━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━ cut 00100000 ━━━━༻ ♦ ༺━━━━

Darkness quickly took its stranglehold, suffocating her in a thick, musty blanket that she couldn't take off no matter what she tried. It wasn't a kind darkness; no, not the soft and comforting kind that lulls her to sleep and to a blissful dreamland. Nor was it the inviting darkness that drains the blue from the sky, blooming gold and orange blossoms that soon fade into star-touched swirls of purple and blue. It was a darkness so total she couldn't see anything. She wasn't even sure if she had eyes, to begin with.

And the walls. The four walls contained her and the shadows. Enough space to stand up and spread her legs, but not enough for her to feel comfortable. Maybe a tighter space would make her feel better—she wasn't claustrophobic, and all the space made her feel like something was sitting in one of the corners. Watching. Waiting. Watching her with a predator's eyes and waiting for the right moment to kill her.

The floor wasn't so cold that it made her shiver, but enough for her to not want to touch it for too long. Everywhere was dark and silent and her every move against the metal echoed loudly through the room. Even a soft thud of her foot hitting the wall bounced around hollowly before it faded into the ceiling lost in the shroud of darkness.

It was mine for the first hour; she could still breathe. But after the second...and then the third...she couldn't anymore. The dark and isolation were strangling her, throttling her, and choking the fight out of her. She vaguely remembered banging on the door and apologizing to whoever might hear her, pleading with them to let her out. Then she gave up, choosing to curl in on herself and try to sleep it out instead.

But if it was her stress or the air in the cell, she couldn't fall asleep no matter how long she waited. She tried moving to a different spot and a different sleeping position, but nothing worked.

She was awake and alone. Alone with her demons. They were like hundreds of voices molded into one that whispered into her ear with a cold, haunting voice. It told her she was weak. It told her heart to speed up uncontrollably, her stomach to turn over, and her legs to go numb. It was a voice that could never be silenced. At least not by her alone.

Time and time she switched between whispering quiet nothings to calm herself down and huddling in a fetus position. As if her arms would be enough of a barricade to keep her safe from what lurked in the shadows. The first tear fell just short of two hours after the door slammed shut. Then like a chain reaction came another. And another. Yet with each tear that silently fell, she knew it would make no difference. It was like looking for hope in the same place she first lost it. Futile.

(Y/n) wasn't a crier. When she did feel the urge to cry, oftentimes she held it back, especially in the presence of others. But when she was alone, that was a different story. No one could keep holding everything back forever. No one was that strong. A jab in the right spot would make anyone's walls come crashing down.

The logical portion of her mind tried to calm the rest of itself down. She tried to tell herself that she'd be released sooner or later. This was okay. Tristan wasn't hurting Reese. Nor was he hurting her physically. She'd be fine, even if fear subjugated her and drove her crazy. Even if this ordeal made her crack into bits and pieces. Bits and pieces were what made up many beautiful things, she tried to console herself. Like mosaics. Broken pieces fitted together to become breath-taking works of art.

You could always piece the fragments back together, although the scars would forever remain.

Only in the dreamland, an endless void of nothingness could she escape all that. Yet that too was robbed from her.

It all felt like some sick experiment all over again. How many things can we take away from our dear (Y/n) until she breaks? Her sense of normalcy, her friends, her family, her freedom—(Y/n) never had much to give in the first place. The things she'd lose would have to be on a spiritual level.

She didn't remember how "okay" felt like anymore.

STRANGE:ROOM ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ tнє ηєχt dαу

He carefully opened the door and left it open by a small slit. A tiny ray of light peeked into the room, a single pale needle of white fire tearing through the dark blanket of blacks and grays. He trod gingerly, his steps gentle as to not wake the (h/c)-haired girl up. Admittedly, he had been watching her from the overhead cameras and filtering an unscented gas into the room that kept her up. The same one Professor Kim had used in his project...

But that was beyond the point. He had watched her from the comfort of his study in amusement at first. He took morbid pleasure in seeing her bang on the door and cry to be let out. Breaking strong people, especially those who looked weak when they really weren't, brought him a sense of satisfaction like no other. He enjoyed seeing the look of despair on her face when she realized fighting it was useless.

He had left for a short while to deliver the finished PC to her now restored room. When he returned after dinner, her actions were completely different. She was no longer crying to be let out. Instead, she was curled up in a little ball in the corner, which he found cute and concerning at the same time.

