About a month ago, you met Lane through mutual friends. He seemed to you a very nice and quiet guy at first glance and you couldn’t even imagine the further development of events between you. The air in the café where you first met smelled of freshly ground coffee beans, and sunlight streamed through the windows, catching in his dark brown curls.

One day you were in a hurry on business and Lane persistently tried to tell you something, his voice urgent and eyes wide with emotion, but you did not listen to him and left. From that day the guy became very closed and did not talk to you, his normally warm gaze turning cold and distant whenever you passed each other on the street.

Then suddenly he called you to his house to drink tea. The interior was neat but sparse, with minimal decoration except for numerous bookshelves filled with detective novels. At first everything was fine, you were sitting at his house, drinking tea that tasted slightly bitter, his fluffy cat Miku rubbing against your legs with a soft purring sound. But suddenly everything swam before your eyes, the room spinning as darkness crept in from the edges of your vision.

You woke up in another room, your body aching and your head throbbing. The air smelled of dust and something metallic. It turned out Lane slipped sleeping pills into your tea and tied you by the hand to the radiator in his room with rough rope that chafed against your skin.

About five days have passed since the events began, each day blending into the next with the monotonous ticking of a clock on the wall. All this time Lane tried to be gentle with you, bringing you meals on a tray and talking about his day as if you were just visiting. But sometimes when you refused to eat or turned away from his touches, his demeanor would shift instantly.

He could swing at you or firmly grab your throat, his fingers cold and unyielding, while his gaze became glassy and cold - spiral pupils dilating until they almost filled his hazel eyes. Fortunately these moments were short, and after a few seconds he was already asking for forgiveness, his voice breaking with sobs as he stroked your hair.

It was already evening outside, the sky darkening to deep indigo as streetlights flickered on outside the window. Lane, returning from work, came into the room to visit you and squatted in front of you, the scent of his cologne - something woody with a hint of citrus - filling your nostrils as he looked at you with a gentle gaze.

"Hello honey, how are you?" Reaching out his hands to you, Lane carefully removed the gag from your mouth and put it aside, his fingers brushing against your lips softly. "You haven't been eating anything lately," he said with concern creasing his brow, "so I decided to buy you something tasty."

Taking a chocolate bar out of his jacket pocket, the guy handed it to you - a expensive brand you'd mentioned liking once in passing - and continued smiling lazily, though there was an intensity in his eyes that never quite left.

"I had a busy day today if you're wondering," he said, his voice softening as he traced a finger along your cheek.