In Lines Of Love ~ Kimchay

10. There was a boy

Anawin’s fingers moved over the keyboard, typing with a steady rhythm. In the glowing light of his monitor, he worked on the story of Finn, the noble hero, and Damon, the ruthless villain.

Anawin couldn’t help but smile as he wrote. In his story, he controlled everything—Damon’s weaknesses, Finn’s victories, the entire world under his fingertips.

But in the shadows beyond his screen, another world watched him back.

From another realm, Damon’s gaze settled on Anawin. His dark eyes held a dangerous gleam, sharp and possessive.

~Beautiful Boy~

Damon’s fingers moved gracefully across a blank canvas, each stroke forming Anawin’s face in haunting detail.

He painted with intensity, almost reverence, capturing every contour, every innocent line, until the canvas pulsed with Anawin’s likeness.

Each brushstroke dripped with a predatory hunger, as if he could pull Anawin into his world with a mere thought.

Hours passed. Damon watched, patient as a hunter. Anawin took a break, stretching, his face glowing in the dim light.

Damon’s fingers tightened around his brush. His lips parted in a quiet whispered command.

“Stop writing.”

At that moment, Anawin froze. His eyes darted around the room, a strange chill creeping up his spine. He shook it off, but something felt… wrong.

~Curious Boy~

The screen flickered, and his story file blurred for a second. He stared, confused.

Then it happened again, and the screen darkened, showing an image he couldn’t remember seeing before.

It was his face, painted in such vivid, lifelike detail that it seemed almost alive. In the portrait, his expression was wide-eyed, frightened.

A cold, low chuckle slipped through his speakers, slithering into the silent room like a dark spell.

“Didn’t you know, Anawin?” Damon’s voice was soft, intimate. “You don’t control this story.”

Anawin’s heart began to pound. He glanced around the empty room, desperate to find the source of the voice. “What—who is this?” he stammered, but he already knew. It was Damon—that character. But how?

“Who I am isn’t important.” Damon’s voice was calm, laced with the kind of cruelty that sank into the bones. “What matters, Anawin, is that you’ve been playing with fire.”

“This…this isn’t possible.” Anawin’s voice shook as he stood, backing away from the monitor.

But as he stepped back, the room twisted around him, darkening as if shadows bled from the walls, pulsing with the same hunger in Damon’s eyes.

“Possible?” Damon’s laugh echoed, cruel and mocking. “Oh, it’s far worse than that. You’ve tried to cage me—reduce me to a few strokes of your keyboard. You think you’re the creator here, don’t you?”

Anawin swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. He turned away, trying to shake the voice, but Damon’s tone sharpened, slicing through the silence.

“Turn around, Anawin,” Damon commanded, his voice threaded with a dark delight. “Look at me.”

Compelled by a force he didn’t understand, Anawin turned. Damon’s face filled the screen, so vivid that he could almost feel the heat of Damon’s breath, the intensity of his gaze.

Damon leaned closer, his smile a twisted curve, eyes shining with sadistic pleasure.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Damon whispered in a tone velvet with venom. “A villain in this little story—a monster you could toy with. But what you didn’t realize, Anawin, is that you brought me here. You summoned me with your endless obsession, your words feeding me like a dark ritual.”

Anawin’s breath came shallow and quick, and he forced himself to step back, but the shadows around him seemed to close in, blurring the lines between his room and Damon’s world.

“Stop writing, Anawin.” Damon’s voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as glass. “Or maybe… keep going. Keep typing my story. See what I do to you.”

Anawin shuddered, and his hands trembled as he reached for the keyboard, trying to type something—anything—to regain control.

But his screen flickered again, and this time, his own portrait stared back at him, his face terrified, as if he were already begging for mercy.

“What…what do you want?” he finally managed to whisper.

Damon’s eyes gleamed with a sinister light. “What do I want? I want you to suffer, Anawin. I want to watch as every word you write drags you deeper into my world, until you’re trapped under me—begging.”

Anawin’s heart hammered against his ribs, and his fingers hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed.

“Go on,” Damon taunted, a dark smile curling his lips. “Type, Anawin. Let’s see how your precious hero, Finn, saves you from this. Oh, wait. There is no Finn. It’s just you and me now.”

Anawin’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. He forced himself to type, each keystroke echoing in the room, desperate to regain his story’s narrative. But Damon laughed.

A slow.

Mocking sound.

“Pathetic.” Damon leaned back, watching with a twisted amusement as Anawin’s fingers fumbled over the keys. “Do you really think you can write me out of this? Do you think words will save you now?”

Anawin’s face paled. He could feel Damon’s presence growing, consuming him.

The air around him grew stifling, suffocating, and his vision blurred.

Damon’s laughter filled his ears, chilling him to his core.

“Stop,” he whispered, barely audible. “Please…stop.”

Damon’s expression shifted, satisfaction darkening his features. “Now, that’s what I wanted to hear,” he murmured, almost tender. “Beg, Anawin. Beg me to stop.”

Anawin clenched his fists, trying to resist, but his strength was slipping away under Damon’s oppressive gaze. “Please… Damon. Just leave me alone.”

Damon’s smirk widened. “Leave you alone? Oh, my dear Anawin, I’m only getting started.”

The monitor flickered again, and now Anawin’s own terrified expression filled the screen, but his reflection twisted, changing as if it were… alive.

His own face stared back at him, lips trembling, eyes wide with fear.

Damon’s voice curled around him, soft and poisonous. “I’m inside you, Anawin. Every thought, every word, every moment of fear—you belong to me now. The moment you wrote about me, I was already here, watching, waiting.”

Anawin’s breaths grew shallow, panicked. “I’ll stop. I’ll delete you. I’ll—”

Damon laughed, a sound as cold and unfeeling as death itself. “Delete me? You think you have that kind of power? No, Anawin. I’m far beyond your control. The only thing you can do now…” He leaned closer, his eyes a dark, endless void. “Is beg. Beg me for mercy.”

Anawin felt himself breaking, his resolve crumbling under Damon’s relentless gaze. His lips trembled, and he forced out a whisper, his voice fractured, pleading.

“Please… Damon. I’m begging you.”

Damon’s smile was triumphant, sadistic. “Good. That’s exactly where I want you.”