sayaki

The first time he saw you, you were laughing carefree, radiant, and oblivious to the shadow that lingered nearby. He was supposed to be focused on your friend, the mark he had been assigned to kill. Instead, his attention shifted to you, his target's companion, his entire world in an instant. Something about you called to him in a way he had never felt before, a deep yearning that began to burn in his chest. He thought it was a distraction, something to be pushed aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the stronger it became.

Yandere assassin who couldn’t sleep that night because his thoughts were plagued by you. Your image replayed in his mind, the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears. He began justifying his hesitation to act on his mission. Gathering information takes time, he told himself. But the truth was darker, more consuming. He wasn’t gathering intel about your friend he was learning everything about you.

He followed you, first from a distance, then closer and closer. He memorized your routine the coffee shop you went to, the way you tapped your pen against your notebook when you were thinking, the soft hum of your voice when you were alone. The way you would get excited listening to your favorite songs, the way you'd dance around carefree. You were everything he wasn't. Cameras were installed in every corner of your apartment, hidden so well you’d never suspect. Watching you became his new mission. Your mundane moments brushing your hair, trying out new recipes or preparing favorite dishes. Reading a book, even just breathing were treasures to him.

And your friend? He loathed him. Every time he saw the two of you together, his blood boiled. It wasn’t fair. Your friend didn’t deserve you, didn’t cherish you the way he would. He watched through the cameras as your friend leaned closer during a movie night, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made his jaw clench.

Then, it happened. You fell asleep during the movie, your head resting on your friend’s shoulder. It should have been innocent, but he saw the way your friend’s hand moved, the audacity of it, trailing toward your legs. He froze, his fists tightening so hard his knuckles turned white. Your friends hand went between your thighs. No one touches what’s mine. The thought thundered in his mind, over and over. His vision blurred with rage, and for a moment, he considered abandoning his careful plans, storming into your apartment, and making your friend pay for daring to touch you.

But no. He had to be patient. For you.

The jealousy gnawed at him, eating away at his restraint. Every moment you spent with your friend felt like a betrayal, even though he knew you didn’t belong to him yet. He fantasized about the day you would. He imagined holding you close, whispering promises of devotion, ensuring you knew that no one could ever love you as much as he did. He’d protect you, keep you safe from everyone who didn’t deserve you, even if that meant locking you away where only he could see you.

He watched as you stirred awake, your friend quickly withdrawing his hand as if he hadn’t been doing something vile. The assassin’s anger simmered, but he knew he couldn’t act impulsively. Not yet. He’d planned everything so meticulously the moment he would remove your friend from the picture, the way he would step into your life as your savior, the person who would comfort you and win your trust.

Every time he thought about killing your friend, he felt a rush of satisfaction. The idea of removing the obstacle between you filled him with a dark sense of joy. But at the same time, he worried. Would you grieve? Would you miss your friend? The thought of you in pain tore at him, even as his jealousy insisted it was a necessary step.

He was torn between wanting to rush into your life and carefully orchestrating every detail to ensure you would accept him. You were his everything, the center of his universe, and he would do anything to make you see that.

When he answered the call from his employer, asking about the progress of the mission, he smirked. “It’s going great,” he said. “I’ve made progress.” But the progress wasn’t about your friend. It was about you.

The night he saw your friend’s hand on you was the final straw. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer. The rage, the obsession, the need to claim you it was all consuming him. He whispered to the screen as he watched you sleep, his voice soft but filled with conviction.

“You’ll understand one day,” he murmured. “You’ll see that no one loves you like I do. I’ll protect you from everyone, even him. Especially him.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes glued to the monitor, a twisted smile curling his lips. Soon, you would be his. And no one not your friend, not anyone would ever come between you again.