Momo

Accidentally stealing handcuffs from Teo's party last night was kind of funny. Handcuffing yourself to your favorite emo during breakfast was just as funny, for all of fourteen seconds. But then you remembered you had work. And then you remembered that you never took the key.

And then, of course, when you suggested the obvious idea of cutting them off, suddenly [REDACTED] had morals against property damage.

Turns out a life of crime was not for you.

"You're enjoying this too much," you mutter as you walk through the aisles. Stubbornly, you refuse to admit to also enjoying this. Because then he wins.

The matching cuff on your wrist hardly feels uncomfortable thanks to your partner's willingness to stay as close as physically possible. All that signals its presence is the telltale faint metal clinking of the chain connecting you. And the occasional stares and giggles of whoever happened to notice. Mostly Elanor, who took to spying around corners and hiding her smile behind the monitors at the front desk.

"How could I not?" they practically brag. "'Stead of stayin' home, you wanted t'show off that I'm all yours."

That wasn't what you had in mind at all and he knew it. "You are so…" You huff and sort through the pile, ignoring the grin on his face. "Unbelievable."

"It's like we're already married," they tease as the chain jingles again. "Our wedding bells."

You reach up to lightly thump a cover against his forehead. "Once Teo comes back with the key you're getting chained to the break room table 'til my shift's over. Not in the fun way."

He dramatically sighs as you finally shelve the last of the books. "If y'say so. 'N here I was lookin' forward to it."

From the moment the lock on the cuffs clicked in place, their pale blue eyes were locked on you just the same. It was easy to guess how he imagined the day would go.

Somehow, you thought forcing him to play nice at your job would keep his head out of the clouds for a while. If anything, it was rocketing his ego straight past the clouds and into space. The few patrons that noticed kept their distance, and the ones oblivious enough to approach quickly left thanks to his confusing aura of smugness.

"Hmm. I could forget the key again when we get home."

"Promise, Angel?"

You hold back a laugh and grab his cuffed hand in yours, leading them over to the book return bin. "If I don't get fired for causing a scene, sure."

"Seashell! Where are youuu?" Jae suddenly shouts from the sliding doors. A chorus of various shhs rounds through the stacks, and he hurries over to you with a sheepish grin, almost panting from the effort. "Here's that key you needed. Hey, Ren!"

For once, [REDACTED] acknowledges him with a nod. Who knew handcuffs could make them act moderately decent, if not polite?

"Thanks?" you question as Jae drops the silver key into your outstretched hand. "What happened to Teo?"

Jae shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. "Who knows? He caught me just before I went surfing and offered 500 dollars to bring this to you ASAP. Said you can keep it."

You vividly remember Teo coming by earlier after you texted him, ready to laugh at your circumstances. It hadn't gone so well on his end, what with your partner's unshakeable confidence over the situation. "Oh. Of course he did."

"Anyways, I've got some money to waste. Later, seashell! You too, Ren!" Jae waves over his shoulder and leaves just as quickly as he came, a trail of sandy footprints in his wake.

"Well uh… guess you can go home now?" you offer and look back at [REDACTED]. "Oh come on. It's only three hours."

His eyes lose that playful sparkle as you undo the cuffs and put them in your pocket along with the key. "Three hours unsupervised and without a leash. That's very irresponsible, love."

You wander off towards the staff area. "Shush."

Even without the handcuffs, they're immediately trailing mere inches behind you. You attempt to sneak past the story time circle where Elanor's sitting with a few kids from the nearby school. You're hoping she doesn't notice, but the sound of a gleeful smile starts ringing in her voice as she reads softly.

The staff door creaks open to an empty, darkened room. Conan must've disappeared into his office, no doubt questioning why he lets you keep your job. The hacker's footsteps and yours tap along the floor as you approach the supply closet.

You pause halfway into the room and turn around to whisper, "I thought I said you could go home."

"You also said you'd chain me up back here."

"Not in the fun way," you immediately correct.

"Not in the fun way," [REDACTED] repeats with a nod. They patiently hold up their wrist for you.

Sighing to yourself, you have to decline. "I think I'd actually get fired if I did that. So… if you leave now, you may handcuff me on our walk home." While you fish the offending items from your pocket, you have to clarify, "As long as no one else sees us."

He happily takes them, swinging the cuffs back and forth on his finger. "Oh, then what happens once we're home?"

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

It was too hard to ignore. 

Even staring at the bottom corner of the video — a dimly lit floor with only part of a bloodied shoe to stain your vision — didn't stop you from imagining it all. The noises painted a cruel enough picture by themselves. 

