Nikolai's bare back was the first thing your eyes landed on.

The room suddenly felt warmer, and you couldn't help but feel a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. You barely registered the book in your hand slipping out of your grasp and and landing on the floor with a soft thud as if incapable of handling the sight before you as much as your heart was.

The muscles in his back flex with every movement, drawing your gaze further down to where the fabric of his sweatpants dipped dangerously low on his waist. You swallow hard, trying to regain your composure before he eventually turns around and catches you in the act of staring.

But it's so difficult to abide by when the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window pours over him in an angelic glow, highlighting the curve of his spine as he turns to face you with a questioning look in his eyes and a playful smirk playing on his lips. "Hm?"

Nikolai clearly didn't expect the sudden intrusion, but he wasn't complaining about it either. In fact, he loves that you happened to walk into the room at such perfect timing.

You have to wonder if he's doing it on purpose—all to see your reaction, just to see the flustered look on your face that you know he takes so much pleasure in. You try to form words, but all that comes out is a soft gasp, your mind struggling to form coherent thoughts when you watch beads of water drip from his loose hair onto his bare chest, rolling down his skin until they reach his v-line.

You don’t even realize you're staring as hard as you are until Nikolai clears his throat, jerking his head at you in a teasing gesture. Caught off guard, you quickly avert your gaze and try to compose yourself, but the flirtatious glint in Nikolai's eyes tells you he enjoys the attention far too much to let it slide, as expected.

“You’re staring real hard, pretty,” he drawls with a lazy grin, mismatched eyes filled with mischief roaming over your figure.

"Sorry," you apologize and try to leave the room as quickly as you could to avoid any impending teasy remarks, but you suppose you were too slow for him because you already found yourself entrapped by a pair of strong arms.

"You're not going anywhere just yet," Nikolai murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he pulls you closer. Yeah, you're not sure what demon possessed you for a second to make you believe he would let you get away from him so easily—you would end up like this either way, whether you stayed in the room or not. "What did you want to ask me, sweet dove?" he asks as his arms snake themselves under your arms and around your waist.

The closeness sends a shudder to channel through your entire body. "Nothing important anymore," you hum and close your eyes, secretly relishing in the contact.

He laughs and ruffles your hair before placing a kiss on the crown of your head. "Oh come on," he insists, fingers deftly moving some of your hair aside as if parting curtains to let in sunlight, keen to get a better look at your flustered face. "Tell me?"

With a hint of reluctance, your shy eyes open to finally meet his. "I finished the book I was reading.. you know, the one I told you about."

His eyes light up with an excitement that makes your heart flutter. "That means you have to tell me all about it now!" he pries eagerly, genuinely interested in hearing your opinion.

"I can't," you mumble, the words tinged with timidity.

His lips stick out into an exaggerated pout, feigning hurt, resembling a kicked puppy. "Why?" he asks with a dramatic flair.

You feel embarrassed to be in this position, your back flush against his chest as his arms squeeze your frame like you're his personal stuffed animal. He dips his head, leaning in to get closer to your face. "Too distracted?" he asks, his voice low and sultry, rich like velvet.

"Something like that," you admit, nodding shamefully while feeling the heat on your cheeks deepening as his lips graze over the shell of your ear. "Maybe a little."

"Look at me," he tells you, fingers grabbing hold of your chin gently to tilt your face upwards to make you look up at him. His voice is sweet but also firm, one full of power. "I want you to focus on me," he says, his eyes locking with yours. "I want to be the only thing on your mind right now."

His eyes are so intense and love-filled, making it nearly impossible to part gazes. Out of all things, this wasn't something that you ever expected from him when you two started dating, though you suppose you're not exactly sure what you ever expected.

However, there is one thing that you are sure of and expect nothing less of from him—him and his new ways that, without fail, always keep you on your toes.

