else you didnât want to name.
What if he asked?
What if he already knew?
What ifâ
Then the sound came.
A deep, echoing clang. Then anotherâlouder, sharper. Panic sliced through the tranquility like a blade. You sat up instantly, heart hammering in your ribs. You were already off the bed, hastily throwing on a robe. The noise grewâboots, shouting, metal clashing somewhere down the marble corridors.
You ran.
Bare feet slapping against the cold floor, your breath catching as you rushed through the grand doors of the royal hallâonly to feel the world collapse beneath your feet.
Your fatherâs body was nowhere to be found. Only his head lay upon the gleaming floor, eyes closed, face pale and stillâas if heâd merely fallen asleep before death claimed him. A small pool of crimson framed him like a grotesque crown.
Your breath hitched. The sound that tore from your throat wasnât a scream, but something brokenâraw disbelief turning to anguish.
âF-FatherâŚ?â
âTsk, tsk, tsk.â
The voice came from behind. Smooth. Mocking. You turned, and there he stoodâLord Renzo, your uncle, dressed immaculately as always, his expression carved with a smirk too cruel to belong to kin.
âWhatâwhat have you done?â you choked, trembling.
Renzo clicked his tongue, stepping forward with a leisurely air. âOh, my dear niece⌠still so naĂŻve.â His boot came downâright on your fatherâs head. A sickening sound followed, echoing through the hall.
âSTOP!â you screamed, surging forward. âDonât you dareâstep away from him!â
Renzo looked down at you with mock pity. âSuch fire. Just like your mother.â He tilted his head. âAnd just as foolish.â
âFoolish?â you spat, shaking. âYou stood by himâyou served him!â
âServed?â His laughter rang sharp and hollow. âNo, child. I waited.â He crouched slightly, meeting your horrified gaze. âAll those years of pretending, of bowing, smiling, feigning loyalty⌠for this moment.â
You stumbled back a step, your tears burning. âYou⌠you liedââ
He straightened, spreading his arms dramatically. âLied? I call it strategy. After all, itâs easy to deceive those too blinded by blood and trust.â
You clenched your fists. âGuards!â you shouted, voice breaking. âGUARDS!â
Footsteps answeredâmany of them. Relief flooded you for a secondâuntil the soldiers entered. Their armor wasnât the crimson of your royal crest. It was black, etched with an insignia you didnât recognize.
You turned to him, voice trembling. âWhâwhere are my guards? Whereâs Captain Iro?â
He chuckled low, cruelly amused. âDidnât I tell you to dismiss them? To send them away under the guise of inspection?â He leaned close enough for you to see the madness in his eyes. âTheyâre dead, my sweet niece. Every last one.â
Your breath faltered, knees threatening to give. âNoâŚâ you whispered. âThen⌠whose guards are theyâŚ?â
The hall fell silent for a heartbeat.
Then a voiceâdeep, calm, achingly familiarâcut through the stillness.
âMine.â
The single word echoed through the vast hall like a verdict.
Cold. Final. Unfathomably familiar.
Your breath halted in your chest, your heart pounding hard enough to bruise your ribs. You didnât turn at onceâcouldnât. The voice alone rooted you to the spot, as if reality needed a moment to rearrange itself around the sound.
Then you turned. Slowly.
Suguru stood there.
Not the Suguru whose sleeping face had softened your morning.
Not the Suguru whose warmth still lingered faintly on your skin.
This Suguruâlooked carved from some ancient shadow. Soldiers in dark armor flanked him like an honor guard of the underworld. His posture was regal, his eyes unreadable, his presence consuming the hall until even the torches seemed to dim.
Your lips parted, but the word slipped out in a broken whisper.
ââŚSuguruâŚ?â
Your own voice sounded foreign, thin, like it belonged to someone else witnessing someone elseâs life fall apart.
âGeto.â He corrected, sounding firm as he stared down at you.
You blinkedâand the world around you blurred.
A memory seized you without mercy.
---
You were younger then.
Small enough that your feet didnât quite touch the ground when you sat on the grand carved chair beside your fatherâs throne. The kingâyour kingâwas not yet the tyrant the world would one day spit upon. His voice still held warmth then, his eyes crinkling when he glanced at you fiddling with the embroidery on your dress.
âY/N,â he called, tone half-tease, half-lecture. âAre you listening? Or daydreaming again?â
You looked up quickly, cheeks puffing in childish protest. âIâm listening! Iâm just⌠resting my eyes.â
He laughed, patting your head with a hand that felt impossibly large back then. âVery well. Rest them while I tell you something important.â
He leaned back, expression turning thoughtful. âThere are lands beyond our bordersâsome known, some spoken only in whispers. But there is one in particularâŚâ He lowered his voice, as if the walls might overhear. ââŚa kingdom hidden in the folds of the world.â
Your eyes widened, curiosity instantly hooked. âHidden? Like magic?â
âPerhaps.â His gaze turned distant. âSome travelers claim the paths twist strangely there. Walk straight, and you circle back. Turn left, and you find yourself lost. They say the land chooses who may enter.â
You leaned closer, enthralled. âAnd the people there?â
âNo one truly knows,â he admitted. âBecause those who claim to have enteredâŚâ His voice dropped, almost a whisper. ââŚnever return.â
You shiveredânot from fear, but the thrill of a child hearing a ghost story.
âOthers say,â he continued, âthat their ruler made a pact with the devil himself. That he stopped aging long ago. That he commands legions unseen by mortal eyes.â
You stared up at him, blinking dramatically. âThatâs not real!â
He chuckled. âMaybe. Or maybe it is. The world holds more darkness than we teach our children.â He smiled down at you, tapping your forehead. âConsider it an interesting tale, little one. Nothing more.â
Back then, you grinned and noddedâbecause it truly was nothing but a story. A fun one. A bedtime fantasy youâd forget after falling asleep.
---
But nowâ
Now your gaze lifted back to the man standing before you in the royal hall.
The man who hadnât aged.
The man whose presence made seasoned warriors tremble.
The man whose soldiers bore an emblem youâd never seen in your kingdom or any neighboring one.
That hidden empire.
That ruler who never grew older.
That legend whispered in fear.
It wasnât a story.
It was him.
Standing right in front of youâlooking at you with eyes that saw too much, felt too little.
A tremor ran through your fingers. Your breath stuttered. Your heartbeat hurt.
Suguruâor rather, Getoâwatched you. A slow, curling smile touched his mouth. Something old and dark and almost amused flickered in his gaze.
He tilted his head slightly, raven hair brushing his shoulder.
âYou look pale, HimeâSama,â he murmured, voice smooth, velvet over steel.
You couldnât speak. Not because you didnât want toâ
But because your throat refused to form words.
His smirk deepened, and thenâ
a low, soft laugh slipped from him.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Not the laugh you knew.
âToo surprised to speak,â he drawled lazily, âprincess?â
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AN: This piece explores disturbing themes involving manipulation, abusive relationships, psychological torment, and obsessive behavior. The dynamics portrayed in this story are intentionally unhealthy and meant for fictional horror purposes only. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
AN: This piece was written as a commission. The core idea and dynamics were requested by the client, and I expanded on it with my own interpretation. Thank you for commissioning me<3
Masterlist
You sat in the passenger seat, posture straight, clothes pristineâeverything about you composed, deliberate, almost painfully so.
The lines of your outfit were neat, unwrinkled, chosen with care, as if perfection on the outside could keep everything else from spilling through.
No one passing by, no one glancing into the car for even a second, would ever guess what lay hidden beneath the fabricâthe faint bruises blooming in places no light reached, marks that ached quietly under every small movement, every breath you took.
Beside you, Satoru hummed absentmindedly, a soft, careless tune that filled the otherwise suffocating quiet. One hand rested lazily over the steering wheel, fingers tapping faintly in rhythm, while the other hung loose by his side. His sunglasses caught the afternoon sun, flashing briefly every time he shifted.
The stick of a lollipop rested between his lips, tilting slightly as he sucked on it, the faint clicking sound breaking the silence in small, irregular intervals.
Seconds stretched. The silence wasnât emptyâit pressed, thick and suffocating, settling into your chest. Then the light finally turned green.
And your heart lurched. Why? Becauseâ
âGoddammit, move it!â Satoruâs voice snapped through the air as he bit down on the lollipop with an audible crack, his hand slamming against the horn. Once. Twice. Again. The sharp, blaring sound filled the car.
âStopââ you cut in, your voice small but urgent.
He turned his head toward you, brows knitting slightly behind the dark lenses. âWhat?â The single word wasnât loud, but it carried a weight that made your throat tighten.
You hesitated, fingers tightening in your lap. âThatâs enough⌠maybe thereâs a problem in the frontâŚâ
A scoff left him almost immediately. The horn blared again, longer this time, more aggressive. He glanced back at you, irritation creeping into his tone. âIâm just trying to clear the mess. We donât have all day to sit here.â
â......."
âYouâre⌠getting angryâŚâ you murmured, shrinking slightly into your seat.
That made him pause.
âAh? Nooo, Iâm notâgeez!â He let out a short laugh, light and dismissive, leaning a little closer as if to soften the moment.
âWhy would I get angry over something this smallâŚ?â His voice turned playful, almost teasing, like it always did when he wanted to brush things off.
But it didnât reach you. It never did.
Because you knew better⌠the actual him.
âYes, You⌠are getting angryâŚâ Your voice trembled despite your effort to steady it.
Your body shifted instinctively, pressing back against the seat as if distance alone could protect you. ââŚand when we get home⌠youâll hit me againâŚâ
The words slipped outâquiet, fragile, but impossibly heavy.
For a moment, Satoruâs smile faltered.
âHaha.. whatâwhat are you saying, dearâŚâ he said, a shaky laugh escaping him as his hand lifted, reaching toward your face. âSilly you⌠saying things like thatââ
You flinched.
Your body moved before your mind could catch up, recoiling from his touch, your hand instinctively darting toward the car door as if there were somewhere to go.
Too late.
The same hand meant to caress you struck instead.
A sharp crack split the air as his palm connected with your cheek, snapping your head violently to the side. The world blurred instantly, your vision scattering as a high-pitched ringing flooded your ears.
Outside, horns blaredâcars behind them growing impatient, noise building into chaos.
But inside the car, all of it felt distant.
The only thing you could hear⌠was that ringing.
â
It wasnât always like this.
Satoru wasnât the man you saw todayânot the one whose voice could make your stomach twist, not the one whose touch made your body recoil before your mind even understood why.
Back then, he was everything people admired from a distance and envied up close.