The harrowing cries and the buzz of tools digging through flesh barely hid that distinct tone. Dry laughter. Taunting threats. A blatant lie that "it'd be over soon."

If it wasn't for some small, throwaway inflection on certain words, you could've dismissed it altogether. Distorted as it was, you could tell the voice was his. Caustic and harsh, a far cry from the soft spoken way he always talked with you. But it was him.

As the gut-wrenching sounds became louder, more blood splattered into the narrow space of the screen you chose to focus on.

You snapped the laptop shut.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The suspect in question looked at you innocently, eyes glued to every little movement as you made dinner. You would grab something, and whatever you needed to prepare it was always waiting on the counter before you could turn around.

Normally, you'd make some sort of idle chatter during the nightly ritual. But there was nothing you wanted to say to him. Not yet, anyway.

A few items were gathered in your hands, and you closed the fridge. Your favorite cutting board, some bowls, and your usual knife already sat on the counter. 

You got to work and picked up the knife. One onion held under your fingers on the cutting board. Out of habit, you tapped the blade against the wood before the first cut. The sound was different than usual, as if freshly sharpened.

[REDACTED] kept silent as he retook his seat across from you. The swift, rhythmic chopping was the only sound in the kitchen. Once the onions were swept into a bowl, you briefly met his gaze. He smiled as gently as always.

But you had to wonder if they knew. 

If that was why he hadn't even bothered to get you to speak since coming home. He'd quietly played with your hair while you laid across his lap, scrolling on your phone until the words and pictures that you weren't even paying attention to melted together, only to realize an hour had passed in complete silence. It must've been obvious something was on your mind, and he never usually pried anyways — but if he knew…

The knife tapped again for the next item. A clean, short sound.

Everything he did had a reason. The knife was sharpened because you'd made a comment about it feeling dull yesterday. Your partner sat and watched because just being in the same room made them happy.

You couldn't find a reason for torturing some poor souls to death and recording it, but [REDACTED] certainly had to have one.

Whatever it was, they'd tell you if you asked. So… you didn't. You didn't care enough to ask. Or even care at all.

Not at all.

With the rest of the vegetables swept into the next bowl, you reached for the package on the counter. You hastily tore it open and the raw, marbled pink slab of meat landed on the cutting board with a wet thud.

One tap of the knife before the first cut. Then another tap. And another. And another—

"Angel." Their tone was amused, but curious.

"I'm practicing," you muttered. After a few more taps, you let out a noise of discontent, then finally made that first cut to flesh.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

It was your turn to watch over the back of the couch as he did the dishes, your meal quietly simmering away in a pot behind him. You leaned forward on folded arms and sighed.

So what if he was doing fucked up shit when you weren't around?

It didn't change anything in the relationship. After all, none of that anger, cruelty, or sadism they seemed to have in the video had ever been directed at you. 

As long as he wasn't hurting anyone… that you cared about. Was that normal? Did your moral compass really flip so quickly?

Or did your grossly obsessive relationship make it easier to put on blinders for him?

You hardly noticed the water shutting off when he finished. But the cool feeling of their fingers on your shoulder didn't startle you when he walked over.

[REDACTED] hummed, toying with a loose thread in the sleeve of your shirt—one of his that you claimed every so often. "Should I give y'more time?" he calmly asked.

So they did know what was wrong. "No." You unfolded your arms and sat up straighter, though you still had to crane your neck to look up at him.

"What d'y'wanna know, then?"

"Nothing." Everything. You sighed again and grabbed his wrist. A moment passed in silence as you traced a thumb back and forth over the lines in his palm. "I'm not sure."

The man waited for you to say anything else, but there was nothing. He chose his next words carefully, "... If I said they deserved it—"

"I'd believe you," came your immediate answer. It was a lie to yourself more than him, you both knew. Yet for some reason he didn't push it. 

Instead, his next question almost offended you. "Do y'still love me?"

You didn't even want to dignify it with a response. You hadn't run off screaming, nor felt concerned enough to leave before they came home. Yes, you'd been zoned out all night, but you never shied away from his touch. He knew exactly where you stood when it came to him. 

But they needed to hear you say it. The tension to his hand held captive in yours was enough to understand that.

"Of course I love you," you said with a frown. 

He smiled a little at the annoyance you didn't bother to stifle. "Really?"

"Yes, Ren." His soft laugh had you frowning even more. "Fuck off. Just say it back."

All the worry in his gaze melted away, and they leaned down to kiss you. "Me too," they muttered in relief, "I love you s'much."

Desperate to welcome the warmth of him, you pushed off the couch to meet their lips halfway. His affection always dulled every bit of common sense you held to nothing. Yet even with all that he gave to distract you, part of your mind drifted off with fear.