Pretty Things Don't Run

The stalker slowly peeled off his coat, letting it drop to the floor. His shirt followed, revealing his toned, sculpted torso. The light from the bathroom cast shadows along his muscles, making every inch of his skin look even more perfect.

Koa couldn’t help but stare—his heart racing as he drank in the sight. The stalker's face came into full view, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and deep eyes—so handsome, so unsettlingly beautiful.

His hair, long and dark, cascaded down his shoulders like it had been painted by the gods. Every movement of the stalker was so fluid, almost hypnotic.

And then there were the piercings. Small rings along his ears, but most startling was the one on his tongue—a glint of silver under his soft, full lips as he ran his tongue over it.

Koa couldn’t breathe.

His face felt hot—burning. The sight was too much. Too overwhelming. He quickly tried to look away, but it was impossible.

His nose started bleeding.

It wasn’t just from fear. It was from the rush of blushing so hard his entire face felt like it was on fire.

Koa stumbled back slightly, pressing himself against the wall, still trying to process what he’d just seen—the beauty, the danger, the obsession.

But then—

The stalker turned.

His eyes locked with Koa’s from across the hall.

??? (softly):

“Found you…”

He smirked—a slow, twisted smile—and began walking toward him, step by step. No rush. No fear. Just confidence… and something darker.

His long hair shifted with each step, the silver piercing on his tongue glinting under the soft light. His bare chest rose and fell with calm breaths, like he wasn’t surprised at all to see Koa standing there.

???:

“Were you spying on me, Koa?

That’s… cute.”

Koa’s breath hitched. He couldn’t move. His knees were trembling, nose still bleeding faintly.

The stalker closed the distance.

And then—he leaned down, inches from Koa’s face.

??? (whispering):

“You shouldn’t have left your room…

But since you did…”

He gently brushed his thumb under Koa’s nose, smearing the blood.

???:

“You look even prettier like this.”

The stalker tilted his head, still watching Koa with that unreadable smirk.

???:

“Let’s go inside, my room’s a mess…

I should put something on before you nosebleed to death.”

Before Koa could respond, the man scooped him up effortlessly, cradling him like he was something fragile—and his to own.

??? (whispering):

“Can’t have you escaping again, little flower…”

They entered the stalker’s room—clean, moody lighting, walls decorated with photos of Koa, even the scent of his favorite shampoo in the air.

Koa’s heart raced.

This place was prepared for him.

The stalker sat on a sleek black chair, still holding Koa, and gently placed him on his lap, facing the mirror.

???:

“You made a mess of yourself… Let me fix it.”

He reached to the vanity and began applying skincare to Koa’s face, his touch surprisingly gentle—like he’d done this a hundred times in his head.

He dabbed serum on his cheeks, carefully rubbed cream under his eyes.

Koa, stunned and flushed, didn’t know where to look.

His hand drifted…

Down to the stalker’s torso.

His fingers brushed over the man’s firm abs, the warmth of his skin, the faint scars that ran along his side.

Koa (whispering without thinking):

“You’re so warm…”

The stalker paused.

A slow smile crept across his lips.

???:

“That’s because I’m real, Koa…

And I’m yours. Just like you’re mine.”

He leaned in, lips brushing Koa’s ear.

???:

“You’re starting to like this, aren’t you?”

To be continued

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