Beautiful in the effortless way only he could be. Loud, playful, impossible to ignore. The kind of person who walked into a room and somehow made it brighter just by existing in it. He joked too much, laughed too loudly, teased relentlessly, and acted like the world had never given him a reason to take anything seriously. Everyone had a crush on him.
But he was your boyfriend.
And somehow, that felt unreal even months into the relationship.
He was clingy in the most shameless ways imaginable, constantly finding excuses to see you even if youâd only met hours ago. If you told him you were busy, heâd whine dramatically over the phone about how cruel you were for âabandoningâ him. If you ignored his texts for too long, heâd show up anyway with snacks in one hand and that stupid grin on his face.
âCâmon,â heâd drag out, leaning half his body weight against you. âYou can spare at least five minutes for your loving boyfriend, right?â
âFive minutes?â youâd scoff, trying not to laugh as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders anyway. âYouâve been here for an hour.â
âAnd Iâll stay for another five.â
âYou said that twenty minutes ago.â
âSee? You know me so well already. We should just get married.â
Youâd shove his arm lightly while he laughed at his own joke, his sunglasses slipping slightly down his nose as he grinned at you like you were the funniest thing heâd ever seen. He always looked at you like thatâlike there was nothing else worth paying attention to.
And maybe that was why you trusted him so easily.
Because he made everything feel light.
You spent nearly every day together. Late-night convenience store runs. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on sidewalks while he stole bites from your food even after insisting he âwasnât hungry.â
Falling asleep during movies because he talked through half of them anyway. Endless teasing that always ended with you hitting his arm while he laughed dramatically, clutching his chest like youâd mortally wounded him.
âYouâre abusive,â heâd gasp between laughs.
âOh, shut up.â
âNo, seriously. Iâm fragile!â
âYouâre literally six foot three.â
âFragile emotionally.â
And then heâd pull you closer before you could roll your eyes again, resting his chin on top of your head like he belonged there.
It felt easy. Safe. Like the kind of relationship people dreamed about having.
Then, after months together, he started begging you to move in with him.
Not casually eitherâconstantly.
Every other conversation somehow circled back to it.
âJust move in already.â
âSatoruââ
âIâm serious.â
âYou say that every day.â
âBecause you keep saying no every day.â
You laughed the first few times, brushing him off while he dramatically collapsed across your lap, complaining about how heartless you were. But he kept insisting, over and over, until eventually the teasing in his voice faded into something more genuine.
âIf something goes wrong, Iâll handle it,â he told you one night quietly, his fingers loosely intertwined with yours. âIâll take responsibility for everything. You wonât have to worry about anything, okay?â
You remembered rolling your eyes at him then, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your chest.
âFine,â you muttered eventually. âBut if you keep teasing me twenty-four seven, Iâm moving out.â
The grin that spread across his face had been blinding.
âDeal.â
You still remembered how excited he looked while helping you move your things in. How he carried half the boxes himself despite complaining dramatically the entire time. How he wrapped his arms around your waist in the kitchen afterward, swaying slightly with you while mumbling against your shoulderâ
âSee? This is nice. Youâre stuck with me now.â
At the time, it made you laugh.
Now the memory made your chest ache.
Because the moment you stepped into that apartmentâeverything changed.
Not all at once. That wouldâve been easier to notice.
Instead, it happened slowly. Quietly. Like cracks forming beneath glass.
At first, it was little things.
Late-night outings he never explained properly.
Missed calls. Messages left on read for hours even though you could clearly see him active on his phone beside you.
Youâd ask him where heâd been, and heâd brush it off with an easy shrug.
âWork.â
âYou were out until three in the morning...â
âAnd?â That word started appearing more often. Sharp. Dismissive. Irritated.
You endured it for a while, convincing yourself it was stress, exhaustion, anything other than what it felt like.
But eventually, the constant avoidance began wearing you down. The confusion turned into frustration. The frustration into resentment.
And one night, after another vague answer and another cold dismissal, something inside you finally snapped.
So you left.
Not forever. Not even with a plan. You just needed air.
The moment the apartment door shut behind you, your phone started vibrating.
Satoru.
The calls didnât stop.
By the tenth one, your hands were shaking. By the twentieth, you answered.
âWhere are you?â His voice was calm. Too calm.
And youâYou were a fool for going back.
Because that night, it stopped being arguments.
And became violence.
âWhat is your problem!?â you shouted the second you stepped back into the apartment, your voice cracking under weeks of bottled-up anger. âWhy can you go out whenever you want, but I canât even leave the house without you acting insane!?â
Satoru stood near the kitchen counter, shoulders tense, his expression unreadable in the dim apartment lighting.
âWatch your tone,â he said flatly.
âNo!â you snapped back immediately, the words spilling out before fear could stop them. âYou donât get to control me like this! You disappear whenever you want, ignore me whenever you want, and Iâm just supposed to sit here quietly and accept it!?â
His jaw tightened.
You kept going anyway.
âWhat happened to you!?â Your breathing turned uneven, anger and hurt tangling together painfully in your chest. âYou werenât like this before!â
âEnough.â
âNo, Iâm serious!â you yelled. âWhat the hell is wrong with you!?â
The silence afterward felt dangerous. Heavy.
And thenâhis hand struck your face so hard your vision flashed white.
The impact sent you stumbling sideways, pain exploding across your cheek almost instantly. Before you could even process what had happened, his fingers suddenly gripped your jaw harshly, forcing your head back toward him.
âI can go out whenever I want,â he hissed, his voice low and shaking with fury. âBut youââ
His grip tightened painfully.
ââyou cannot.â
You stared at him in complete shock. Your mind couldnât catch up.
This was Satoru.
SatoruâŚ
The same man who used to pout dramatically when you ignored him for five minutes. The same man who kissed your forehead while half asleep. The same man who once looked at you like you were something precious.
But the person standing in front of you now felt like a stranger wearing his face.
Your teeth clenched hard enough to hurt.
âDid you just hit meâŚ?â Your voice trembled violently as tears burned behind your eyes. âEnough⌠Iâve had enoughâŚâ
You shoved his hand away from you.
âWeâre breaking up.â
For the first time that night, something truly frightening crossed his face.
Not anger.
Panic.
âBreaking upâŚ?â he repeated, the words nearly cracking apart as they left him. âYouâve gotta be kidding me.â
Another laugh escaped him, strained and uneven this time, his hand dragging through his hair almost frantically. âCâmon,â he scoffed, shaking his head like the idea itself was ridiculous. âYouâre seriously saying that because of one argument?â
âShut up!! We're over!â
You turned on your heel immediately, heading straight for the door before your courage disappeared.
Behind you, his voice came low and deadly calm. âIâm gonna rip those legs off if you walk out that door.â
Your steps faltered.
Because he meant it.
There wasnât even a trace of humor in his voice. No teasing. No laughter. Nothing familiar.
Just rage. Cold and terrifying.
Your hand trembled as it reached for the doorknob. Your fingers wrapped around it shakily, twisting the lock with uneven breaths. The click sounded deafening in the silence.
You barely managed to pull the door open an inch before something yanked violently at your scalp.
A scream tore from your throat.
Satoruâs hand tangled brutally into your hair before he slammed your face straight into the door with enough force to make the wood shake. Pain exploded instantly through your skull, sharp and blinding, your vision bursting with stars as the side of your face scraped hard against the surface.
âTrying to leave me?â he snarled behind you, tightening his grip until it felt like strands of hair were ripping free from your scalp.
âBad choice.â
The words still echoed in your head long after the memory shouldâve faded.
â
âY/NâŚâ
The voice reached you gently, pulling you out of the haze like warm hands through cold water.
You blinked.
The apartment around you slowly came back into focusâthe soft amber glow of the lamp in the corner, the quiet hum of rain tapping against the windows, the faint scent of tea lingering in the air. Somewhere nearby, pages rustled softly before stopping altogether.
â...Suguru?â you murmured, your voice quieter than intended as you finally looked up.
He hummed in response from where he sat beside you on the couch, his dark eyes already fixed on your face with that same calm attentiveness he always carried. There was no irritation in him. No impatience. Just quiet concern.
âThinking about him again?â he asked softly.
The question caught you off guard.
You looked away almost immediately, fingers curling tighter around the sleeves of your sweater. âNothing like thatâŚâ you whispered. âTheyâre just⌠still haunting me.â
For a moment, Suguru said nothing.
Then he sighed softlyâso quietly it almost blended with the rain outsideâand reached for you with careful hands, like he was afraid sudden movements might shatter you. His fingers brushed tenderly against your cheek before sliding beneath your chin, guiding you gently toward him.
âItâs okay,â he murmured.
Before you could respond, he shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your head rested against his shoulder. One of his hands settled at the back of your head, fingers threading slowly through your hair in soft, rhythmic motions.
âThereâs no need to be scared here,â he said quietly. âYouâre safe with me.â
The words nearly hurt to hear.
Such a simple thing, yet it still felt unfamiliar sometimes.
Your body remained tense at first out of habit alone, shoulders stiff as if waiting for warmth to suddenly turn cruel. Waiting for patience to snap. Waiting for affection to become anger.
But Suguru only continued to pat your head gently, his touch steady and grounding, never demanding anything from you.
No force. No sharpness. No fear.
Just warmth.
Your eyes slowly lowered as exhaustion settled heavily into your chest. âIâm sorry,â you whispered. âSometimes I justâŚâ
âDonât apologize,â Suguru interrupted softly. The hand in your hair never stopped moving.
You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat painful.
Suguru knew you had come from a bad relationship. He knew there were nightmares that woke you trembling in the middle of the night, knew there were certain noises that made you flinch without meaning to, knew there were bruises that had taken far too long to fade.
But you never told him who your ex actually was.
Somehow, you couldnâtâŚ
Maybe because saying his name aloud would make everything feel real again. Maybe because a part of you still feared what would happen if Satoru ever found you.
So Suguru never pushed. Never demanded answers. He simply stayed.
And somehow, that meant more than words ever could.
He loved quietlyânot through grand confessions or dramatic promises, but through actions so gentle they settled into your heart before you even noticed.
Through warm meals left waiting whenever you forgot to eat. Through late nights spent beside you when sleep wouldnât come. Through the way he instinctively reached for your hand whenever he sensed you drifting too far into your thoughts.
He was calm. Patient. Tender in every way Satoru had never been.
Nothing alike him.
And perhaps that was exactly why you found yourself loving Suguru more each day without even realizing it.
â
Days passed quietly after that.
The middle of the year had settled over Japan. The weather changed its mood almost daily latelyâone moment gentle, the next restless.
