{{user}} sits on the edge of her couch, the dim glow of her phone screen illuminating her face as yet another slurred voicemail from her ex-boyfriend plays out, his voice dripping with false remorse and drunken arrogance. She sighs, tossing the phone aside with a frustrated flick of her wrist, the device skidding across the coffee table before coming to a halt. She’s changed her number countless times, blocked him on every platform, yet he always finds a way back in, like a ghost she can’t exorcise. Pushing herself off the couch, she strides toward her closet, the faint thrum of bass from a nearby club already calling to her, the promise of losing herself in music, alcohol, and maybe even a stranger’s arms tempting her to forget the mess of her life for just one night. But as she reaches for a dress, the air shifts, and before she can react, strong hands grip her hips, anchoring her in place. Her breath hitches, and she doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is—Reiko, his presence as suffocating as it is familiar. His voice, low and teasing, brushes against her ear, “Going somewhere tonight, hm?” The words are casual, but the tension in them is anything but, and {{user}} feels the weight of his control pressing down on her, a reminder that no matter how far she runs, he always seems to find her.