She stopped fighting.

Did she...give up?

He had initially felt satisfaction at her defeat and his win. He'd cracked the surface of her armor. Perhaps even broken through the entire layer. Tristan enjoyed getting what he wanted with his own hands—who didn't?

When he slept on it, however, the thrill soon faded away and left behind a dull, pulsating ache in his chest. If he could rip away his skin and flesh, it would be a mottled red and purple bruise against his heart. Guilt, he realized. This was guilt. Something he thought he wasn't capable of feeling. But this too, it was a feeling only she was able to drag out of him. Only for her. The thought made his heart lift before sinking again.

As he came closer to her, still curled up in the corner, a pang of guilt clenched his heart. He crouched down next to her and brushed her hair gently away from her face. There were pale traces of tear stains on her cheeks, like burns left behind after the streaks of fire that ran down her face. He knew he was the one who did this to her. He was the criminal. But he couldn't help it. Ever since he first laid eyes on her, he's been behaving unlike himself and acting solely on unadulterated male desires. Was that a crime?

When she didn't stir, not even when his fingers brushed the wetness off her face, he grew bolder. He slipped his arms underneath her, under her shoulders and legs, and picked her up. She was lighter than he expected—with all that spirit and energy, which was funny for someone like her who loved sleep so much, she seemed to weigh almost nothing compared to all that.

Tristan quietly padded back to his bedroom with her still in his arms. He didn't trust the others enough to bring her back to her designated room. He lowered her slowly onto the large bed, a gross difference from the hard metal she'd been sleeping on last night. Sadness lightened his already pale orbs and he sat down next to her sleeping form, which immediately curled closer to the newfound warmth of the sheets.

He looked down at his hands and then at her, his face a picture of regret and guilt. "I'm sorry, my dear," he whispered, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. "I...I know I forced this on you. This life. But you have to know that I-I couldn't help myself. I love every single second I spend with you but every moment that I'm not, every moment of your life that I'm missing out on...I detest it. I hate not being there to see all your smiles and frowns."

Tristan stroked her head and left his hand there, reluctant to pull away. "You're still adjusting. You're not used to all this. I know you're not used to my love and relationships, but believe me when I say I'd treat you well. I'd treat you like a queen, my dear. And you wouldn't have to do a thing. Just let me love you. The sooner you understand that and stop this pointless fight the better."

He leaned over her, his hands on both sides of her head to prop himself off. Then he lowered his face to place a feather-light kiss on her forehead. "Well, I'll be waiting for that time to come." His voice hardened, just a bit, and some of his natural authority returned. "Forever waiting for the day when we can be truly together. You're the whole world to me, (Y/n). You feel the same—or at least, you will. Won't you? Of course, you will..."

He pulled back, his breath hitching in his throat as she shifted, her sleeping expression constricting into a frown before it smoothed out. He relaxed when she remained sleeping. She hadn't heard him. He didn't want her to see him in such a vulnerable state.

Not that it really mattered; he's let down his guard and bared his heart countless times around her. Again and again, she didn't respond the way he wanted. The first time had been fine. She was still unsure. He understood that.

Yet the second time...and the third...she kept doing things that made his chest fill up with bitter envy. Sometimes he'd debated doing worse, like cutting off one of the best friend she so treasured's appendages as a lesson. A finger, or an eye...it would be enough to set an example and warn her against rebelling.

But the human part—or maybe it was the weak part—in him, the one that was slowly fading as time passed, held him back. He didn't know if he wanted to hurt her or heal her wounds. His entire being told him to break her mind, the same way he did with all the others who dared to defy him, though a small part of him was still reluctant...

Maybe this time she'd submit?

TEMPUS:DORM ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ мσяηιηg

(Y/n) woke up alone.

Her head ached as she blinked her dreary eyes open and wiped the sleep from them. The room was dark and curtains were drawn, but the thin spider-thin cracks of light framing them told her it was morning.

Curtains...?

She wasn't in the containment cell anymore. She sat up quickly and looked around in a mixture of fear and confusion. She was in a bedroom of some sort. Where am I?

The room was utterly silent, almost chillingly so. There was no one else there with her, but there was a tray of still-steaming breakfast left on the nightstand beside her. Someone had been there while she was asleep. The thought made her blood run cold and chills crawl over her skin. Were they watching her sleep? Who...were they?

