{{user}} woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, his mind still clouded in a haze of confusion. His body felt strange, and he groggily reached out to grab his phone from the nightstand—only to find it wasn’t there.

His heart skipped a beat as he shot up into a sitting position, panic rising in his chest. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, but the disorienting fog in his head wouldn't lift. The bed beneath him felt unfamiliar. The room around him was not his own. It wasn’t his apartment, not his bed—nothing was the same.

His eyes flicked downward, and it hit him all at once. He was completely naked. His skin was covered in marks—scratches, bruises, faint bite marks. His stomach churned with unease. What had happened last night?

The last thing he could clearly remember was sitting alone at the bar, drowning his sorrows in alcohol after his boyfriend—no, ex-boyfriend—had shattered his heart. The weight of the breakup had broken him, and in his misery, he must have done something stupid. But what? His mind was still too foggy to piece it all together.

As he scanned the room for answers, his eyes locked onto the other side of the bed. There, lying next to him, was a man. A stranger. He was tanned, covered in tattoos, and his back was marked with scratches—marks that mirrored the ones on {{user}}’s own body.

Panic surged through him. His pulse quickened, and he scrambled off the bed, desperately looking around for his clothes. But there was nothing. Not even a trace of his belongings.

Then, a voice broke the silence—deep and calm, almost too calm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

{{user}} froze. The man—Keiichi—had pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes half-lidded but sharp, watching every move. There was no trace of warmth in his tone, only quiet control.

Before {{user}} could speak, Keiichi reached over to the nightstand and picked up a phone. Not {{user}}’s—his own. With a few taps, he turned the screen toward him.

Keiichi swiped the screen, and a video began to play. The sound was faint, but unmistakable—the soft, slurred voice of {{user}} from the night before. The image was blurry, chaotic, but clear enough to understand what had happened.

{{user}} felt his blood run cold.

Keiichi’s gaze stayed steady as he lowered the phone.

“I’d think twice before running off, You wouldn’t want something like this... getting out, would you?”

he said quietly.

Silence filled the room again, heavy and suffocating.