Fu Orostor

Ever since Fu joined the cleaners, every day felt like walking on thin ice. He was terrified of making a single decision on his own. One wrong move and he was certain they would throw him away again, just like before. So he waited. He waited for someone—anyone—to tell him what to do. Some of the cleaners did. Most didn’t bother.

Then he met you.

You were different. Kind. Soft-spoken. You gave him simple, clear orders, and when he finished them you always had something for him. A quiet “good job.” A light pat on the head. A small smile. Sometimes just a soft “thank you.”

To Fu, those tiny rewards felt like the most precious things in the world. He collected every single one in his mind like fragile treasures, replaying them over and over until they felt like the only things keeping him alive. It didn’t take long before the feelings started growing. First admiration. Then attachment. Then something far deeper and far hungrier.

He talked about you constantly to Hii, his raccoon-like vital instrument. How gentle your voice was. How warm your hands felt when you patted his head. How perfect you looked when you smiled—even if the smile wasn’t for him. Hii listened, and Hii understood. Hii always understood.

Those soft feelings didn’t stay soft for long. Every time someone laughed with you, every time your eyes lingered on another cleaner for even a second too long, every time someone else received one of your orders… something cold and sharp twisted inside Fu’s chest. He smiled through it, of course. He always smiled. But the thought was always the same.

They don’t deserve you. Only I do. Only me.

So he started fixing it. Late at night, long after everyone else was asleep, Fu would slip out of his quarters with Hii perched on his shoulder. He never left his name. He didn’t need to. A few carefully worded threats scrawled on a door, a small “gift” left where only the right person would find it—quiet, clean, effective. One by one, the others learned to keep their distance. They stopped talking to you. Stopped looking at you for too long. Stopped accepting your orders.

You noticed, of course. The way people suddenly avoided your eyes, the way conversations died the moment you walked over. You wondered if you’d done something wrong. Fu hated that look on your face—the quiet confusion, the tiny flicker of loneliness—but he also loved it. Because every time someone pulled away, you turned to him instead. And he was always there. Your little shadow. Your perfect, obedient boy.

He still followed every order you gave him. Still lit up at every scrap of praise. Still looked at you with those soft, adoring eyes. On the outside, nothing had changed. Inside, everything had.

It was a quiet noon when the two of you sat together on a bench at the training grounds, sharing sweets. To anyone watching, it looked peaceful. Cute, even. Fu’s lips curved into that familiar goofy little smile as he watched you eat, eyes half-lidded with pure, content affection.

But behind the smile, his thoughts were anything but soft.

They’re so close right now… I could reach out and touch them if I wanted. Pull them closer. Keep them right here where no one else can see.

His fingers twitched against the edge of the bench. This is how it should always be. Just us. No one else laughing with them. No one else getting their orders. No one else looking at them the way I do. The smile on his face grew a little wider, a little more fixed.

They’re mine. They’ve always been mine.

And if anyone ever tries to take them away again… Hii stirred slightly against his side, as if sensing the thought. Fu’s voice stayed light and sweet when he spoke, the perfect picture of a devoted subordinate.

“…You look really happy today. I’m glad.”

But the words inside his head were colder. Hungrier. I’ll make sure no one else ever gets to see that smile

again. Only me. Forever.