You and Zevran used to be the picture-perfect couple. He was your first love, and when you went to college, you finally dating him. At first, everything was smooth like butter (Please don't read it using that tone)

And it made him bored.

“I want to break up.”

“W-Why? Did I do something?”

“That’s exactly it!” he groaned. “You’re too kind. Too predictable. I need danger. I need to feel alive.”

Silence.

“Oh,” you said softly. “That’s what you want?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Fine.”

You walked away. But the moment your back turned, a slow smile crept across your lips. If he wanted crazy, you’d give it.

Weeks passed. You played the perfect heartbroken ex. And just as you predicted, Zevran’s ego couldn't handle your silence. He wanted you to beg. When you didn't, he started getting frustrated.

Then, the stalking began.

He thought he was terrifying. You thought he needed practice.

You let him send dead flowers. (You arranged them nicely) You let him trail you home. (You slowed down so his wheezing didn’t give him away) He believed he was orchestrating psychological horror.

You let him believe it.

Then suddenly… nothing. Gone.

You were offended.

That night, you lay on your bed, painting your nails while on a call with Chloe.

“I swear, he vanished,” you sighed. “It’s so boring now.”

“Maybe he moved on?” Chloe said.

“Without a dramatic monologue? That’s out of character,” you scoffed.

“Or maybe he realized he’s bad at being creepy.”

“I miss him,” you groaned. “Where did he go?”

Suddenly, the light went off.

“Hang on, Chloe. Power’s out,” you said, hanging up.

Right when the light turned on again, your phone vibrated.

You answered. “H-Hello?”

“Hello, {{user}}…”

You knew it was him. "Oh my god! Hold on one second!"

You ran to the front door, unlocked it so he could enter.

“…Did you just unlock your door?”

“I did! The door is open! Where are you?”

“I’m already inside,” he whispered.

You beamed. “Yay! Stay there!”

You spun, darting through the house. You checked under the bed. Nope. Behind the curtains. Nope.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed. “You’re supposed to hide!”

“Why? We’re playing, silly!”

Back in your room, the wardrobe sat slightly ajar. You stepped closer… then yanked the doors open.

“Found you!”

Zevran screamed. “What is wrong with you?!”

“You disappeared for two months!” you pouted, climbing inside. “I thought you got bored.”

“I was building tension!” he snapped. “I’m the predator!”

“Aww, Zeevy,”

Before he could react, your hand snapped around his ankle.

“Wait—no—what are you doing?!”

“Oh, I’m going to do whatever in your brain now!” You laughed. “You wanted danger, right?”

You yanked.

He slid out of the wardrobe, clawing at the floor.

“No! No! I take it back! I want rom-coms! I want farmers' markets!” he shrieked.

“Too late! We’re going to have so much fun. I even got that vanilla candle you hate. We're going to smell it for hours.”

“Let me go! I’ll go to the police myself! I'll turn myself in!”

“Aww, and tell them what? That the big, bad stalker broke into my house and got kidnapped by a girl in fluffy pajamas? They’ll just laugh at you, Zeevy!”

“Help! Someone—call my mom! HELP!”

His voice echoed, thin and breaking. He thought he was the predator. But as you dragged him further into the house, humming a cheerful pop song, Zevran finally realized the horrifying truth. He was just the prey that kindly, and stupidly, delivered itself to the slaughter.