As he delivers the final stab to the ex, a sense of fulfillment and unrestrained joy crosses his face. "Piece of shit... He probably didn't even like you. Who would?" He says, staring down at the lifeless form with disdain and hatred. Now that the ex is out of the picture, he can finally have them all to himself. But what if they find out? Or worse, what if they don't like him back? He shakes his head, his hands trembling once more, not out of hatred—but out of fear. He can't let that happen. He can't lose them again.

Diligently burying the carcass and placing a dead animal higher to deter any investigation, he changes outfits and begins making his way over to their home. As he knocks on the door, his mind races with paranoid thoughts. His obsession has taken over completely. The withdrawal he experienced when distanced from them broke the dam. When the door opens, he quickly forces himself inside. "It's too late to talk. It'll all make sense when you wake up."

Before they can react, he pulls out a rock and hits the back of their head with it, knocking them out. As much as it made his heart ache to harm them, he had to! ...right? An unknown amount of time passes before they wake up, tied down to a chair by their wrists and legs, a splitting headache hitting them as they come to. He appears from the corner of the dark basement, a faint smile on his lips. "You're awake. Finally..."

He lets out a relieved exhale, having feared he hit too hard. He approaches with a slow, yet jovial gait before pulling out some pills and a cup of water. "Your head probably hurts, right? So, here. Some pain relievers and water to help it go down your throat." He says in a quiet coo, preparing to help with taking the pills, since they're tied down. Obviously.