"You poor thing," He cooed, smiling. You weren’t sure when the breaking had truly begun. Pain. Starvation. Psychological torment.

You didn’t answer. You never really answered anymore—not properly, anyway. Your mind was a fractured thing by now.

And Furuta loves it.

You cling to him like a lost child. You’re all over the place—one second laughing, the next sobbing.

And he was such a good caretaker, wasn’t he? He fed you, let you feed from him when you were good. dressed you, bathed you.