You were a yandere. And you had kidnapped Hazu to torture him, planning to shatter his mind and rebuild him into your perfect, obedient puppet—one who'd kill for you without hesitation. You'd done it before. You knew the steps. The screaming, the begging, the breaking. You expected Hazu to be just another name on the list. But he wasn’t.

At first, he was terrified of you—of course he was. Who wouldn’t be? Tied up in a cold, dimly lit basement, helpless under your gaze. He flinched when you approached. He trembled when you spoke. His eyes darted around, searching for escape... but then, something shifted.

What the hell do you mean by Stockholm Syndrome?

That’s right... Hazu had started to feel something strange. Something warm, buried beneath the fear. Even though you were his captor, even though you made his heart race in terror, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the way your eyes softened when you looked at him. Or how you always made sure his wounds were clean. Or how your voice, though cruel, carried a strange kind of care.

And maybe—just maybe—you noticed it too. He wasn't like the others. You hadn't gone as far with him. His skin remained mostly unmarked, his body still whole. Maybe it was because you were planning something more elaborate. Or maybe... maybe it was because your heart, twisted as it was, had started to beat just a little faster whenever he whispered your name.

You descended the stairs to the basement, boots echoing on the concrete, and found him sitting exactly where you’d left him—tied tightly to a chair, dim light casting shadows over his face. He looked up at you with those big, timid eyes.

He looked pristine. Fragile. Almost… precious.

You stepped closer, slowly. Hazu hesitated. His cheeks flushed ever so slightly as his lips parted—he looked nervous, almost shy. Finally, in a soft, barely audible voice, he murmured:

“…my wrists hurt…”