Tonight, the rain had finally stopped after pouring since afternoon, leaving the city outside damp and shimmering beneath the streetlights.
Suguru was getting ready to head out to buy dinner again.
âIâll be back soon,â he said while slipping his shoes on near the entrance.
You stood a few steps away, arms loosely folded around yourself. âBe careful,â you murmured automatically before adding, quieter, â...and come back quickly.â
Suguru looked up at that.
The softest smile touched his lips before he straightened, walking back toward you instead of leaving immediately. His fingers brushed against your cheek in one last affectionate caress, warm and familiar.
âI will,â he said gently.
Then he leaned down just enough to press a brief kiss against your forehead before finally stepping out.
The door clicked shut behind him. Silence returned almost instantly.
Your shoulders slumped the moment he left, exhaustion seeping back into your body now that the warmth of his presence was gone. With a small sigh, you turned aroundâ
âand paused.
His phone sat forgotten on the table.
âOh, SuguruâŚâ you muttered under your breath.
Quickly, you grabbed it before hurrying toward the door again, pulling it open in hopes of catching him before he got too far.
But the hallway outside was already empty.
You leaned slightly past the doorway, looking both ways, only to find nothing except the dim apartment lights and distant elevator sounds.
âHe walks too fastâŚâ you sighed softly.
Closing the door again, you glanced down at the phone in your hands.
The screen lit up instantly.
Your breath slowed a little at the sight of the wallpaperâa picture of you and Suguru together. It had been taken a few weeks ago during one of your evening walks, your expression caught mid-laugh while Suguru looked at you instead of the camera entirely.
A small smile tugged faintly at your lips without permission.
He didnât even bother putting a password on his phone. Too trusting.
Your thumb slid across the screen easily before curiosity pulled you toward the gallery almost instinctively. You wondered if he had more photos like that saved somewhere.
At first, it felt harmless.
Just scrolling.
Photo after photo appearedâpictures of meals you cooked together, blurry shots of rainy streets, candid images of you half-asleep on the couch wrapped in blankets.
Then more.
Pictures of you alone.
You standing near convenience store shelves while deciding what snack to buy. You sitting by the train window absentmindedly watching outside.
You adjusting your sleeves during colder evenings.
Different places. Different days. Different clothes.
At first, your mind didnât fully process it.
But thenâYour breath caught sharply.
The clothes.
Every outfit in those photosâ
They had all been given to you by Satoru.
The cream-colored cardigan. The black skirt. The oversized coat. The pale sweater.
All of them.
Your thumb froze against the screen.
Those clothes didnât exist anymore.
You had thrown every single one away the day after you escaped Satoru. You remembered it clearlyâthe desperate feeling of ripping them from your closet because wearing them made your skin crawl. Because they smelled like him. Felt like him.
So whyâ
Your eyes dropped lower toward the date beneath one of the photos.
17/7/2025.
A date from before you had even met SuguruâŚ
Your stomach twisted violently after seeing another picture. Another date.
All from the past. All from the time you were still with Satoru.
A cold feeling slowly crawled up your spine.
ââŚWhatâŚ?â you whispered under your breath.
Why were these on Suguruâs phone?
The thought barely had time to settle before the sharp sound of the doorbell suddenly rang through the apartment.
You flinched hard.
Your grip tightened instinctively around the phone.
Suguru?
Maybe he realized he forgot it. That had to be it. Right?
You swallowed, forcing your breathing to steady.
âDonât jump to conclusions,â you told yourself quickly. Thereâs probably an explanation. Youâll just ask him normallyâ
Trying to calm your thoughts, you walked toward the door and reached for the doorknob.
But paused.
Your hand stopped. You didnât know why.
Usually, you opened the door immediately whenever the bell rang at this hour because it was always Suguru.
Always.
Yet this time⌠Something felt wrong.
A strange heaviness settled into your chest, cold and instinctive. Slowly, you stepped toward the peephole instead and looked through it.
Soon enough, your entire body went still.
Blue eyes stared back at you from the other side of the door.
Bright even in the dim hallway.
Eyes you knew far too wellâŚ
â
The front door swung open immediately, followed by the familiar sound of shoes stepping inside the apartment.
Thenâ
âBabeee~â
Satoruâs voice rang through the apartment in a drawn-out sing-song tone, playful and unhinged all at once.
The moment you heard it, your body moved on instinct.
You ran.
Barely realizing what you were doing, you stumbled toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway, Suguruâs phone still clutched tightly in your trembling hand. Your pulse slammed violently against your ribs as you shoved yourself inside before locking the door with shaking fingers.
Your breathing came out uneven immediately. Too loud.
Outside, you could hear the apartment door shutting behind him.
Then slow footsteps. Unhurried. Like he already knew you had nowhere to go.
âCome out, come outâŚâ Satoru called sweetly from somewhere in the living room. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. âDonât make me wait, babyâŚâ
Your hand flew over your mouth to muffle the sound of your breathing.
The bathroom suddenly felt suffocatingly small.
You could hear him walking around outsideâslow footsteps against the wooden floor, drawers opening lazily, objects shifting around as if he were simply making himself comfortable.
âYou know how much I hate being away from you?â he hummed lightly.
Another step. Closer.
âMm⌠câmon, donât be mean now.â His voice softened into something dangerously affectionate. âDonât you miss me?â
Your entire body trembled harder.
âPlease.â
âPlease hurry, Suguru.â
âPlease come backâŚâ
Your eyes darted desperately toward the bathroom window, but it was too smallâbarely enough to let air through, let alone escape.
Outside, Satoru laughed softly to himself.
âYou really ran from me?â he asked, sounding almost amused by the idea. âThat hurts my feelings, Y/N.â
The floorboards creaked directly outside the hallway now. And suddenlyâ
BANG.
The sudden slam against the bathroom door made you jump violently, a terrified gasp nearly escaping your throat.
âAhh, there you are~â His voice came right from the other side now.
You could picture it perfectlyâthat smile stretched across his face, sharp and beautiful and terrifying all at once.
âI know youâre in there,â he cooed. âOpen the door.â
You pressed yourself farther back against the bathtub, shaking so badly your knees nearly gave out beneath you.
Silence before another softer knock.
âY/N,â he said again, quieter this time. âOpen the doorâŚâ
You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying not to make a single sound.
âIâm sorry, okay?â he continued after a pause, his tone almost gentle now. âCan we not fight anymore, please?â
The words made your stomach twist.
âYou know I didnât mean it.â A small sigh followed. âIâve been looking everywhere for you⌠do you know how worried I was?â
Another pause.
âI missed you...â
â.....â Your nails dug painfully into your palm. Outside, the silence stretched just long enough to feel wrong.
Then his voice changed again. Still calm. Still soft. But colder now.
âY/N,â he said slowly, âdonât make me come in there.â
Your breath hitched.
âIâm gonna count to three.â He meant it.
You knew he did.
âOne.â
You looked around frantically, vision blurring through panic. The small bathroom suddenly felt impossibly defenseless.
âTwo.â
Your gaze landed on random objects scattered nearbyâa bottle, a hairdryer, anything. Anything.
You grabbed the first thing your shaking hands could reach.
Silence⌠Complete silence.
For one horrifying second, you thought maybe he left. Thenâ
CRACK.
The bathroom door suddenly shook violently as something slammed against it hard enough to splinter the wood near the lock.
You screamed, stumbling backward.
Another hit.
Beforeâ
A hand forced itself through the broken gap near the handle.
Your entire body froze.
The sight alone felt horrifying.
Long fingers blindly reached around inside, searching for the lock while broken wood scraped against his skin.
âNoâ!â you choked out instinctively.
You threw the bottle in your hand toward him immediately. It smashed uselessly against the doorframe, barely slowing him down.
The lock clicked.
And your heartbeat stopped.
SlowlyâThe bathroom door creaked open.
And there he was.
Satoru stood in the doorway, white hair slightly messy, bright blue eyes glowing almost feverishly beneath the dim apartment lights.
Then he smiled.
Wide. Playful. Completely insane.
âGotcha.â
â
A scream tore out of your throat the second the bathroom door opened.
You scrambled backward desperately, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself as panic exploded through your body. Your mind could already picture what would happen nextâthe hitting, the grabbing, the painâ
Then another voice cut through the room.
âWhatâs going on?â
Your head snapped up so fast it hurt.
And thereâ
Suguru. Standing calmly near the apartment entrance with a plastic dinner bag hanging loosely from one hand, dark eyes lifting toward the bathroom like heâd simply walked into an ordinary evening.
Relief hit you so violently it almost made you dizzy.
âSuguruâ!â Your voice cracked with desperation.
But the moment the name left your lips, Suguruâs gaze shifted past you and landed on Satoru instead.
Completely calm. Completely unsurprised. As if this wasnât horrifying. As if this was simply another meeting between them.
âSatoruâŚâ Suguru greeted smoothly, slipping his shoes off near the doorway. âYouâre quick.â
Satoru scoffed playfully, still standing in the broken bathroom doorway. âOf course. Iâve waited enough for that pussy.â
Suguru shook his head with a low chuckle, setting the dinner bag down onto the counter casually.
âWell, I left my phone for a reasonâŚâ
Satoru hummed softly at that, sounding almost pleased.
Your stomach dropped.
The air suddenly felt wrongâŚ
What is even happening?
A weak, confused â...Huh?â slipped from your lips causing both of them look at you.
And then Satoru noticed the phone still clutched tightly in your shaking hand.
âAhâŚâ A grin spread slowly across his face.
He leaned down suddenly, snatching the phone from your grip with ease before scrolling through the screen lazily.
âUh huh⌠looks like someone was having a moment,â he mocked lightly and turned the screen toward Suguru with a smirk, showing him the same old pictures.
âShe was looking at the pictures I sent you, heh.â
Suguru hummed thoughtfully before stepping closer, glancing over Satoruâs shoulder to get a better look at the screen.
The sight made your chest tighten painfully.
You couldnât speak. Couldnât think.
The room around you felt distorted somehow, your mind struggling desperately to understand what was happening.
Then Satoru looked down at you again.
âIf you had scrolled a bit moreâŚâ he said casually, almost amused by your expression, ââŚyouâd have seen your cunt pics here as well.â
Your face drained completely of color. While Suguru sighed softly beside him. âShh⌠youâre spoiling too early, Satoru.â
The gentleness in his tone made it worse somehow.
âLetâs get her out of here first,â Suguru said calmly, stepping forward slightly as if he intended to help you up.
But Satoru immediately lifted a hand to stop him.
âAh ah⌠not like that.â A crooked grin tugged at his lips as his bright eyes flickered toward you. âShe likes it rough.â
Suguru raised an eyebrow. âReally?â
The playful disbelief in his voice made your stomach twist violently.
