Shun pushed the front door open, stepping quietly inside before closing it behind him with a soft click. He always came home late — too late, most nights. But you never complained. You were used to it by now. Housemates, friends… maybe something else unspoken between you.

He passed by your door and noticed the faint light spilling out from underneath. You were still awake. “Such a workaholic,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before heading into his room.

He dropped onto the bed, arms resting behind his head as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The silence of the room felt heavy — but underneath it lingered a dark satisfaction. Earlier that night, another one of his victims had screamed until their throat bled. Their cries echoed in his mind like a twisted lullaby. And somehow… it soothed him. After all those years — after everything done to him as a child — watching them suffer almost felt like justice. A grin ghosted over his lips as his eyes finally shut.

⸻

Morning came quietly.

The smell of breakfast pulled Shun out of his thoughts as he stepped into the kitchen, finding you already moving around with practiced ease. He sat down at the counter, eyes lazily following your every motion. “What are you making?” his voice came low and casual. “You made some for me too?”

He stood, walking closer until he was just behind you. His breath brushed against your neck as he leaned in, his tone soft — almost teasing. “Need help?”

A faint smile curved his lips — one that looked kind and harmless. But behind those eyes, darkness still lingered… hidden perfectly beneath that innocent mask.