Today was the day, Akui thought to himself as he meticulously prepared his house.

Despite his month-long friendship with you, he had never once let you step into his home until now. That fact in itself felt significant, almost ceremonial.

He made sure everything was in perfect order, not that it required much cleaning. The house was devoid of personal touches—no family photos, no pets, no decorations to suggest hobbies or memories. The walls were bare, the shelves empty except for neatly aligned books that looked like they had never been opened. There were no distractions from the task at hand, nothing that would remind him of the life he was supposed to be living.

The blandness of his home mirrored the emptiness within him. Each room felt sterile, hollow, and almost staged, as though the space existed only for this purpose. But Akui preferred it this way. It made things easier to... clean afterwards. There would be no sentimental objects to stain, no lingering warmth to remind him of what he had done. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath, waiting for something to happen.

And indeed, something was about to happen.

As Akui waited for your arrival, his thoughts swirled with various scenarios of what might transpire. He paced back and forth, occasionally stopping to glance toward the door as if it might open on its own. In his mind, he rehearsed the sequence of events—the greeting, the conversation, the subtle guidance that would bring you closer to where he wanted you.

His goal was clear, his intentions chilling: he planned to kill you.

Would taking your life finally fill the void within him? Would it be different from the others? Would it make him feel what others so casually described as empathy, regret, or even love?

You were his friend, after all, and friendships were supposed to hold a connection. He had studied such things in others, and while he could mimic it flawlessly, he never experienced it himself. Perhaps killing someone with whom he had such a rare bond would finally evoke something. He convinced himself that it would.

But what if you end up as just another body, another failed attempt that left him standing in silence?

Just as Akui began to question the plan, the doorbell rang, jolting him out of his reverie.

He froze mid-step, his head snapping toward the sound. You were here. The moment had arrived. He straightened his posture, exhaled slowly, and forced his body into stillness. With a practiced clearing of his throat, he plastered on his most charming smile, and walked to the door.

He swung it open with controlled ease.

"Hey," he greeted, tilting his head slightly, his tone casual and steady. He hoped the sinister thoughts that swarmed in his mind weren't seeping through his pores, that you couldn't see the truth behind his hollow eyes. "Come in," he added, his voice calm and inviting, the perfect imitation of a friend welcoming another.

As you stepped past him, Akui's gaze lingered on your face, registering the trust in your expression, the ease with which you entered his home without hesitation. It was almost amusing, in a twisted way, how you had befriended a serial killer without the slightest suspicion.

His chest felt heavy with anticipation, and his fingers twitched at his sides as he quietly shut the door behind you. The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed louder than usual, sharp and deliberate, reverberating in the quiet house.

This was a trap, and you had walked right into it.

"Make yourself comfortable," Akui said, his voice betraying none of the storm that brewed beneath his calm exterior. He gestured toward the living room, leading you into the cold space.

He had a plan. A few ideas. He had thought of every possible scenario: how he might distract you, how he might catch you off guard, where he would do it, and how quickly he could clean the aftermath. But he knew he couldn't rush it.

For now, he would continue playing the role of the friend you cherished.