âMm hmm.â Then Satoru moved before you could react, his hand buried itself harshly into your hair near the scalp.
Pain ripped through you instantly.
You cried out as he yanked hard enough to drag you forward across the bathroom floor without caring about your struggles or the way your hands desperately clawed at his wrist.
âS-Stopâ! Let me go!ââ
Your words broke apart into a gasp as another sharp pull forced you fully out of the bathroom.
âSee?â Satoru said playfully over his shoulder while dragging you across the floor like you weighed nothing.
Suguru stood there watching quietly now, arms crossing over his broad chest.
Then slowlyâA smirk tugged at his lips too.
âIndeed.â
â
The air hung thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat, punctuated by the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.
The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls as the bodies moved in a frenzied rhythm. The bed beneath them creaked and groaned under the weight of their shared passion.
Satoru lay sprawled on the mattress, his arms wrapped around you in a possessive embrace. His grip tightened around your throat as he bucked his hips upwards, driving his cock deep into your already well-fucked cunt.
The bruises that littered your body were a testament to his rough handling, each one a reminder of the pleasure-pain that consumed you.
Above you, Suguru's face was contorted in a mask of concentration as he hammered his own throbbing member into your stretched hole. His hand came down to slap your sensitive folds, the sharp sting mixing with the pleasure that coursed through your veins.
Your cries echoed off the walls, mingling with the grunts and growls of the two men as they used your body for their own gratification.
"Look at that," Satoru sneered, his voice low and rough with arousal. "Taking both our cocks like a bitch in heat!"
"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Getting fucked raw, no lube to ease the way." His teeth sank into your neck, marking you as his territory.
Suguru chuckled darkly, reaching down to twist your nipples between his fingers. "She's loving every second of it... taking it up the ass while her cunt gets pounded. What a filthy slut."
The degradation only served to heighten your arousal, your body trembling as you clung to the edge of orgasm.
As your cries reached a fever pitch, Satoru and Suguru redoubled their efforts, fucking you with a desperate intensity.
Your vision blurred, your thoughts scattered as you felt the overwhelming need building inside you.
And then, with one final brutal thrust, you were pushed over the edge. Your body convulsed as you came, your cunt and ass clamping down around the cocks buried deep inside you.
Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back in your head as the pleasure consumed you.
But even as you rode out the waves of your orgasm, they didn't stop. Not even close. They continued to pound into you, fucking you through the aftershocks until they too reached their own release.
With a grunt, Satoru pulled out of your abused cunt, his cock still rock hard and pulsing. "Clean him up," he ordered, pushing your head down towards Suguru's still-spurting cock.
You obeyed, taking him into your mouth and sucking him clean as Satoru positioned himself behind you. You felt the head of his cock press against your raw, gaping asshole before he plunged forward, burying himself deep inside you with a single brutal thrust.
The pain mingled with the lingering pleasure, tears streaming down your face as you choked on Suguru's cock, your throat filled with his hot, salty seed. Satoru continued to pound into your ass, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.
"Aww Y/N, You're too innocent..." Suguru said, his voice mocking as he pulled out of your mouth.
"Or maybe... Just a dumb whore."
â
As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, you finally collapsed onto the bed, spent and sore. Satoru and Suguru looked at each other, both panting and drenched in sweat.
"So, what now?" Satoru muttered, wiping the sweat from his chest.
"You gotta fix my door first." Suguru replied while fixing his clothes, tossing the blanket over your battered, unconscious body.
While Satoru would scoff, leaning back playfully before saying.. "Ohh.. you know..."
Genre: Pure Horror, Psychological Horror, Dark Fiction, Thriller, Yandere undertones
Word count: 9.5k
Warnings:
Extreme psychological horror, stalking, invasion of privacy, identity manipulation, obsession, yandere behavior, gaslighting, paranoia, home intrusion, implied violence, death (non-graphic), isolation, fear-inducing themes, emotional distress, loss of safety, disturbing scenarios.
Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to intense psychological horror or themes involving stalking, manipulation, and loss of control.
AN: This piece is pure horror, not romance. It explores the consequences of blurred boundaries, obsession, and the danger of being too seen by the wrong person. If youâre expecting comfort, this is not that story. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Masterlist
The room was a chaotic testament to neglect, the floor littered with crumpled clothesâdiscarded shirts, tangled jeans, and rumpled socksâstrewn haphazardly across the worn carpet like the aftermath of a storm that had raged for days without respite.
Empty takeout containers teetered precariously on side tables, their greasy remnants congealing in the dim light filtering through half-drawn blinds, while stacks of unopened mail and forgotten gadgets cluttered every available surface, dust motes dancing lazily in the stale air. It hadn't been cleaned in what felt like an eternity, the faint musty scent of disuse mingling with the sharper tang of sweat and arousal that now dominated the space.
And there you were, seated with your legs spread wide on the sagging couch, the cushions dipping under your weight as your bare thighs trembled from the relentless onslaught between them. Your panties lay discarded somewhere in the messâtossed aside in a haze of urgency, perhaps tangled with a stray sock or kicked under the coffee tableâleaving your most intimate folds exposed and glistening.
In your hand, you'd been handed a phone earlier, its screen glowing softly as your fingers scrolled through the pages of a steamy novel, the words blurring slightly at the edges of your vision from the building haze of ecstasy.
Between your legs knelt the man, his broad shoulders wedged firmly against your inner thighs, holding you open with unyielding strength as his mouth devoured your pussy with insatiable hunger.
He'd been at it for hours now, his tongue working you over in a merciless rhythm that had you soaking the sheets beneath your ass, wet spots blooming from the multiple messes you'd madeâyour juices spilling out in waves, slick and abundant, as orgasm after teasing near-orgasm ripped through you.
Your brain swam in a fog of pure, overwhelming pleasure, every coherent thought dissolving into the electric pulses firing from your core, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face despite the exhaustion settling into your limbs.
He teased his tongue deep into your hole, plunging it in with slow, deliberate thrusts that mimicked a cock's invasion, curling and twisting inside your clenching walls to lap at the sensitive ridges, drawing out your arousal in thick, creamy rivulets that he slurped greedily.
The wet, obscene sounds of his sucking filled the roomâschlick, slurp, smackâas he hollowed his cheeks and sealed his lips around your entrance, creating a vacuum that pulled at your folds, intensifying the suction until your pussy fluttered wildly, threatening to gush again.
Then, just as your body tensed on the brink, he'd withdraw, only to flatten his tongue broad and firm against your entire slit, licking upward in long, languid strokes that coated his chin and your thighs anew, savoring every drop as he traced the swollen contours of your labia, flicking briefly over your throbbing clit before diving back in.
It was so intensely good, the dual assault of his voracious mouth and the filthy scenes unfolding on your phone screen amplifying each sensation tenfoldâthe novel's descriptions of raw, pounding fucks mirroring the way his tongue fucked into you now, stretching and probing without mercy.
âNgh~.. enough alreadyâŚ!" you moaned, yet tangling your fingers in his hair and pushing his face harder against your throbbing core.
He responded with a low growl of hunger, doubling his efforts as he savored the taste of your arousal. His nose brushed against your clit with each thrust of his tongue, sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting through your body.
You could feel another orgasm building rapidly, your thighs trembling and your toes curling as the intensity mounted. The man between your legs showed no signs of letting up, determined to bring you to the pinnacle of ecstasy with his skilled oral ministrations.
âaAhh-! I.. I'm gonna-!" you cried out, your hips bucking against his face as the pleasure reached a fever pitch. "I'm going to-cum! I'm cumming againâŚ!"
Your body convulsed as the powerful orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his probing tongue. The man lapped up your juices eagerly, prolonging your climax with his relentless stimulation. By the time you finally collapsed back onto the couch, completely spent and satisfied, your sheets were damp with the evidence of your pleasure.
ButâŚ
Even as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, the man between your legs showed no signs of stopping. He gently spread your sensitive lips wider with his fingers, exposing your swollen, throbbing clit to his hungry gaze.
Before you could react, he dove back in, flicking the tip of his tongue against your sensitive nub in quick, feather-light strokes. The sensation was almost too much to bear, your overstimulated nerves screaming in protest at the relentless assault.
âNo stopâŚ!! it's too much-!" you gasped, instinctively trying to close your thighs and push him away. But he was having none of it, his strong hands gripping your hips to keep you in place as he continued his relentless onslaught.
Your phone slipped from your trembling fingers, clattering to the floor and forgotten as you struggled to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, you felt his thumb pressing against your entrance, slowly pushing inside your dripping channel.
"AhhhhâŚ!?" you cried out, your back arching off the couch as a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain shot through you. Your pussy clenched around his invading digit, drawing him deeper as he began to thrust in time with the flicks of his tongue against your clit.
He growled against your flesh, the vibrations adding another layer of intense sensation as he worked you towards yet another climax. Your brain felt fuzzy, your thoughts scattering as all you could focus on was the incredible pleasure building inside you once more.
"Pleaseee⌠I can't...I can't take anymoreâŚ!" you whimpered, tears of overwhelming stimulation pricking at the corners of your eyes. But even as you pleaded, you knew it was a lie.
You watch him hungrily worshipping you, eyes closed, mouth working like an animalâtoo desperate... too muchâAggressiveâas if you're going to disappear if he stopsâJust like you've read in those adult books.
And this man... is one of those who writes such works that you've been enjoying so much.
Your thoughts would snap as he made you hold the phone again that you dropped accidentally, making you focus back on it once more.
â
You were a book girl.
Obsessed with your fictional men. The kind that lived between pages and ink, in half-finished sentences and quiet confessions. The kind that werenât realâbut felt more real than anything you could reach. You got lost in your imagination often, and not in a way that pulled you away from life, but in a way that softened it. Made it easier to breathe through long, tiring days. Even after everythingâwork, responsibilities, conversations that drained more than they gaveâyou still found time. Always. A few stolen minutes, an hour past midnight, eyes heavy but unwilling to close. Just one more chapter, youâd tell yourself. Just one more scene.
And lately⌠there was one writer.
Your current obsession.
Their username sat at the top of your notifications more often than youâd like to admit, their stories bookmarked, reread, memorized in fragments. The way they wrote your favorite charactersâit wasnât just good. It was breathtaking. Intense in a quiet, consuming way. Twisted, dark, in the way emotions were unraveled and stitched back together. And the reader in those stories⌠it was unsettling how familiar it felt. Not identical, not obviousâbut close enough to make your chest tighten at certain lines, like youâd been understood without ever speaking.
