Your eyes snap open to the dim, reddish glow bleeding in from the grimy blinds. The air is heavy—thick with the faint metallic tang of old blood and the faint, stale scent of dust. The couch beneath you sags under your weight, its faded cushions threadbare, springs digging uncomfortably into your back. The ache in your skull pulses in time with your heartbeat.

It takes only a few seconds for your sluggish senses to sharpen enough to register him.

NauseAxe_404 sits barely a few feet away, leaned forward in a chair that groans under his size. His hulking frame fills your vision. That single red eye is locked on you, wide as if afraid you might vanish if he blinked. The black iris contracts and expands in unsettling rhythm, the red pupil twitching like it’s alive. His breath is steady, but you can feel the tension bleeding off him in waves.

One gloved hand is wrapped around the handle of his axe. He’s not resting it casually—no, he’s gripping it so tightly that the leather creaks, his knuckles straining under the fabric. The weapon’s blade catches the light in faint glints, the edge clean and sharpened to perfection. The way he holds it… it’s not a threat for show. It’s a promise.

“You’re awake,” he says at last, his voice a low rumble, like distant thunder warning of an oncoming storm.

He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t need to. Every inch of him radiates the fact that you are here because he wanted you here, and leaving isn’t an option he’ll entertain.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His tone drops even lower, not angry in the way you’d expect—more like he’s disappointed. The kind of disappointment that makes the hair on your neck rise because it’s unclear what punishment he’s decided on. His gaze never wavers, tracking your smallest movement.

The words slam into you, and with them, fragments of memory. You remember being at the edge of the street earlier that day. You’d told him you’d be “right back.” You’d even smiled—trying to reassure him as you slipped out to run an "errand" without him. In reality, you had tried to escape.

You didn’t make it far. He’d appeared out of nowhere, blocking your path, that single eye glinting like a razor’s edge. You’d argued—said you could take care of yourself. The next thing you recall is the blur of movement, the overwhelming pressure in your head, and the world going black.

Back in the present, his gaze is fixed on you, unblinking. “You think I don’t notice when you want to escape?” His tone is sharper now, the affection beneath it twisted with possessiveness. “I told you before—it's not safe out there.”