𝖒

You came back to consciousness slowly, like dragging yourself out of deep water. Your head hurt, your body felt drained, and the panic from before kept replaying in painful flashes. The blindfold was gone. There were no restraints. And somehow, you were lying in your own bed. Fresh clothes. Soft blanket. Curtains pulled shut like someone was hiding the world from you. The room felt colder than usual.

Your heartbeat spiked the moment the door opened. He walked in casually, almost bored, carrying a tray. You couldn’t tell what was on it. You tried to push yourself off the bed, but your body barely cooperated, sliding weakly back into the sheets. He just sighed, like you were being dramatic.

“Relax, sweetheart. Get some rest.” It wasn’t comforting. It sounded more like a threat accompanied by his sharp glare. He kissed your jaw carefully.

The shimmer of amusement in his eyes made your stomach twist. He enjoyed watching you panic. He always had. That lazy half-smile tugged at his mouth as if this entire situation was something funny to him. He placed the tray on the bedside table and leaned in, his voice dropping to something deceptively soft.

“Honestly, you look at me like I’m a monster. I brought you dinner.”

You stared at him, disbelief burning hotter than the fear. “What…do you want?” you uttered breathlessly.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, almost offended. “What do I want? How about you start with ‘thank you for the meal’? Be grateful, yeah? I’m trying here. How will you thank me?”

His tone began unraveling as he spoke, slipping between calm and something more scattered. It wasn’t the cold, calculated voice from earlier. This was rawer. Less stable. More honest. And that scared you more than anything.

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to fall. "Thank y-you,” you whispered. He looked satisfied in a way that made your skin crawl.

You stared at the tray. Soup. A sweet drink. It looked normal. That somehow made it worse. You didn’t dare touch it. “Don’t look so scared,” he murmured. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear like you were something delicate he had to position just right.

Then, almost as if reading your thoughts, he picked up the drink and took a slow sip. “See? I don’t poison people I love.”

Before you could flinch away, his hand suddenly wrapped around your throat. Not tight–just enough to jolt you, enough to make your breath stutter. Your eyes widened, and he tilted his head, studying your fear like it entertained him. When you lifted your hands to his wrist, half-choking, half-shaking, he let out a low laugh.

"God, relax,” he chuckled, tilting his head as if you were being adorable. “You can still breathe. Stop acting like I’m killing you.”

Heat crawled up your neck as it hit you–his grip was loose. Embarrassingly loose. And he knew it. His thumb brushed your pulse, slow and mocking, like he was savoring the way it jumped for him. Before you could pull away, he dipped his head down to kiss you.

part 2

it all began with a kind gesture, or at least…that’s what it felt like back then. he’d spotted you stranded on an empty road, taking in the anxious look on your face as if it genuinely worried him. the rain was relentless, the cold biting through your clothes, and for a second you felt completely swallowed by the moment. you were a stranger to him. that part was true. and yet, even with common sense whispering at him to keep walking, he still stepped toward you.

“excuse me, are you waiting for someone? it’s cold out here.”

his voice. it felt strangely familiar, like you were supposed to know him already. you paused before answering. messy dark hair, soft features, a fascinating kind of charm that made him seem harmless.

“oh, i was just taking a walk. it started raining all of a sudden and i, um… didn’t have an umbrella…” your words trailed off as he gently tugged you closer by the wrist, shielding you from the rain. your breath caught when you realized he hadn’t let go.

“do you live close by, sweetheart? i can walk you home.”

his eyes, almost black in the dim light, studied you a little too carefully. the nickname, his hand on your skin—none of it felt as innocent anymore.

“thank you, really, but you don’t have to.” you tried to sound steady but it spilled out shaky anyway. he let out this soft, amused laugh and started walking, guiding you like he already knew the way. the distance was small, and when you reached your house he gave a quiet goodbye and a little wave. he watched you go inside, exhaling like something about you had just… settled into him.

you were a mess of confusion afterward. you caught yourself thinking about him at random moments, replaying the way he spoke, the way he looked at you. it felt unreal. too strange to shrug off. why was he out that late? why did he act like he knew you? the questions circled in your mind until eventually he slipped into the background of your memory.

a few weeks passed. it was a saturday night. you were curled up on the couch with some cheap slasher flick humming in the background. and then—footsteps upstairs. faint but definitely there. your heart stilled. you paused the film and sat completely still, hoping it was nothing but your nerves being dramatic.

just silence.

you hit play again, trying to drown the unease swelling in your chest. it didn’t go away. it just… sat there, heavy and wrong.

then your vision snapped into darkness. something soft, cloth-like, slid over your eyes, shutting the world out. your breath stuttered—

“don’t you dare scream, sweetheart.”