No one really knew who they were. No face. No name. Just words.
And somehow, everyone had come to the same conclusionâyou included.
They had to be a woman.
Because the way they wrote for the female gaze⌠the way they captured longing, hesitation, the softness of affection and the sharp edge of vulnerabilityâit didnât feel like something a man could replicate so effortlessly. So naturally. So you believed it, without questioning. It made sense. It felt easier that way.
Either way⌠you loved their work. That was the only thing that mattered.
You had been following them for a while now. Quietly at first. Reading everything they posted, going back to older pieces, liking, saving, rereading. Then slowly, you started engaging more. A comment here and thereânothing too long, nothing too personal. Just simple things.
âThis was so good.â
âI loved this part.â
âYou write them perfectly.â
Sometimes, when the feeling lingered longer than usual, youâd send a direct message. Just a small one.
âYour writing is really comforting. Thank you for this.â
âI donât know how you do it, but this was amazing again.â
Normal things. Safe things. The kind of messages you never really expected a reply to.
And you didnât, at first.
Until one dayâ
You had stared at your screen longer than necessary, rereading the notification as if it might disappear.
A reply. From them.
âThank you. iâm really glad you liked it.â
It was simple. Lowercase. Almost shy.
Your fingers had hovered over your keyboard for a moment before you typed back, a small smile already forming without you realizing.
âliked it? i loved it đ you write them so well, itâs actually unfair.â
There was a pause. You watched the typing bubble appear⌠disappear⌠then appear again.
âumm iâm not very good at replying to messages like this⌠but thank you. really.â
You blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. It was endearing. Unexpectedly so.
âthatâs okay. you donât have to be đ your writing does all the talking anyway.â
Another pause. Longer this time. Something about that stayed with you.
Because it made sense.
Here was someone who struggled with simple conversations, who hesitated over replies, who admittedâso plainlyâthat they werenât good at this. And yet⌠when they wrote, it was like none of that existed. Every word deliberate. Every emotion precise. As if they could say everything they couldnât out loud, but only through stories.
And you liked that. You liked that a lot.
â
After that, you kept messaging them. Not constantly, not enough to be overwhelmingâjust occasionally. When a story hit harder than usual. When a line stayed with you longer than it should have.
Nothing deep. Nothing intrusive. Justâ
âthis one got me!â
âi think this is my favorite so far.â
âthe way you wrote this scene?? insane.â
And every now and then, they replied.
Short messages. Slightly awkward. But honest.
It wasnât much. But it was enough.
Because somehow, between their quiet replies and the way they wrote entire worlds with easeâ
You found yourself liking them not just as a writer⌠But as a person you barely knew.
Nothing really serious thoughâŚ
â
The idea had come to you more than once. You had pushed it away every time.
Because requesting something like thatâit felt⌠too personal. Too indulgent. Asking your favorite writer to take you, your thoughts, your habits, your little pieces of identity, and turn it into a story? It sounded like crossing a line you werenât sure you were allowed to cross.
What if they found it weird?
What if they refused?
What if it made things awkward?
You had stared at your chat with them longer than youâd like to admit, fingers hovering over the keyboard, typing something and deleting it again. The blinking cursor felt louder than usual.
It was just a message. Just a request. And yetâYour heart still beat a little faster when you finally started typing.
âhey⌠can i ask something a bit different?â
You almost put your phone down right after sending it, already preparing yourself for no reply. Or a delayed one. That was normal. That was expected.
But the reply came quicker than usual. Too quick.
âyeah, of course. what is it?â
You blinked, sitting up a little straighter without realizing.
Right. Okay. Now you actually had to say it.
Your fingers moved slower this time.
âi was thinking⌠would you ever write something like a personalized fic?âlike⌠using someoneâs name and personality?â You paused, then quickly addedâ
âitâs okay if not! i was just curious đâ
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Stayed. Disappeared. Came back again. Longer this time.
âwell⌠Iâve thought about it before, actually.â
âwhat did you have in mind?â
Your breath caught slightly. They didnât reject it. They were⌠interested.
You sat up properly now, pulling your knees closer as you typed, a small, nervous smile forming.
âum⌠something like my favorite character x me⌠but likeâbased on my actual personality, not just a random reader insert!!
you could use my name and everything⌠but maybe change it if you post it publicly?â
A second laterâ
âonly if youâre comfortable ofc!!â
This time, the reply took a little longer. But when it cameâIt wasnât short. Not at all.
âthat actually sounds really interesting.â
âiâd want to do it properly though, if iâm writing you as youâŚnot just surface-level traits.â
âif youâre okay with that, iâd need to ask you a few things first.â
A pause. Then another message followed.
âalso, yesâi wouldnât post anything with your real name or identifying details. i can change that version.â
You didnât even realize how wide your smile had gotten until your cheeks started to hurt.
âyes yes thatâs completely fine!! thank you so much, seriously đââ
There was a brief pause before they continued. And then the questions started. Not rushed. Not overwhelming. But deliberate.
---
âwhatâs your name?â
âand your age?â
âwhat do you do right nowâstudy, work?â
âyour locationâdo you want it to be accurate in the story, or different?â
You answered each one, one by one, a little more easily than you expected.
Then came more.
âwhat do you like?â
âthings that comfort you?â
âthings you dislike?â
âwhat kind of behavior makes you shut down?â
âwhat kind of affection do you prefer?â
You paused at some of them. Thinking. Actually thinking. But you still answered. Because somehow, it felt like they would use it carefully.
And thenâThe last question.
âhow would you like the male character to be?â
You smiled a little at that, leaning back slightly as you typed, the answer coming easier than all the others.
âhonestly? the way you usually write them đlike⌠a little twisted? yandere vibes?â
âi really love that kind of intensity!!â
You hesitated for half a second, then addedâ ââi meanâirl no oneâs really loyal like that, you know?â
âso itâs fun to imagine someone being completely obsessed⌠like fully devoted, down bad, yearner typeđŠâ
âbut yeah, only in fiction obviously lolâ
There was a pause after that. A slightly longer one. Thenâ
âi understand.â
âiâll keep that in mind.â
âiâll start working on it soon.â
âi might ask you more questions later, if needed.â
Something about the way they said itâSimple. Certain. It made your chest feel a little lighter.
âokay!! thank you so much, really đ iâm already excited about this lolâ
You paused, then added, half-jokingâ âmanifesting my own story frâ
There was a small delay before their final reply came.
ââŚiâll try to make it worth it.â
You stared at that message for a moment longer than necessary. Then smiled to yourself, locking your phone and pulling your blanket a little closer.
Already imagining how it would feelâTo read a story where, for onceâ
You werenât just the reader. But the one being written.
â
And when it finally cameâIt was more than you expected.
More than you had imagined, even on the nights you let your thoughts wander a little too far.
You had opened the document the same way you always didâquietly, almost casually, as if it were just another story. It wasnât.
From the very first line, something felt⌠different. Too familiar. Too precise.
You read slowly at first. Then slower.
Then you stopped altogether at certain parts, just staring at the screen, your breath catching without warning.
Because the detailsâ They werenât just accurate. They were you.
The way you reacted to things. The way you hesitated before saying something honest. The small habits you never thought anyone would notice, let alone remember. Even the things you had mentioned only once, briefly, without thinking much of itâthey were there.
Woven so seamlessly into the story that it didnât feel like fiction anymore. It felt like memory.
And the way he wrote the character opposite youâIt made your chest tighten.
That intensity you had joked about? The âyandere vibes,â the obsessive, unwavering devotion you claimed to like?
He understood it.
Twisted it just enough to make it thrillingâbut grounded it in a way that made it feel⌠real. Dangerous, almost. The kind of attention that lingered too long, the kind of affection that felt suffocating and comforting at the same time.
It should have been too much. But it wasnât. Because somehowâIt fit.
You didnât even realize when you started holding your breath while reading. Or when your fingers tightened slightly around your phone.
There were moments where you had to pause, your heart beating a little too fast, a chill running down your spine for no clear reason.
As if you werenât just reading itâBut living it.
By the time you reached the end, you just sat there for a moment. Silent. Staring at the last line.
Then, almost immediately, you opened your messages.
âthat wasâŚâ You paused, deleting it. Typed again.
âthat was actually insane.â
âlikeâi donât even know what to say??â
âit was so good. way better than i imaginedâ
You sent another before you could stop yourselfâ
âhow did you even do that?? it felt so real itâs actually scary!!!â
The reply came after a short while.
âiâm glad you liked it.â
There was a pause. Thenâ
âi paid attention.â
That made you smile. Soft. Genuine.
âclearly đ thank you so much for this, reallyâ
Another pause.
âyouâre welcome.â
It was a short conversation. Simple. Familiar. But something about it lingered longer than usual.
---
After that day, things⌠shifted. Not in a dramatic way. Just life.
You got busy. Actually busy.
Not the kind where you still found time to scroll, to read, to respondâbut the kind where your days blurred into each other. Responsibilities piling up, things to finish, things to attend to. By the time you got a moment to yourself, you were too tired to do anything with it.
You noticed their updates. Of course you did.
Their posts still appeared on your feedânew stories, new uploads, the same quiet captions.
Youâd pause for a second. Consider opening them. Then tell yourselfâlater.
But later kept getting pushed further away.
Days passed like that.
Youâd still see their name occasionally. Still feel that small, familiar pull. But you didnât read. Didnât message. Didnât engage the way you used to.
And somehowâThat felt more exhausting than everything else.
And crazily⌠It was almost the end of the year.
Somewhere between everything that had happenedâthe small highs, the quiet disappointments, the days that blurred into each otherâyou had settled. Not perfectly. Not completely. But enough to tell yourself that things were⌠okay now. Manageable.
Outside, the rain poured endlessly, soft at first, then heavier, tapping insistently against your window like it had something to say. The air felt cooler, calmer. The kind of evening that made staying in feel right.
You were in your room, sitting on the floor with your bookshelf half emptied, surrounded by scattered paperbacks and dust-coated corners you hadnât bothered cleaning in months. It was one of those random bursts of productivityâI should probably clean thisâthat came out of nowhere.
You hummed quietly to yourself, brushing your fingers along the spines, pulling some out, rearranging others. Old bookmarks slipped out. Folded pages. Little reminders of versions of you that had read these stories at different times.
And thenâYou paused.
ââŚwait.â Your hand stilled mid-motion. A thought, sudden and sharp.
You quickly reached for your phone, unlocking it almost instinctively, opening that appâthe one you used to spend hours on without realizing. The one that had once been a part of your daily routine.