"You don't have to be so shy," he giggles before spinning you around to face him this time, drawing you impossibly closer. All you experience is Nikolai—every sense overwhelmed and full of only him. He'd just hopped out of the shower, so his skin is still slightly damp, and the freshly applied lotion on his skin smells so good. A combination of the fragrance entwining with his natural scent fills your head with delightful dizziness, your cheeks warming up from both the contact and how you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

Your eyes are fluttering shut again yet they aren't quite closed, lashes barely brushing the tops of your cheeks. As you inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself while reveling in this closeness, Nikolai chuckles softly as his arms wrap around you in a gentle embrace, practically smothering your face with his chest.

"You're allowed to look at me, you know," he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. "Look at me, touch me." He tenderly takes one of your hands in his, kissing your palm ever so softly before placing it on the upper portion of his chest, slowly moving it downwards, almost guiding you in a way where he wants to feel your touch, an invitation of sorts. "Do whatever you want to me."

The sheer vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heart, making you realize just how much he trusts you—a trust that deepens with every touch and melding of skins. It's overwhelming yet euphoric, the feeling of intimacy that grows and further solidifies your bond as you trace every inch of his body with your fingertips. His skin is incredibly soft as you run your fingers over his body, smoothness occasionally interrupted by the roughness of his scars that you'd only ever felt under the fabric of his clothing—but you adore all of him, even the rough parts. You run your knuckles along his sides, eliciting goosebumps to rise on his skin, warmth radiating from him to you like a gentle current.

His other hand travels from your waist to cradle your cheek, packed with all the care in the world that it almost makes your heart skip a steady beat. "Are you charmed by me yet?"

"You don't even have to try.." you huff out in embarrassment. A bead of water drips from his damp bangs onto your nose, causing a small shiver to course through you from the chill. "Aren't you cold?" you ask him, voice becoming whispery as you melt into his embrace.

His arms tighten around you, a small smile tugging on his lips at your question. "How can I be cold when you're right here?" he replies with nonchalance as if the answer couldn't be more obvious, using his thumb to wipe the water off your nose, replacing it with a gentle kiss to seal the moment altogether.

"H-Here you are, Mister Tonan," he stammers. "Um, I've gathered all the documents."

"You're late!"

You watched the timid man—a bundle of nerves with wide, anxious eyes behind his glasses, stuttering words that barely escaped his cracked lips while clutching the stack of documents to his chest.

You felt bad, to be honest. It's difficult not to feel pity when someone is being treated so poorly.

He'd always disappear during lunch breaks to spend an absurd amount of time in the bathroom, and as bland as the lunch offered in the office was, you doubt that had anything to do with his quiet disappearances. You'd even invited him to get lunch with you elsewhere at times to break the staleness of this shared environment, a small rebellion if you will. However, he always politely declined as he stumbled over his words, claiming that he was busy—which, sure, you could agree and understand to some extent. Still, something about the whole thing seemed off to you.

Your eyes flicker to the clock ticking steadily on the wall before drifting down to your pencil skirt, the fabric soft yet frayed at the edges beneath your restless fingers.

The end of your break was approaching, yet your coworker was nowhere to be seen.

Driven by insatiable curiosity, you tentatively make your way toward the men’s restroom at the end of the hall, but as you approach, something on the floor catches your attention and abruptly halts you in your tracks—a single crimson drop glistens against the stark white tiles.

You glance back up at the door, hesitantly nudging it open just enough for you to peer inside, so as not to seem like a pervert while also attempting to observe discreetly. Standing at the sinks, you see the back of a man with long white hair, tied into a neat braid that hangs down his back. His suit is strangely normal in contrast to his appearance—a gray one that resembles that of your coworker's, almost too closely, though you're not sure you've ever seen him in the office before. Your eyes wander yet your focus on him remains stagnant, and the sight that greets you is unnerving, to say the least.

As you watch him through the reflection while he's hunched over the sink, he washes his hands clean of... red.

