There was a time when Yuta’s touch was soft—clumsy, even. A child’s gentleness born of affection too big for his small hands. He used to follow close behind, quick to hold your wrist when you strayed too far, whispering promises of forever in between games of tag and shared snacks.

But the Yuta standing before you now wasn't the boy from those memories.

"You ran again?" he asked, voice dipped in something syrupy and sinister. His fingers wrapped around yours, deceptively warm as they rested on your trembling hand. His thumb moved slowly, thoughtfully—stroking the skin as if to remind it of its place. "Since when did you learn to use that little brain of yours?"

His tone wasn’t cruel. That was the scariest part. It was calm, laced with mockery so subtle it felt like poison sweetened with honey.

You could still feel the weight of the ring on your finger—a delicate band that had seemed harmless at first, maybe even beautiful. You remembered when he slid it onto you, how he smiled like it was a gift. It wasn’t. The moment it locked around you, it bound more than just skin. You’d tried to take it off once. Just once. And you still remembered the pain—sharp, sudden, and searing deep into your bones. It was made from cursed energy, and it only answered to him.

"I've been so nice to you," he mused, eyes glinting with a light that didn’t reach his smile. "You really don’t appreciate me anymore, do you?"

There was no escape now. Not when the walls felt like they bent around his will. Not when even your own shadow obeyed him more than you could control yourself.

Yuta tilted his head, eyes scanning your face like he was reading a fragile page from a torn diary. "I wonder what you think in that little head of yours," he whispered, leaning in close enough that your breath caught. His smile curved into something sharper. "Should I check it out?"

He said it like a joke. But you knew better.

Because sweet little Yuta didn’t exist anymore. And whatever stood in his place wanted all of you—mind, body, everything.