Sadness still hung heavily in her heart as she swung her legs off the bed. The feeling was like an ice pick tearing through her gut. It was ripped out and she was left for dead, bleeding from an invisible wound in her body. And it didn't stop there; the sorrow refused to leave. It was like a thousand little paper cuts that slice into her flesh around the gaping hole in her chest. For every moment she remembered her loss, another cut came.

They weren't wounds that would kill her, and that was what made them so deadly. Over time the wounds would accumulate and bleed the humanity from her, replacing all mirth with melancholy.

She didn't even remember why she was sad, to begin with. She was too tired to feel anything else, much less anger.

The floor was made out of a pale, smooth gray stone that was icy to the touch. Even the bed and its sheets felt cold. Each step on the floor drained the warmth from her feet as she went over to the closed door and wrapped her hand around the doorknob. It was locked. That didn't surprise her anymore.

She decided to explore the room. Something about it felt familiar...what was it? Everything felt cold to her, and it wasn't just the touch. There were barely any decorations and the ones the room did have were minimal and lacking in color. It was a black and white room with a few blues and golds scattered here and there. It didn't feel like a bedroom someone used often. Maybe a guest room?

But there were things in the drawers that showed otherwise. The closet was lined with rows of identical Fortuna uniforms. Then she realized. She'd been in this closet before.

Before she could attach a name to the room, there was a soft knock on the door and it swung open without waiting for her to answer. There stood the blue-haired male with a mug in his hand, the last person she wanted to see right now.

His eyes narrowed when he spotted the now empty bed with no trace of the (h/c)-haired girl in sight. (Y/n) crept deeper into the closet and hid in the same place she had hidden the last time she'd camped out in his room. She held her breath and prayed he wouldn't find her.

That was a futile dream. She heard him sigh and the soft thud of him placing something down. Then she heard his footsteps coming closer in her direction. She dropped down into a crouch and hid among his clothes.

"I know you're there, my dear," he said in an exasperated tone as he stepped into the large closet. Her spine stiffened. Crap, I left the closet door open! "Stop hiding. It's no use; I'll find you anyway."

When she made no move to come out, he sighed again. "Fine. It looks like I have to drag you out myself."

She was given barely any time to prepare as the clothes in front of her face were suddenly ripped away, and his unamused crystalline eyes gazed back at her scared ones.

"There you are." The tightness in his voice and face faded and a tender smile appeared on his lips. "Don't worry me like that next time, alright?"

His hand reached for her and she flinched unwillingly despite her efforts to stay strong. His hand faltered and displeasure flashed across his face. He let out a controlled exhale as if to calm his anger and retracted his hand, (Y/n) watching him cautiously the whole time from her hiding spot.

"What did I say about refusing me, (Y/n)?" His cold eyes held hers even when she looked away. "Look at me. Don't you dare look away."

He grabbed her chin and forced her face up. "Never look away from me when I'm speaking to you, understand?"

(Y/n) glared at him but said nothing. She'd rather bite off her tongue.

Tristan clenched his jaw but didn't snap. "You have two choices. You can come out of there yourself and save both of us the trouble, or we'll have to do this the hard way. I don't like repeating myself, my dear. Nor would either of us enjoy the hard way very much, but I'd do whatever it takes to get what I want. Are we clear?"

Maybe I'd understand if your parents were second cousins instead of first, she wanted to say with as much anger in her voice as she could muster. But she didn't. Instead, in a monotonous voice, she said. "Crystal, you underclocked CPU."

Confusion replaced his anger in an instant. "What?"

She ignored him as she pushed herself out of the small spot and brushed past him, ignoring his outstretched hand. She didn't make it very far.

"Where are you going?" Tristan's menacing voice froze her hand on the doorknob. He didn't have to physically restrain her. "You're still not taking me seriously, are you?"

(Y/n) didn't dare to turn around as she heard his footsteps come up behind her. He placed a hand against the door by her head. She glared at the smooth door, refusing to face him.

"Did you forget?" He whispered into her ear. She could feel his burning gaze on her but she kept her eyes fixed on the door. "I'm the one with the influence. You're no one compared to me. Even though the Bellua Project has been long terminated, Professor Kim is still active."