A gut-wrenching dread quickly surges throughout your entire being, one so potent that your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. Before you're able to think another rational thought, that's when your eyes shift back up to meet striking, familiar dual-colored ones when they immediately spot you in the mirror, locking you into place for a second. You quickly step back from the crack in the door, mumbling a silent apology to no one in particular, cheeks burning with embarrassment at being caught.

Your heart begins to hammer against your ribcage after you shut the door with a soft click and retreat hastily, distress swelling within you with each step you take. Fuck—he saw you, probably from the corner of his eye too.

No, forget that. Was that.. blood?

It’s not something you can focus on for very long before you hear the sound of a door swinging open.

The footsteps behind you are too audible—the clacks of dress shoes against the floor echo in the hallway and even more so in your chest as his pace speeds up. You tried to keep walking, but a single glance over your shoulder allowed you to make eye contact again.

He was already striding in your direction with a gleam flickering in his eyes that made you feel like prey caught by a hunter's gaze.

In a panic, you hurriedly make it into the elevator across from the restrooms. Your fingers betray you, uncontrollably trembling as you fumble with the buttons, your hand moving in a desperate and frantic dance. Each press feels like a heartbeat, loud and erratic. Your back presses against the cold metal wall, and your hands clutch the handrail behind you, knuckles whitening with strain as you notice him approaching, the danger of the situation beginning to sink in all too quickly.

There is no escape.

His hand shoots forward, snaking through the narrowing gap of the elevator doors just before they can seal shut. A foot clad in a polished shoe follows, boldly thrusting inside, utmost confidence radiating from his presence. An unsettling smile spreads across his face, making your skin crawl.

"Oh darling, you've caught me, haven't you?" A new, silky voice taunts.

You stand frozen, speechless, your mouth slightly agape in shock as he takes a deliberate step into the confined space, casting aside all distance between you. The atmosphere clots with tension when he invades your space, a towering wall of dark fabric. His clothes have dark crimson splotches soaked with only now what you can conclude to be blood from the suffocating scent of iron that starts to linger in the air—poignant and sickly sweet—confirming your initial dismay. Whether it was his own or someone else's is something you aren't sure you want to know, but the metallic scent is incredibly nauseating.

As he inches closer, his eyes bore into yours with a twisted sense of amusement. His tall, intimidating frame looms over you threateningly, while his hands brace against the handrail on either side of you, effectively caging you in this position where you're forced to look at him, making your heart race with a peculiar mix of fear and thrill in a rhythm you can't control.

"Or I guess it's the other way around now, right?" He lifts one arm and for a fleeting moment, holds a finger to his lips, a silent command implying his want for you to keep quiet.

You shut your eyes tightly in nervousness, willing yourself to control the fear that wraps around you, but it proves impossible. A foreign pressure against your body jolts your attention, and your eyes flutter open to catch a glimpse of a pair of glasses poking out of his pocket—another odd confirmation that brings a sting to your eyes, clouding your vision along with your thoughts.

You can feel your heart pounding in your ears as you try to come up with some kind of response, but the cold rush in your veins numbs any will to speak and keeps you frozen in place. The elevator starts to ascend, the mechanical hum doing nothing to quiet your racing thoughts as you look at him—harsh scarlet droplets splattered across his face, painting the tips of his pure-colored, snowy bangs and all.

Your soul has never so badly wanted to leave your body when a part of your mind briefly abandons your senses. Despite the overwhelming terror coursing through you, you can’t help but find him absurdly attractive, while the glint in his eyes tells you that he's enjoying every second of your discomfort—the realization only adds to your growing sense of dread.

Your mind is stuck in a daze, grappling with this surreal reality. You still haven't processed it yet—the fact that this man, if you can even call him that, who stands before you with a carnivorous vehemence, is none other than your once-shy, bashful coworker. The horrifying truth weighs down on you that your coworker is a murderer—a wanted criminal. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths as you try to figure out your next move. Your heart races wildly as you struggle to break free from his invisible shackles, panic only rising within you.

