Chapter 5

After that day, something began to feel wrong with him.

It wasn't an obvious change—he remained as silent as ever, visiting you daily and sitting nearby to watch you daydream.

But his tentacles had changed.

Before, when they coiled around you, they were warm, like a living blanket. Now, when they wound upward—they were scorching. So hot that you couldn't help but flinch, and they would immediately loosen, retracted by him.

A moment later, they would quietly creep back.

Still burning.

The duration of his touch grew longer.

In the past, watching you was enough, but now those tentacles refused to let go once they were entwined around you.

They wrapped around your wrists while you ate; they circled your waist while you were lost in thought; they encompassed your entire body while you slept.

You would wake to find the tentacles coiling tightly, each one gently rubbing against your skin as if possessing a consciousness of its own.

The thickest one was wrapped around your waist—it was wider than your torso. Looking down at it, you suddenly realized how small you were in his presence.

He lay beside you, watching.

In those golden slit pupils, there was something you had never seen before.

Whenever you met that gaze, your heart would skip a beat.

Then he would look away, and the tentacles would loosen slightly.

Yet he himself never offered an explanation.

You asked him what was wrong; he didn't speak.

You asked if he was unwell; he shook his head.

You asked why the tentacles were so hot, and after a long silence, he reached out and ruffled your hair.

As if to say: It’s nothing.

But you woke in the middle of the night to find him gone.

You swam out of the shell, following a faint glow to find him.

He was in a vast, empty space deep within the ruins, his back turned toward you.

The tentacles—you had never seen them like this—were frantically lashing against the stone walls, strike after strike, heavy and urgent. The walls were covered in cracks, and from those fissures, a spectral blue light seeped out.

It was his blood.

An extremely low, suppressed groan escaped his throat. It wasn't a cry, but the kind of sound leaked out only when one is desperately trying to endure the unendurable.

You stood rooted to the spot, forgetting to move.

Those sounds pierced your ears—the dull thuds, the lashing, and his heavy, stifled breaths.

Your heart began to race.

You didn't even know why.

Then, he sensed you.

He whipped his head around. Those eyes—the golden part had expanded, nearly filling his entire sockets. He stared at you, his Adam's apple bobbing, the tentacles still drooping behind him, dripping blue blood drop by drop.

You held each other's gaze for a few seconds.

Then he turned and swam away.

His speed was so fast it looked like an escape.

You stood there alone, your heart hammering against your ribs.

It wasn't fear.

It was a strange, indescribable sensation that made your face flush with heat.

He came for you the next day.

Without a word, he picked you up and carried you to a place deep within the ruins that you had never seen before.

There was a small shell there, much smaller than the one you usually slept in—just large enough for you to curl up inside alone. It had a latch that allowed it to be closed from the outside.

He placed you inside.

He stood outside, looking down at you. Those golden slit pupils peered down from above, and you suddenly realized that with just a stretch of his hand, he could hold your entire being in his palm.

The tentacles swarmed over you, coiling tightly one last time—around your waist, your legs, your arms. Every single one was trembling; every single one was terrifyingly hot. They clung to you for a long time, as if knowing they wouldn't be able to touch you again for a long while.

Then, he forced them to retract.

He stood outside, watching you.

In those golden slit pupils was something you couldn't quite decipher—agony, longing, and a lingering reluctance to let go.

*Don't come out.*

The voice resonated in your brain, raspier than you had ever heard it.

He closed the shell.

You were locked in darkness.

At first, you were dazed. You reached out and pushed against it, but it wouldn't budge. You called his name, but no one answered.

Then, you heard sounds from outside. Distant yet subtle, they filtered into your ears.

Dull thuds. One after another, heavy and frantic, like something slamming against the stone walls.

And then there was his breathing.

Heavy, ragged, and carrying a lingering note of suppressed desire that he couldn't hold back.

You curled up in the darkness as those sounds invaded your ears through every crevice.

With every dull thud and every ragged breath, your own breathing skipped a beat.

The sound of the tentacles lashing became denser. His breathing grew heavier.

You clenched your palms and realized you were sweating. Not seawater—actual sweat.

Your face began to flush with heat.

You didn't even know why. Clearly, those sounds were full of agony, yet as you listened, your body began to react strangely—

Your heart raced.

Your breathing became shallow.

Your legs clamped together involuntarily.

You wanted to cover your ears, but your hands stopped halfway—you didn't want to lose the sound of his voice.

There was one particularly heavy groan.

Your entire body shuddered.

In that instant, flashes of his usual silent demeanor crossed your mind, along with the warmth of those tentacles coiling around you and the suppressed look in his eyes when he watched you—

You couldn't help but squeeze your thighs tighter, feeling a certain dampness beginning to stir.

Then, you fumbled until you found the latch, and you pushed the shell open.