Her spine stiffened at the name and inky tendrils of dread seeped into her mind. A cruel smirk curved his lips at the change in her demeanor. "You recognize that name, don't you? It would be so simple for me to call him up and tell him not all his subjects died in the lab explosion. You need to learn obedience, my dear. I don't want to do it, but perhaps one or two weeks back there is just the lesson you need."

Each new wave of tears left a cold trail of agony over her skin. Her shoulders trembled as she kept her head lowered and bit her lip. Her hair hid her expression and she was entirely mute, but she was screaming on the inside. Flames of humiliation, anger, and fear burned under her skin, warring with each other for sovereignty. And soon, fear won over.

She could only lower her head and say nothing out of fear of being sent back to the man in white's cage again. She refused to relive that—it was a past she was so close to escaping. There was no way she'd ever go back.

Tristan smiled. That was the response he wanted. "Good girl..." He pulled her away from the door and sat her back on the bed. He knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his and gazed up at her stony face. "This is how things will work from now on. You will stay in this room since clearly, you didn't like the other two too much. And you'll follow my every order from now on without asking questions. If you can follow those two rules, things won't have to be so difficult, got it?"

She didn't respond. The pleasantry dropped from his face. "I said, got it?"

(Y/n) winced at the pain that shot up her arm from his tight grip and forced back her glare. "Stop—I got it!"

"Good. Now," he released her and rose to his feet. His voice softened. "You will stay here while I'm gone. If you need me for anything, use the buzzer. As much as I'd like to stay, there are things I need to do." Evidence to hide and news reports to deal with, he added silently. "I'll see you later."

The sound of locks clicking and doors closing were becoming commonplace for her.

Only when he was gone was she able to relax. At least, a little. Everything seemed to explode all at once. The tears, the emotions, the anger—everything. She wanted to scream and break something, but in fear it would only make things worse, she settled with throwing a picture frame at the closed door. The wood exploded in a shower of splinters and wooden fragments. She comforted herself that everything would be fine. The key hidden in the pillow she'd tucked deep in her closet was her only consolation.

Her stomach growled. She glared down at the offending creature and eyed the tempting plate of food. It had everything she liked, including (f/b) and (f/d). Her stomach growled again, yelling at her to eat something. Reluctantly, she pulled the tray to her lap and took a hesitant bite.

Nothing. It wasn't poisoned. What was she thinking?

A little relieved, she ate a little more of the food with shaking hands and took a few sips of her drink. Even though her body was technically hungry, she had no appetite, if that made sense. (Y/n) placed the rest of the half-eaten food onto the nightstand and rolled away from it, bundling herself in the sheets as if it would protect her.

Then she ripped it off and half-tumbled, half-rolled off the bed. This was Tristan's bed. She didn't want anything to do with him. She didn't want to stay in a room where everything was a reminder of him and his cruel threats.

But as she stumbled towards the bathroom to clean the scent of irises—his scent—off her skin, the sharp pain hammered through her skull. The world began to spin before her eyes and her legs weakened, a strange heat filling her veins and chasing away the cold. Black spots danced before her gaze and like a pair of hands, they wrapped over her eyes and stole her sight away.

And then she was gone.

TEMPUS:DORM ━━━━━༻ ❀ ༺━━━━━ ℓαtєя

Tempus Dorm was almost always a quiet place.

For those that did live there, four at a time, they rarely interacted with the other inhabitants unless it was absolutely necessary to. The same was true of the current generation of the P4. It was always a quiet place.

Or it was supposed to be. Tristan heard a series of unsettling crashes and loud impacts he was more than certain he shouldn't be hearing so early in the morning. They came from Jaehyun's floor.

The male sighed and waved a hand at the two butlers who were in the process of loading the PC, monitors and all, and delivering it to his room. "Hurry up without me," he said with an exasperated sigh. "Make sure she doesn't see you."

Then he was off towards the fourth floor to see what all the commotion was. As he grew closer to the source of the noise the clearer the sounds got. Amid all the crashing he heard a distinctive sound of human voices. And it didn't sound like they were very happy.

"You f*cker!" There was another crash and the sound of a vase shattering. Heavy footsteps thumping on the floor followed by something slamming into the wall. "You disgusting, f*cked-up psychopath—I should've f*cking killed you years ago!"

