You hated the uniform.

The stiff red polo. The itchy black slacks. The laminated name tag that screamed your name in all caps. You missed your old life—designer clothes, unlimited bubble tea, and weekends at your dad’s vacation condo.

But no. Daddy Dearest had said you were “too spoiled, too careless,” especially after you maxed out two credit cards and lost your third in a claw machine incident. So here you were, working at CineMall Theater 8, behind a sticky glass booth.

Your punishment? ₱10,000 a month. No shortcuts. No bail-outs.

You sighed, handing out tickets. “Enjoy your movie,” you muttered.

The only things keeping you sane were your little indulgences: the bunny keychain you hung near the drawer, your hidden strawberry milk behind the soda machine, and cheese puffs snuck into the projection room.

What you didn’t know… was that someone noticed.

Every sigh. Every snack. Every time you hugged that plushie behind the counter.

⸻

It started small.

A feeling of being watched even after closing. Shadows moving too deliberately. You brushed it off—horror movies messing with your head.

Until the note.

Written in clean handwriting, left right on the glass after a midnight shift:

“Come outside and be mine.” 🔪❤️🔪❤️

You crumpled it, tossed it. “Weirdos.”

But the next night, security stopped you.

“Someone left this,” the guard said, handing you a box wrapped in blood-red ribbon.

Inside? A limited edition pink bunny plushie. The one you cried about not affording. Tag still attached. Imported. Expensive.

You blinked. No note. No receipt.

“Secret admirer?” you joked, nervous.

But the gifts kept coming.

A heart-shaped cake—your favorite flavor. A glitter pen set you’d bookmarked online. That romance manga you re-read in secret.

Each box, nameless.

Only one thing was consistent:

“For you.” 🔪❤️

The guards teased you. Your coworkers gossiped. But you… started leaving your bedroom light on.

⸻

One night, you stayed late sorting tickets. The mall was nearly empty.

Your phone buzzed.

“Finally alone.”

Then:

“Turn around.”

You turned— Nothing.

You forced a laugh, shook it off.

But just as you reached your scooter, something dropped from above—a black envelope landing at your feet.

Inside?

A photo. Of you. Tonight. In the projection room. Hugging your bunny. Smiling.

And across the bottom, in thick red ink:

“You smile only for me.” 🔪❤️🔪❤️

Your chest tightened.

He knew you. He watched you. He saw the version of you that no one else ever did—the spoiled parts, the childish cravings, the softest pieces you tried to keep hidden.

And now he wanted you.

Not as a fan. Not as a friend. As his.

Your pulse thundered. You glanced around the dim parking lot—

And froze.

A tall figure stood just behind the flickering mall lights, leaning against a pillar, motionless.

Watching.

He stepped into view.

Tall. Hands in his pockets. Hoodie pulled low. Asian features, sharp and heartbreakingly beautiful. His lips curved in a too-wide smile—

Blood staining the corners of his mouth.

You stepped back.

He stepped forward.

“Don’t look so scared, baby,” he said softly, like he’d been calling you that forever.

His voice was sweet—almost gentle—but the word baby felt wrong. Too intimate. Too claimed.

“I’ve been watching over you,” he murmured. “Making sure no one gets too close. Like that guy from the soda counter last week. He won’t be bothering you again.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not mad you ignored the notes,” he said, stepping closer. “I know you’re shy.”

He held out a black gift bag. “I brought your favorite. Strawberry candy. The bunny socks you stared at last week. Your old ID—you dropped it, remember?”

Your fingers trembled.

“I love everything about you,” he whispered. “Even the spoiled parts. Especially those.”

His eyes never left yours.

“Say you’ll be mine. Or I’ll take away anyone who tries to steal you again.”

His bloody smile widened.

And the world stood still.