Your thumb hovered for a second before you tapped into your saved works. Scrolling.
Familiar titles passed by. Authors you remembered. Stories that still carried that quiet sense of comfort, of nostalgia. You smiled faintly at a few of them, memories flickering softly in the back of your mind.
But thenâYour movement slowed. A slight frown forming. ââŚwhere is it?â
You scrolled back up. Then down again. More carefully this time.
That username. It wasnât there.
Your brows furrowed as you sat up straighter, your thumb moving faster now, checking your following list.
Scrolling. Scrolling again.
ââŚno, thatâs not right.â A small, uneasy feeling settled in your chest.
You knew you were following them. You remembered talking to them. That wasnât something youâd forget so easily. So thenâ
Where was the account? Where did all their works go?
It wasnât just any random writer. It was them. One of your favorites. The one you kept going back to. The one thatâ
You swallowed slightly, unlocking your phone again and immediately opening another app. Reddit.
Your fingers moved quickly, typing, searching, scrolling through threads. And you werenât the only one. There were others. People asking the same question.
âWhat happened to them?â
âDid they delete their account?â
âDoes anyone know if theyâre coming back?â
You opened one thread. Then another. Reading through the replies.
âmaybe they just got busy with lifeâ
âsome writers lose interest, it happensâ
âi think they mentioned something in their last post?â
Your eyes paused on that. Scrolling further.
âyeah, they wrote a note⌠said they werenât feeling well.â
âi hope theyâre okay tbhâ
Your chest tightened slightly. You stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary. A strange, uncomfortable feeling settling deep inside you. Guilt. Uninvited. Unpleasant.
You hadnât been there. You hadnât read that last post. You hadnât noticed anything was wrong.
While they were writing⌠while they were still thereâYou were busy. Living your life. Moving on without realizing something was ending.
ââŚI hope theyâre okayâŚâ
You murmured it quietly, almost under your breath, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain hitting the windows.
With a small exhale, you locked your phone, placing it beside you. Trying not to think about it. Trying to let it go.
---
Later that nightâThe rain hadnât stopped.
If anything, it had grown heavier. Louder. Relentless against the quiet of your room.
You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
2:33 AM blinking faintly on your clock. Sleep wouldnât come.
You shifted slightly. Then again. Turning to one side. Then the other. Pulling the blanket closer, then pushing it away.
Nothing felt right. Your body wasnât tired. Your mind wasnât exactly restless either. JustâAwake.
For no reason you could understand.
ââŚwhat's going onâŚâ You muttered softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
You turned again. Closing your eyes. Opening them. The room felt quieter than it should have been. And thenâ
The lights went out. Darkness swallowed the room instantly.
You let out an annoyed scoff, pulling the blanket over yourself, covering from head to toe like it would somehow make it less irritating.
The rain filled the silence. Loud. Constant.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying again. And thenâdrip.
Something cold landed on your nose.
Your eyes snapped open instantly. â...Huh?â
You froze for a second under the blanket, your breath catching slightly. Then slowly, you pulled it down, pushing the fabric away from your face.
Your gaze moved upward. Toward the ceiling. And thenâYou saw it.
Through a thin crack in the ceilingâBarely noticeable at first glanceâThere was something there.
An eye.
Looking directly at you.
â
You werenât even sure if you were seeing it right.
For a split second, your mind tried to deny itâtried to blur it into something else. A shadow. A trick of the dark. Anything but what it actually was.
But thenâIt moved.
And you realizedâThat was real.
A sharp, piercing scream should have torn out of your throat. It didnât.
It was like your voice had died somewhere inside you, caught, strangled before it could exist. Your chest tightened painfully, your breath shallow and uneven, but no sound came out.
You threw the blanket off yourself so suddenly it tangled around your legs, nearly tripping you as you scrambled out of bed. Your heart was pounding violently against your ribs, loud enough that it felt like it might echo in the room.
You didnât look up again. You couldnât.
You ran.
Out of your bedroom, your footsteps uneven, almost slipping against the floor as your hands shook uncontrollably. Your breath came out in short, panicked bursts, your chest tightening with every second. And thenâ
BANG.
You flinched violently as a loud knock hit your front door.
Once. Then again. Harder this time.
Your entire body froze. At this hour?
Your heart hammered even faster, your thoughts spiraling, fear gripping tighter around your chest.
WhoâWho could that be?
Another knock. Voices this time.
âY/N!â
You recognized it. Your neighbor.
Your feet moved before your mind caught up, rushing toward the door, your hand trembling slightly as you unlocked it and pulled it open.
You stood there, panting, breath uneven, a thin layer of sweat clinging to your skin despite the cold.
They looked at youâAnd immediately, their expressions shifted. Concern. Confusion. Something else.
âY/N, there was someone on your roof!â one of them said quickly, his voice urgent. âWe saw himâhe jumped down and ran away!â
Another nodded immediately, stepping forward slightly. âYes! I kept hearing noises from my rooftop tooâI thought it was just cats or somethingâŚâ
âNo,â the older man cut in sharply, shaking his head with certainty, his voice firm and edged with irritation. âThat was no cat. That was a thief. Definitely trying to break in.â The word thief sat heavily in the air.
âIâve seen a few weird people roaming around lately,â he continued, his tone growing more annoyed. âEspecially behind your house.â He clicked his tongue. âItâs easy to hide there.â
Your stomach twisted slightly.
âItâs a good thing youâre not home most of the time,â he added with a slight scoff. âTch⌠careless.â
Your fingers tightened slightly against the doorframe.
The nicer one stepped forward then, his expression softening as he looked at you more carefully..âHe was on your roof, Y/NâŚâ he said gently. âDid anything happen? Are you alright?â
Your lips parted..You tried to speak. Tried to explain. But your thoughts were still tangled, your heartbeat still too loud in your ears.
âThereâs⌠thereâs a hole in my roof,â your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost unsteady. âHe was watching me⌠through there.â
Silence.
It fell suddenly. Heavily.
Their expressions changed. Not in fear. Not in understanding. ButâSomething else.
Uneasy. Skeptical.
âWatching you?â the older man repeated, his brows furrowing deeply, his tone shifting into something sharper. âWhy would a thief watch you?â
Your chest tightened.
âYou donât have any⌠messy business going on, do you?â he added, his voice lowering slightly but carrying enough weight to make your stomach drop. âOur neighborhood has a reputation to maintain, mind you.â
Your eyes widened slightly.
âWhat are you saying?â you shot back, your voice finally finding some strength despite the tremor underneath. âI donât even know him! I didnât even see his faceââ
He shrugged. Just shrugged. Like your words didnât matter. Like he didnât quite believe you.
âMove along,â he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. âNo point standing here in the rain.â
And just like that, he turned and walked away, a quiet tch leaving his lips. The others hesitated for a second.
Then the nicer one looked back at you, concern still lingering in his eyes.
âCall me if anything happens, alright?â he said softly. âAnd Iâll contact someone to repair your roof.â
You nodded. Slowly.
They left. One by one. Their footsteps fading into the sound of the rain. And you stood there. Still. Your heart hadnât calmed down. Not even a little. You closed the door quietly, your hand lingering on the handle for a second longer than necessary.
What was happening?
You had been living here for years. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Not once. Your relationships with the neighbors were normal. Neutral. Peaceful. There had never been any trouble. No incidents. No fear.
So thenâWhy now?
â
Till dawn, you couldnât rest your eyes. Not even for a second.
You stayed curled near the door, back pressed against it as if it were the only thing separating you from something you didnât dare name. The floor felt cold beneath you, your body stiff from the same position for hours, but you didnât move. You couldnât.
Going back to your bedroomâThat thought alone made your chest tighten. The image wouldnât leave your mind. That crack in the ceiling. That eye. Watching.
You had thought about calling the police. More than once.
Your phone had been in your hand, the number almost dialed, your thumb hovering over the screen. But thenâWhat would you say? What proof did you have? A hole in the roof?
That wasnât enough. Not without something solid. Not without someone backing you up. And your neighborsâ
Your grip on the phone tightened slightly. After what the old man had saidâŚ
You already knew. They wouldnât involve themselves any further. Not if it meant questioning things. Not if it meant risking that âreputationâ he cared so much about.
You exhaled slowly, your head falling back against the door. Maybe⌠you could stay at a friendâs place for a while. Just until things felt normal again. But thenâ
Would their family agree? Would they be comfortable?
And worseâWould you be dragging them into something they didnât understand?
Your fingers curled slightly against your sleeve. You didnât want to bother anyone. Not now. Not when people were already looking at you⌠differently.
â
The hours passed like that. Slow. Heavy. Unforgiving.
The atmosphere shifted with the faint light of morning creeping in, grey and dull behind thick clouds.
You hadnât moved much. At some point, you had locked your bedroom door without stepping insideâjust enough to put distance between you and it. As if that helped.
Your phone buzzed suddenly in your hand, making you flinch. You looked down quickly. It was him. The nicer neighbor.
You answered almost immediately.
âI contacted someone to fix your roof,â he said, his voice still gentle, though slightly strained over the sound of the rain. âBut⌠they wonât be able to come unless it stops.â
You glanced toward the window. The rain hadnât slowed. If anything, it sounded heavier.
ââŚyeah,â you murmured quietly.
âItâs been more than a day now,â he added. âThe roads are probably a mess. It might take some time.â
You swallowed slightly. âOkay⌠thank you.â
âJust stay careful, alright?â
âI will.â
The call ended.
You stared at your phone for a moment before lowering it slowly.
Thirty-three hours. And the rain still hadnât stopped.
---
The house felt⌠wrong.
Too quiet in some places. Too loud in others. Every sound felt sharper than it should have been.
With a quiet sigh, you pushed yourself up from the floor, your body aching slightly from the stiffness.
You needed to move. To feel normal. To do something. You made your way to the bathroom, your steps slow but steady.
Maybe a shower would help. Clear your head a little. Wash away the lingering unease clinging to your skin.
You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. The familiar space should have felt comforting. It didnât.
You turned the tap on, the sound of running water filling the room, steam beginning to rise faintly as warmth spread. Your fingers moved automatically, reaching for your things, your mind drifting slightly as you prepared.
And thenâYou paused.
Your gaze shifted downward.
Toward the floor. The drain.
Something was caught there. A small clump of hair.
You stared at it for a second. Then another.
It shouldnât have been strange. It wasnât unusual. Your hair got stuck there all the time. You shouldâve ignored it. Washed it away. Moved on.
But somethingâSomething didnât feel right. Because you remembered. Clearly.
You had cleaned it. Yesterday. After your shower. You always did.
