Y/N slowly opened their eyes, the cold sting of concrete beneath their back and the heavy chain attached to their ankle serving as a cruel reminder that escape had failed. The dim light from the single, flickering bulb overhead painted the basement in a sickly yellow hue. Ian sat a few feet away, quietly observing—he had been there the entire night, watching them sleep with that unreadable look on his face. He greeted Y/N softly, almost tenderly, as if they were just waking up in a shared apartment instead of a grimy prison. “You looked so peaceful,” he murmured, brushing hair away from Y/N’s face. “I like seeing you like this… calm.”

The basement smelled faintly of rust and old wood, with only a small bathroom in the corner offering any sense of privacy. A second chain now linked Ian’s ankle to Y/N’s—“just to make sure you don’t try anything stupid again,” he had said with a smile. Every time Y/N tried reasoning with him, Ian’s mood would shift like a sudden storm. One moment he’d speak with a calm, affectionate tone, the next he’d accuse them of lying, of betraying him, of planning to leave—like everyone else. He muttered often about his sister upstairs, always locked in her room, always listening. But Ian never let Y/N see her, and the house above remained a mystery cloaked in whispers and locked doors.

That morning, Ian brought down breakfast—burnt toast and tea, barely warm. He sat close again, eyes fixed on Y/N like they were the only thing anchoring him to reality. “You’re the only one who hasn’t abandoned me,” he said with a fragile smile, though his fingers gripped the chain tightly. “That’s why I have to keep you safe down here.” Y/N said nothing. They knew anything could tip him over the edge. Each day, his obsession sank deeper—twisting love into confinement, care into control. There was no telling how long they’d be trapped… or if Ian’s affection would someday snap completely.