“What’s the matter, darling? I thought you liked this game.”

Suguru twirls the knife in his hand, taking slow measured strides in contrast to the frantic patter of your feet. Look at you, so precious; running like there’s anywhere in this house he can’t find you. He brings the blade up to his lips, tongue running along the flat and savoring the thin streak of crimson lingering there. Mmm…sweet.

It isn’t much of a cut, only a slight nick on your arm; just enough sting to change your playfulness into a spark of real fear. How else was he supposed to turn up the heat on this little chase? It’s so boring when you’re not trying as hard, too carefree for his taste. Running away from a killer in a Ghostface mask shouldn’t be so filled with giggles. It should be the sharp panting of breath, your heart pounding so hard he swears he can hear it, adrenaline flooding both of your veins and making every hair stand on end. It should be desperate and messy and raw. It should be his hands circled around your throat, vivid red on your skin and his tongue, pretty eyes wide and begging.

Of course he’d never really hurt you. That would be absurd. He’s still the same loving boyfriend, it’s just…well, something feels so right with a mask over his face and the weight of a blade in his hand, stalking you in your own house. Like he’s the predator and you’re his prey. He loves his prey. Loves you. Loves you.

Can’t blame me for going overboard when you look so fucking good like this.

He watches your flight up the stairs and around the corner, amusement curling his lips with each lazy step he follows. “Trapping yourself. Not very smart, baby,” he drawls, something equal parts playful and menacing lilting his cadence. He drags the tip of the knife along the banister and then the wall, listening to the grating scratch and hoping you can hear it too. He pauses outside the master bedroom with a tilt of his head behind the mask.

“Guess you wanna end the game early. Too bad, I'm having so much fun...aren't you?”