Chapter 5: Curtains Closed, Eyes Open

“What happened?” they asked, voice trembling.

Mr. Bunny stepped forward, ears flopping with each movement.

“Mr. Sweetheart found you on the floor. Unconscious. You were hit on the head… with an iron pipe.”

The others nodded, almost in sync. The air felt staged.

Mr. Bunny continued, voice soft and twitchy:

“He’ll be here in a few minutes… with a medkit.”

The air shifted.

A breeze rolled through the velvet grass, carrying the scent of sugar and something older—like perfume sealed in a porcelain box.

And then he arrived.

Mr. Sweetheart.

His cherry blossom pink curls bounced with every step, voluminous and soft, catching the light like spun candy. His skin was pale—too pale—like the porcelain dolls locked behind glass in forgotten storybooks.

He wore a glittering burgundy suit jacket with rhinestone lapels, the fabric shimmering like crushed velvet under stage lights. His white silk shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal layered silver necklaces, each one adorned with tiny charms—hearts, stars, and a miniature microphone.

His pants were high-waisted and flared, stitched with constellations in silver thread. On his feet: glossy platform boots with heart-shaped buckles.

And perched on his nose—heart-shaped glasses, tinted rose-pink, framing his sky-blue eyes like a spotlight. One eye gleamed brighter than the other, slit-pupiled and glassy.

His cheeks were dusted with stickers—a heart beneath one eye, a star near his temple. They looked like they’d been placed with care, like part of a costume he never took off.

He knelt beside you, medkit in hand. It was pristine, white with a red heart sticker on the front. Inside: bandages, antiseptic, and something wrapped in pink tissue paper.

“Neighbour~” he cooed, voice syrupy and smooth.

“You gave me such a fright. You were lying there like a broken toy.”

You flinched as he gently brushed their hair aside, inspecting the bruise.

The other neighbors stood in silence, like background actors waiting for their cue.

Mr. Sweetheart smiled—wide, perfect, wrong.

“Let’s fix you up, shall we?”

Mr. Sweetheart opened the medkit with a flourish, like revealing a birthday cake. Inside were bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a small pink envelope sealed with a glittery heart sticker.

He worked gently, almost reverently, cleaning the bruise on your temple with a cotton pad soaked in something that smelled like strawberries and mint. His fingers were cold. His touch was careful.

Then he reached into the envelope and pulled out a sticker.

It was shaped like a heart, glossy and red, with tiny silver stars twinkling along the edges.

He peeled it slowly, leaned in close, and pressed it right over the bruise.

Then—he kissed it.

Soft. Deliberate. Like sealing a promise.

“There,” he whispered, voice like velvet dipped in syrup.

“All better. My neighbour shouldn’t have to wear pain on such a lovely face.”

You didn’t move.

The other neighbors watched in silence, their smiles frozen, their eyes unreadable.

Mr. Sweetheart smiled wider, his heart-shaped glasses catching the light.

“Now you sparkle just like me.”

End of chapter 5