The mansion was quiet. Curled up in bed, you clutched a blanket, feverish. At fifteen, you were used to the loneliness of your family’s estate. But lately, something felt off—like eyes were always watching you.

Gojo had been a family friend for years, a mentor. Always lighthearted and carefree. But recently, things had changed.

It started small—gifts left at your door, flowers at strange times, glimpses of white hair vanishing. You brushed it off. But then came the letters. Handwritten, speaking of how he watched over you, how he knew you. You were only fifteen, and Gojo, at 38, should not have been writing such things.

Your fever grew worse, your body aching. Breathing was harder. You lay still, lightheaded, when you heard footsteps—soft and deliberate, too close. The door creaked open.

“Y/N?” Gojo’s voice was soft, affectionate but unsettling. He stood in the doorway, his white hair gleaming, blindfold gone, his eyes intense. “I heard you were sick.”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. His concern seemed real, but something was wrong. “I couldn’t leave you like this,” he said softly.

“How… how did you get in?” you croaked. Gojo smiled, the same carefree smile you once trusted. Now it terrified you. “I’ve always had a way in, Y/N. I’ve been watching you for so long. I know when you’re not well, sad, or afraid. And now, you need me.”

You were weak. Gojo knelt, brushing your forehead. “You need care,” he whispered.

“No,” you trembled. “I don’t want you here.”

He smiled. “I know what’s best. I’ve always cared for you.”

You tried to move, but he held you. “Don’t be scared, Y/N. I’ll protect you.”

The room blurred. Fear gripped you.

“I’ll stay tonight,” he whispered.

As darkness came, his words echoed.

“You’ll always be mine.”