In a desperate attempt, you press your hands against his chest to try to shove him away, but the effort ends up futile since he's far much stronger. Your fingers instinctively seek the braid that dangles across his shoulder instead, but he likely anticipated your move by the way he ends up grasping one of your hands with startling strength, squeezing your wrist tightly so you don’t move. Involuntarily, your other hand finds its way to his tie that slips out of his blazer jacket, fist balled up while clutching onto the fabric in a vain endeavor to either gain some control or to pull him closer, though the fear rushing through you makes the latter feel distinctly ironic.

You watch him swallow thickly and you're unable to divert your gaze, once again meeting his intense eyes that dominate every ounce of your being. "You.. You're—" you try to speak, your words immediately becoming muffled when he lifts his right hand and seizes your jaw, purposefully squeezing it so roughly that you feel like his fingers would puncture your skin. His forearm presses up against your chest while he does this, and you can already feel the blood from his clothing seeping into yours.

"Shhh," he grimaces, his grip only getting stronger that you feel like he would crush your jaw at any moment. "I told you to be quiet, didn't I?" he coos with an oddly gentle voice that doesn't match his face, followed by a wicked smirk as he leans in, his face hovering mere inches from yours. The pressure on your jaw intensifies, sending a sharp pain through your entire face. A grunt of satisfaction leaves him when you let go of his tie, not being to hold on any longer. A defeated whimper involuntarily escapes you in response, the fear in your eyes evident as he continues to hold you captive with his unnerving strength.

"You're used to hearing that from him, aren't you?" His scarred eye pierces into yours even more due to this proximity, face so close that his forehead is practically touching yours, an intimacy that you wouldn't find so threatening and uncomfortable as it is if you weren't in the predicament you're in right now. "Aren't you tired?" he murmurs in a satiny voice, each word passing through your ears smoothly.

You only stare at him blankly, confusion knitting your brows together like you don't know what he's talking about, well, because you don't. His words feel peculiar to you, and you can't shake the uneasy feeling that he knows more than he should, more than what you're comfortable with.

His eyes narrow, searching yours for a hint of recognition. "Tired of this life. Tired of slaving away every single day, working under someone else's thumb." His breath is hot against your skin and his lips ghost over your cheek, the blood that stains his face now smearing across your own. He leans in closer to whisper into your ear, growing either agitated or delirious, maybe a combination of both, judging by how his voice dips lower and shakier. "Don't you want to be free?"

A shiver courses through you as his words seep into your consciousness.

Tired, you are. But what good could come from listening to someone like him? His offer feels sinister, laden with shadows that you're not completely sure you want to follow. The uncertainty of what you would get yourself into if you said yes to him pollutes your mind, so you remain silent, the weight of indecision anchoring you in place.

He senses your hesitation. His nose lightly grazes against your cheek and eventually nudges forward against your own when he spots hollowness that wasn’t there previously finding abode in your eyes—an emptiness he clearly relishes. "Yeah?" he asks softly, raising his head slightly, nodding in encouragement as if coaxing you to nod along with him, to agree with him. "Everyone has their breaking point, no?"

All you can think about is escaping this tense encounter, and as soon as possible, at that. So, with a resolute shake of your head, you feign ignorance as if his words haven't registered in your mind at all.

He exhales dramatically, a deep sigh through parted lips, tongue playfully tucked in his cheek. "You're a fighter, I'll give you that," he chuckles softly, the grip on your jaw loosening slightly, allowing a breath of relief to escape you. "But you'll want to join me soon enough." Finally, he lets go of you entirely, and you let out a gasp at the release, a sense of freedom rushing back into your body.

The elevator dings. He winks at you, a cheeky grin lighting up his face, and just like that—he's gone in the blink of an eye, his parting words ringing in your mind, an eerie refrain.

"Promise me to keep this between us until then, my dear?"