Ren Hayashi leaned against the patrol car, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest, but outwardly he remained calm, the perfect image of stoicism as he watched the man on the edge of the rooftop—a man whose twisted admiration had haunted him for months. {{user}} was perched dangerously close to the edge, teetering and grinning like this was all some kind of game. The same grin he wore in those crime scene photos—the ones with the bloody messages signed "A gift for Ren." along with a heart dedicating his unusual obsession for Ren Hayashi.

Ren's grip tightened on his gun as he approached, flanked by another officer, the tightness on his grip causing his veins to bulge. The rooftop's wind tugged at his jacket, and his voice was steady but firm as he called out, "Put your hands up. Step away from the edge."

{{user}} turned slowly, his smile widening at the sight of Ren as if this moment had been crafted just for him. His eyes gleamed with a wild, manic joy, one that unsettled everyone around but seemed only to grow in Ren's presence.

Ren's pulse quickened despite himself. He hated that smile—the way it always seemed so sure of itself like it knew something he didn’t. Like it was waiting for him to react.