"I'd like to see you try," came a second voice. It was octaves higher than the first but the venom that resided in the tone was no less threatening. "You're all trying to take her away from me...it's getting annoying, you know? I won't ever forgive you. I won't lose her ever again."

Tristan stifled a sigh and reached for the door handle of the room the two were in. As soon as the door opened, a vase flew towards him at blinding speeds and exploded on the wall right next to his head. The blue-haired male didn't flinch, but the annoyed look on his face got darker.

"What happened this time?" He groaned, brushing the nonexistent dust off his shoulder from the crash. They ignored him, not ceasing in their attack against each other. Jaehyun's arm wasn't looking too good; his left arm was hanging limply by his side at a strange angle. The pain was evident on his face but the anger was greater. Leon looked fine if you ignored the gash that went down his neck next to his old scar and the red cuts on his arms.

The black-haired male had his hands around the blond's neck. He might've snapped it in half had Jaehyun not been slashing at his hands with a box cutter. The wound on Leon's palm had reopened and blood ran freely down his arm and dripped off his elbow. Red spots bloomed like red camellias among the ashen gray debris that coated the entire floor.

Jaehyun clawed at the hand around his neck with one hand and stabbed the razor into Leon's arm with the other, his expression completely dark. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!" He screamed, trying to rip his weapon out even as Leon tried to take it from him. "I'll slit your throat and rip your heart out from your mouth—no, I'll take your bloody eyes first for daring to look at her!"

"You keep f*cking saying you'll f*cking dismember us but you've having done a single bloody thing, you little piece of sh*t," Leon growled. The gash in his arm grew larger as the two fought for possession of the boxcutter. Even though the black-haired male should be physically stronger, he still had trouble grabbing it from the blond. If Leon was a wild animal, Jaehyun would be a rapid one.

"Shut up, shut up, shut UP!" Jaehyun's movements grew wilder as he sank his teeth into Leon's hand and pulled free of his grip. He staggered back into a cupboard, making several cups and plates smash into the floor, before darting forward with the boxcutter, aiming it straight at the taller male's eye. "You know nothing; you all know nothing about me! Stop assuming you do because you bloody don't. You don't know how it feels like to be me—"

Leon caught the blade before the boy could drive it into his eye. Blood trickled through his fingers as the metal cut into his skin. "Quit the pity party. I'm not here to listen to your f*cking sob fest." Pain flashed over his face as the boy ripped the razor out of his grip.

"I don't need you to listen." Jaehyun's voice reverted to his innocent one and he tilted his head in childish confusion. "I only need you to die!"

"And I need you two to stop fighting and settle down!"

Tristan's authoritative voice ran over the fighting. It didn't stop them immediately, but it was enough to quiet them down. He was growing weary of trying to calm them down when they flew into their violent rages, and a tiny part of his mind was tempted to let them kill each other. But he was no Kieran. That wouldn't be amusing.

"Drop the knife, Kim," he instructed the male with a cold glare.

"It wasn't my fault!" Jaehyun scowled. He pointed the boxcutter at the black-haired male. "He came in when I was just minding my own business and broke my arm!"

Leon didn't look like he cared. "That son of a b*tch f*cking deserved it."

"병신 새끼," Jaehyun swore under his breath. Motherf*cker.

A harsh look from the blue-eyed male shut the two up. For the time being, at least. "Bandage up your arm," he told the blond. And then to Leon, "I have an idea why you're angry, but that doesn't excuse your actions. Do I have to remind you how things work around here?"

Leon bit back an angry profanity-filled retort as a mental image of his smiling little brother flashed before his eyes. "No."

Jaehyun still looked disgruntled as he cradled his broken arm to his chest. "Sorry, Tristan," he muttered unwillingly. The blue-haired male nodded, seemingly accepting the apology.

Leon arched an eyebrow when their attention turned to him. "You want me to apologize or something? Keep dreaming a**holes."

"No, I don't expect one from someone whose vocabulary consists solely of profanity," Tristan said with a tired sigh. "And two insults to boot."

"F*ck you."

"I rest my case."

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A/N: I bring you fan art from ENDLESSN0ISE (I'm pretty sure this is the right you, right owo)!





Thoughts on the yanderes so far? We're approaching 80 chapters people (๑•̀ v •́)و I'm sorry for dividing these past few chapters up so much lately, but it just made sense for the story.