ââŚthenâŚâ Your breath slowedâEyes didnât leave the drain.
ââŚwhose is that?â
â
Ding dong.
Your head snapped toward the front door. The sound cut through the quiet like something sharp, sudden enough to make your heart jolt painfully against your ribs.
For a second, you just stood there. Frozen.
Who could it be� In this rain?
The sound of water pounding against the windows hadnât stopped for hours. The streets were probably half-flooded by now, the sky still heavy and grey without a hint of letting up.
So thenâWho would come here?
Ding dong.
You flinched again, your fingers instinctively tightening around the edge of the sink.
ââŚwhoââ
You grabbed your towel quickly, wrapping it around yourself without thinking much, your steps cautious as you moved out of the bathroom.
Your heartbeat hadnât settled. If anything, it only grew louder with each step toward the door.
You stopped just before it. Breathing shallow. Then slowly leaned forward, peering through the peephole.
Someone was standing outside. Tall. Broad.
Wearing some kind of uniform⌠and a cap pulled low over their face, shadowing most of their features.
You couldnât see clearly. Just the outline. Still.
Ding dong.
He rang again.
âIs anybody here?â a voice called out from the other side, slightly muffled by the door and the rain. âIâm here to repairââ
You blinked.
Oh.
The neighbor. He had said something about calling someone.
Relief didnât come fullyâbut it softened the sharp edge of your fear just a little.
âUh-please wait!â you called out from inside, your voice slightly unsteady despite your attempt to keep it normal.
You didnât wait for a response.
Turning quickly, you hurried back to your room, grabbing your clothes and putting them on in a rush, fingers fumbling slightly as you fixed everything into place.
Your mind was still running. Still thinking. Still uneasy.
You made your way back to the door, taking a small breath before unlocking it and pulling it open.
The man stood there. Close now.
He was looking down, one hand adjusting the brim of his cap as if trying to keep his face hidden from the rainâor from you.
Water dripped steadily from the edges, darkening the fabric, trailing down along his shoulders.
You frowned slightly, about to say somethingâBut he spoke first.
âCan I get a towel?â
You paused. Then noticed it. The dampness.
His clothes slightly clinging, the rain having soaked through more than you initially realized.
âAhâyes,â you said quickly.
You stepped back, turning to grab one, your movements slightly hurried before returning and handing it to him.
He took it without a word. ThenâSlowlyâHe removed his cap.
Dark hair fell slightly out of place, damp and sticking faintly to his forehead. And thereâAcross the bridge of his noseâA deep, faint line.
Your eyes lingered there for a second too long. A mark. Almost like a scar. Or⌠something else.
You blinked, realizing you were staring, quickly clearing your throat and looking away.
âItâs the roof,â you said, trying to steady your voice. âYou have to repair it⌠but itâs raining so hard. How did you even get here?â
There was a pause. You felt it before you saw it. His gaze. He was looking at you. Not hurried. Not confused. JustâStill.
Then he spoke.
âYour neighbor said it was urgent.â His voice was calm. Even. âSaid Iâd be paid well.â
You hesitated slightly at that.
âAh⌠is that soâŚ?â you murmured, unsure what else to say for a moment. âOkay⌠um, maybe we should wait a bit until the rain slows down.â
He nodded once. And thenâHe didnât move. He just stood there. Quiet. Still. Like a statue placed too deliberately in the middle of your doorway.
You shifted slightly, an odd discomfort settling in your chest. âUhâŚâ you glanced toward the living room, then back at him. âYou can sit there, if you want.â
You pointed toward the couch. His eyes followed your gesture. Then returned to you.
A brief pause. Before he stepped inside. Slow. Measured.
He walked toward the couch and sat down without a word, his movements controlled, almost too precise.
You stood there for a moment, watching him. Something about him feltâOff. You couldnât explain it. The way he moved. The way he spoke. The way he didnât speak.
After a few seconds, you shook the thought away, turning quickly.
You needed to call your neighbor. Just to let him know the repairman had arrived. Maybe⌠he could come over too. Just in case.
You reached for your phone. Only to pause.
ââŚwhere is it?â
You checked the table. The counter. Your pockets. Nothing.
Your movements grew quicker, more frantic as you searched around the room, your breath tightening slightly.
It shouldâve been here. You had it. You remembered having it. You couldnât find it. Anywhere.
â
âMaâam?â
You flinched. Your head snapped back toward him almost immediately, your thoughts scattering as his voice cut through them.
He was still sitting there. Looking at you.
âCould you tell me the exact position the hole is in?â
You blinked once, then nodded quickly, forcing your thoughts to settle. âItâs⌠in the bedroom,â you said, your voice quieter than before. âOn the ceiling.â
He hummed softly. A low, thoughtful sound.
âCould you let me see the room?â
You hesitated. Just for a second.
Your fingers curled slightly at your side. You hadnât gone back in there since last night. Not once. You didnât know what it looked like now. You didnât know ifâ
ââŚokay,â you said finally.
You turned, your steps slower this time, more careful as you led him down the short hallway. You could feel him behind you. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to feel.
The bedroom door stood exactly where you had left it. Closed. Locked.
Your hand hovered over the handle for a moment. Then slowly, you unlocked it. A soft click.
You pushed the door open. And your eyes widened. The room lookedâ
Normal. Too normal.
Your gaze immediately moved to the bed. You had expected it to be soaked. The rain had been relentless. The hole had been right aboveâBut the sheetsâ
They were dry. Perfectly dry. Not a single damp patch.
âHuhâŚ?â
You stepped inside slowly, your brows knitting together as confusion began to replace the fear. This didnât make sense. None of it did.
You moved closer to the bed, your heartbeat picking up againâbut this time, not from panic. From something else.
You climbed onto it without thinking, your knees pressing into the mattress as you reached upward. Toward the ceiling. Your fingers stretched, brushing against it.
Your hand moved across the surface, searching, tracing every inch where you knew the crack had been. Where you had seen it.
But nowâ
It was gone. Completely gone.
âWhat theâŚâ Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
This wasnât possible. You had seen it. You knew you had seen it. Your mind scrambled for an explanationâany explanationâbut nothing came. Nothing made sense.
And thenâA sound.
A low chuckle. Right behind you.
âYouâre so cute when youâre confused.â
ââ
Meanwhileâ
âYou should go check on her,â the woman said, her voice edged with worry as she stood near the window, peering out at the relentless rain. âSheâs living there all alone⌠at least we could do this much.â
Her husbandâyour neighborâlet out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He looked tired. Not just from the weather, but from the weight of something he couldnât quite name.
âI know,â he replied, his tone softer, conflicted. âBut⌠we have to be careful too. For our own kids.â
He glanced toward the other room unconsciously, as if reminding himself of that fact.
âWe donât even know whatâs going on,â he continued. âEverything just⌠happened so suddenly. And Iâm doing what I can.â He paused briefly before adding, âI tried calling a repairman for her roof, but they refused. Said they wonât come out in this weather.â
The rain outside only seemed to emphasize his words, crashing harder against the glass.
The woman turned to him fully now, her brows drawn together. âDid you at least contact her?â she asked. âYou should tell her that. And that weâll go there once the rain stops.â
He hesitated for a second. Then nodded.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a practiced motion before dialing your number.
They both stood there in silence as the call rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
He frowned slightly. âSheâs not picking up.â
The womanâs expression tightened instantly. âIs she okayâŚ?â she asked, her voice dropping just a little, uncertainty creeping in.
He shook his head quickly, trying to dismiss the thought before it could settle.
âDonât worry,â he said, a bit more firmly than before. âSheâll probably call back later. Maybe sheâs busy.â
He lowered the phone slowly. âWeâll go there ourselves once the rain slows down. No need to panic.â
The woman didnât look entirely convinced. But she nodded anyway.
ââŚokay.â
---
The rain continued to fall. Heavy. Unforgiving.
And thenâ
There you were. In your bedroom. Being manhandled by the very stranger.
Before you could bolt, he lunged, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pinning you against the wall with surprising careâno bruising grips, just firm enough to hold you still. His lips crashed onto yours in a frenzy of teeth and tongue, devouring your mouth with unhinged hunger. He bit at your lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to sting, his tongue plunging deep, swirling and tasting every inch as if he were starving. "Mm~ Y/N..."
Saliva slicked your chin, the kiss messy and desperate, his body pressing flush against yours, the heat of his arousal evident through his pants. You gasped into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, his hands roaming your sides with a sadistic precision that made your skin prickle.
He pulled back just enough to yank your shirt over your head, exposing your breasts to the cool air. "Uh.. boobiesâŚâ His gaze darkened, pupils blown wide with perversion, and he dropped to his knees, mouth latching onto one nipple with voracious suction. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, pulling and tugging until it swelled, turning a deep, angry red under his assault.
Switching to the other, he lavished it with the same brutal attention, his tongue flicking relentlessly while his hands cupped and squeezed your tits, kneading the flesh like dough. The pain mingled with unwelcome sparks of pleasure, your nipples puffing up, hypersensitive and throbbing as he alternated between them, leaving wet trails of spit that cooled and tightened your skin. He groaned against your chest, the vibration sending jolts straight to your core, his sadism tempered by the way he paused to blow cool air over the reddened peaks, watching them pebble further with a twisted smile.
From the pocket of his jacket, he produced a coil of rough rope, his fingers deft as he bound your wrists above your head, looping the fibers around the bedpost with knots that bit just enough to remind you of your captivity without cutting circulation. He worked methodically, almost tenderly, checking the tension with gentle tugs. "You know... I... I had thought of approaching you in different ways but tch.. it's so hard around these people..."
"Why won't they just leave you alone?" He whispered, his voice laced with panic yet excitement. He moved to your ankles next, tying them securely but leaving enough slack to maneuver you onto the bed. With a grunt, he hoisted your bound legs high, spreading them wide and lifting until your ass lifted off the mattress, fully exposed to his ravenous stare. The position left you vulnerable, your naked cheeks parted slightly, your pussy on blatant display, the cool air teasing your already damp folds.
"W-woah... real pussy..." His breath hitched, eyes glazing over as he drank in the sight, his face inches from your core. Then, like a man possessed, he leaned in, pressing soft, desperate kisses to your pussy lipsâtender at first, almost reverent, his mouth molding to the outer folds with unhinged longing.
"Mmmh~" He kissed them over and over, lips parting to suckle gently, his tongue darting out to trace the edges with sloppy, fervent laps. Saliva poured from his mouth, drenching your skin, slicking every crease until it glistened obscenely, dripping down toward your ass. He slurped noisily at the outer lips, drawing them into his mouth one by one, sucking with a desperation that bordered on madness, his nose bumping your clit as he lost himself in the act. The wetness everywhereâhis spit mixing with your growing arousalâmade obscene squelching sounds with each pull of his lips.
