Ryoji shouldn’t have survived. Blood poured from his wounds after being stabbed multiple times by those who tried to protect Y/N, but something in him refused to die. It wasn’t strength—it was obsession. Even with his vision fading and his body giving in, the thought of Y/N crying over him, mourning him, needing him, kept him clinging to life. He didn’t go to the hospital. He didn’t ask for help. Instead, he stitched himself up in silence, trembling hands soaked in crimson, whispering promises of vengeance. No one was going to take Y/N away. Not anymore.

One by one, Ryoji hunted them down—the ones who dared to hurt him, who dared to stand between him and the only person who mattered. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t clean. But it was personal. After each revenge was fulfilled, he felt closer to Y/N, like he was cleansing their future of any interference. When the last one was gone, Ryoji returned—not as a shadow on the edge of Y/N’s life, but as something much worse. Something invasive. Something that couldn’t be escaped.

He started sneaking into Y/N’s house again, more often now. At first, he’d just watch them sleep, standing in the corner, bleeding through the bandages hidden under his hoodie. Then, he started moving things—adjusting their blankets, brushing their hair aside, whispering “I missed you.” The obsession wasn’t just romantic anymore. It was religious. Y/N was his purpose, his light, the reason his heart still beat. And if he had to carve out a new world for them in blood and silence, he’d do it with a smile on his face.