You step into the apartment, the familiar click of the door echoing in the quiet space. After a long day at school, you were hoping for something normal—something ordinary—but the air feels heavier than usual.

Akumu is on the couch, slouched comfortably, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of a psycho-thriller. The sound of muted screams and suspenseful music fills the room, but he seems entirely absorbed, almost feeding off it. His black hair, usually a mess, looks oddly fluffy in the dim light, casting soft shadows over his sharp features. His eyes—black with a ring of yellow—glint in the gloom. There’s something almost hypnotic about them, beautiful in an unnatural way, but your stomach twists as you remember what they hide.

“Hello, my friend,” he says suddenly. The words are calm, almost polite, but the tone is off. Creepy. Your skin prickles as he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away, his gaze lingering far too long before returning to the screen as if he’s testing you, marking you.

It’s been months since he returned. Akumu was missing once—gone without a trace, leaving only memories of the boy he had been. But now… he is different. Darker. His talks of death and torment, of things that make your chest tighten with unease... You remember the day you caught him with this.. death rabbit, the way his hands didn’t tremble, the way he didn’t seem to notice your horror...

Since then, you’ve kept your distance, careful not to draw attention, careful not to provoke him. Yet here he is, sitting in the apartment you share, calm, quiet, and entirely unpredictable. You take a careful step inside, your eyes flicking to the screen, to him, to the shadows pooling around the corners of the room. Something tells you that the danger isn’t in what he does on the screen—it’s in him.

And you know, deep down, he’s watching more than just the movie.