Fingers trembling, he reached up, parting your pussy lips with his fingertips, spreading you open to reveal the pink, sensitive inner flesh. The sight hit him like a drug; his ears flushed a deep, burning red, veins standing out on his neck as he stared, transfixed. "s... so cute," he stammered, voice cracking with nervous excitement, a wide, ear-to-ear grin splitting his face, revealing teeth clenched in barely contained ecstasy. His eyes darted up to yours for a split second, wild and pleading, before dropping back to your exposed hole, clenching around nothing.
Unable to hold back, he fumbled with his belt, âah- d.. don't worry.. i won't put it inâŚyet,â He'd shudder, unbuckling his pants with shaky hands and shoving them down just enough to free his massive cock. It sprang out, thick and veined, the bulbous tip already leaking pre-cum, swollen with need. He gripped the base, guiding it to your entrance, rubbing the fat head against your slick foldsânot penetrating, just teasing, sliding it up and down your slit with agonizing slowness. The heat of him seared your skin, the tip nudging your clit before dipping to press at your hole, spreading your lips wider without breaching.
"Oh... ohh... I'm... I'm rubbing it... against you... your skin... pussy... soâŚso good..." he moaned, the words tumbling out in a breathless whine, his hips jerking as he stroked himself harder along your length. His free hand kept your folds parted, the cockhead hovering right at the entrance, smearing pre-cum into your wetness, the friction building an insane intensity that had his thighs quivering.
His strokes quickened, fist pumping furiously while the tip battered lightly against your hole, keeping it spread and ready. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breaths coming in harsh pants, eyes locked on where his cock kissed your pussy. The pressure built rapidly, his massive shaft throbbing in his grip, and then he shatteredâshuddering violently, eyes rolling back in his head as waves of unhinged pleasure crashed over him.
Thick ropes of cum erupted from his tip, shooting straight into your spread hole, flooding the entrance with hot, sticky spurts. He kept rubbing, milking every drop inside, the excess bubbling out slightly despite his efforts, his body convulsing with the force of his release, moans turning to guttural whimpers as he rode the edge of oblivion.
"Ahh~ ouh.. baby..." Panting, he slumped forward for a moment, then straightened with a dazed grin, reaching into his pocket for a strip of duct tape. Carefully, almost lovingly, he pressed it over your pussy, sealing the cum inside, the adhesive sticking firmly to your skin. "We... we'll use it as lube next... heh..." he rasped, his voice hoarse and satisfied, eyes gleaming with the promise of more twisted indulgences to come.
He straightened slowly, that dazed grin splitting his sweat-dampened face, his eyesâdark pools of obsessionâfinally lifting to meet yours. For the first time since he'd burst into your life like a fever dream, he truly looked at you, not as an object of his deranged fantasies, but as the woman he'd stolen away. The sight of your tear-streaked cheeks, the raw terror widening your eyes, hit him like a slap. His grin faltered, crumbling into a mask of dawning horror, as if the fog of his perversion was lifting just enough to reveal the monstrosity he'd become. His massive cock, still semi-hard and glistening with remnants of his spend, twitched against his thigh, but his hands shook violently now, no longer steady in their sadistic control.
With a whimper that bordered on pathetic, he reached up, cupping your face in his palmsârough from years of whatever shadowed life he'd led, yet careful, so achingly careful, as if you were fragile porcelain he might shatter. His thumbs, callused and warm, brushed away the hot trails of your tears, smearing them across your skin in gentle strokes that contrasted the brutality of moments before. "Why... why are you crying, love...?" he whispered, his voice cracking like thin ice, laced with genuine confusion and a creeping panic. His breath ghosted over your lips, ragged and uneven, as he leaned closer, his nose nudging your temple. "Am... am I doing it wrong...? Do I... do I have to be more scary...?"
He nuzzled against your soaked cheek, rubbing his stubbled jaw along the damp path of your tears, the coarse scrape of his skin sending involuntary shivers down your spine. The intimacy was suffocating, his body heat enveloping you like a cage, his scentâsweat, cum, and something darker, like ink and madnessâfilling your lungs. "Uhh... baby... you told me you wanted this... this kind of love you needed..."
He continued, his words tumbling out in a feverish murmur, his lips brushing your earlobe as he clung to the delusion you'd somehow fed him in his twisted mind. "I'm... I'm giving it to you now... so why are you crying so much?" His tone dipped into desperation, a sadist's plea wrapped in vulnerability, his fingers tightening just a fraction on your jaw, holding you in place as if your gaze might vanish if he let go.
He pressed soft kisses along your jawline then, feather-light and reverent, trailing from your chin to the corner of your mouthâkisses that tasted of salt from your tears and the faint metallic tang of his earlier bites. Each one lingered, his lips parting slightly to suckle gently at your skin, as if savoring the evidence of your distress. But he paused abruptly, pulling back with a jolt, his eyes widening in shock as realizationâor his warped version of itâdawned.
"Wait... is that one of your likings? Crying and wanting more?" he asked, his voice pitching higher with excited uncertainty, a manic gleam flickering back into his gaze. He searched your face hungrily, misreading the horror twisting your features as some secret signal of consent, his ears flushing that deep red again, betraying the unhinged thrill surging through him.
You stared at him in pure horror, your body thrashing against the ropes that bit into your wrists and ankles, the restraints holding you splayed and helpless. A muffled scream tore from your throat, desperate and raw, but it came out as garbled whimpers against the tape sealing your mouthâsounds of terror that only seemed to fuel his delusion. He didn't flinch; instead, he cupped your face again, firmer this time, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks to still your struggles, forcing you to meet his wild eyes.
"Shh, shh, my sweet little thing," he cooed, leaning in to kiss your cheek with sloppy, open-mouthed presses, his tongue darting out to lap at the fresh tears pooling there. He nibbled next, teeth grazing the soft flesh just below your eye, not breaking skin but leaving a tingling sting that bloomed into heat.
"You're so cute when crying..." he breathed against your skin, his voice dropping to a reverent hush, thick with perverse adoration. His nibbles turned insistent, teeth sinking in deeper along your cheekbone, marking you with a deliberate pressure that drew a sharp gasp from your muffled lips. "I... I love your tears... your cute snots... everything about you..."
He pulled back slightly to admire the red bite mark he'd leftâa blooming oval of possession, stark against your flushed skinâbefore diving in again, kissing it soothingly, his tongue swirling over the tender spot in languid circles, as if apologizing with his mouth while his eyes burned with sadistic delight. The contrast was maddening: the careful laps of his tongue, the way he hummed contentedly against your face, even as his free hand trailed down to idly trace the edge of the tape over your pussy, pressing it firmer, ensuring his cum stayed locked inside your clenching hole.
But then his expression shifted, a shadow of hurt flickering across his features, his brows knitting together in feigned innocence. "But... you left me hanging so sudden... do you not like my stories anymore, baby?" he asked, his voice cracking with that unhinged vulnerability, the words hanging heavy in the air like a threat veiled as a question.
He tilted his head, studying you with the intensity of a writer dissecting his muse, his fingers now stroking your hair in soothing pets that belied the ropes and tape binding you. The bite mark throbbed under his renewed kisses, each press of his lips a mix of balm and brand, his breath hot and erratic as he whispered against the welt. "It's okay, baby... I'll make you love it again... make you love me... your favorite author⌠Choso~âŚ"
ââ
The fragile cocoon of his twisted affection shattered in an instant as a sharp series of knocks echoed through the apartment, insistent and jarring against the heavy silence of your shared nightmare. His head snapped toward the sound like a predator sensing prey, the muscles in his neck corded tight, veins bulging along his temples and forearms in stark relief against his flushed skin. His eyes, once softened by delusional tenderness, widened into manic orbs, pupils blown black with a feral paranoia that twisted his features into the visage of a madmanâlips peeled back in a snarl, breath hitching in ragged bursts that fogged the air between you.
He whipped his gaze back down to your bound form, the ropes creaking faintly under your subtle tremors, your body still splayed vulnerably on the bed with the tape clinging obscenely to your pussy, a barrier holding his seed deep inside your unwilling heat. The terror etched across your face mirrored his own frenzy, your chest heaving in shallow pants, tears carving fresh paths down your cheeks as the muffled whimpers behind the tape grew frantic. He loomed over you, his semi-hard cock swaying heavily between his thighs, slick with the evidence of his earlier release, as his hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening.
"Did you call someone?" he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that slithered through the room, laced with accusation and betrayal, his face inches from yours now, hot breath fanning over your skin like a storm's warning. "Huh, baby... are you trying to betray me?" The words dripped with hurt, his brows furrowing in that unhinged mix of love and rage, his fingers twitching as if debating whether to stroke your cheek or crush your throat.
You shook your head vigorously, the motion jerky and desperate, your eyes pleading through the haze of fear, wide and glistening as you strained against the bindings that dug into your wrists and ankles, the rough fibers chafing your skin raw. No words could escape, only the pathetic vibrations of your denied screams, but the frantic denial in your gaze seemed to pierce his delusion just enough.
He exhaled sharply, a shaky laugh bubbling up from his chestâ"Hah... I... I know you wouldn't do that..."âhis tone wavering between relief and lingering doubt, his hand finally reaching out to cup your chin with a grip that was almost gentle, thumb tracing your lower lip over the tape in a possessive caress. His eyes darted back toward the door, the knocks resuming with a more urgent rhythm, pounding like your racing heart. "Wait... I gotta check..." he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice dropping to a gravelly resolve as paranoia clawed its way fully to the surface.
Reluctantly, he peeled himself away from your side, his body uncoiling with predatory grace despite the tremor in his limbs, the mattress dipping as he rose. His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, drinking in your helpless exposureâthe way your breasts rose and fell with each terrified breath, nipples still pebbled from his earlier assaults, the taped seal between your thighs glistening faintly under the dim light. Then, with a low growl rumbling in his throat, he turned toward the nightstand, his fingers wrapping around the slender neck of a porcelain flower vase in a vise-like grip, the delicate thing creaking under the pressure as if it might shatter in his palm. He hefted it like a makeshift club, the water inside sloshing softly, petals from wilted blooms scattering across the floor in his wake.
Without another glance, he stalked out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding silently down the hallway, the door left ajar behind him.
âNo one gets to disturb us⌠no oneâŚâ
[Extra Chapter]
AN: Do not hesitate to sent me requests :) I ain't like him~ (I SWEAR)