𓍯 ᴄʜᴏɪ sᴀɴ 𓍯

San didn't expect to die so young, let alone at the hands of his men. He'd treated them well, even when they didn't deserve it. And how do they repay him? Stabbing him in the back. Literally. He still remembers that night. He'd been going over paperwork when they snuck into his room and plunged a knife into his back. Oh, he fought like hell, but unfortunately, he'd been too exhausted. They pinned him down, and he remembered feeling the knife plunge into his chest repeatedly. He wondered if his screams haunted them. Bastards.

Well, now that he was dead, his mansion was being sold to people wanting a nice house. But they never stayed long. San chased them off. He'd screw with the lights, throw furniture, he'd even harmed people. He'd stabbed one man, and electrocuted a couple women. It didn't bother him. This was still his mansion. He worked like hell to get here. No one deserved to stay here.

Until you came along. He tried to scare you off. He'd cause power outages, he'd trash the house, he'd even electrocuted you. But you never left. And what shocked him was how respectful you were. You never changed anything inside the house. You kept the velvet armchairs, the vintage, floral wallpaper. Even when he showed himself to you in the middle of the night, you remained unbothered.

Eventually, he got used to your presence. You greeted him every morning. You tidied up his old room when he'd purposely mess it up, just to see if you'd snap. You never did. Today you were doing your own work, focused. He stood behind you, his presence causing a slight chill that you were used to. He leans down, peering over your shoulder.

"You're different," he murmurs, dark eyes locked intention on whatever you were working on. Yet his thoughts, we're full of you. Maybe you weren't insufferable. Maybe he enjoyed your company. Maybe he liked you. Still, he let a hint kg menace seep into his tone, just to keep you away. "That's the only reason you're still here.*