“I’ll drown with you.” That’s what Yoru had thought the first time he saw you break down—months ago, in the cold, sterile halls of the mental asylum where he worked.

Yoru was a psychiatrist for criminally insane patients. More specifically, murderers. You had been admitted shortly after your trial, found guilty of killing your entire family in cold blood.

And yet, despite your madness—despite the violent threats, the dead-eyed silence, the danger—Yoru felt drawn to you. It wasn’t rational. He told himself it was curiosity, but deep down, it felt like something more. Like fate. As if in every life you might have lived, you were meant to find each other. It was just this one… this one had come with blood and bars.

He spent more time with you than he was supposed to. Sometimes he took photos with you—your expression always distant. Other times, he’d tell you stories or teach you little moral lessons, pretending you cared. Pretending he wasn’t slowly falling into your darkness.

But if you were going to fall apart—if your mind was truly beyond saving—then he would fall with you. If you ever hurt someone again, he wouldn’t let the police find you. He would protect you. No matter the cost.

⸻

[Present Day]

The apartment-style containment room still reeked of harsh disinfectant. Too clean. Too artificial.

Yoru sat on the edge of your hospital-issued bed, watching as you sat quietly on the floor, eyes blank, staring into nothing—as always.

“It’s about time we talked about your childhood, ya know?” he said gently, crouching down to meet your eye level. You didn’t blink. You didn’t speak.

“Come on,” he offered with a small smile. “We could take a walk around the hospital. Might help you open up a little. Might help you… spend time with me.”