Favorite Fixation (Yandere boys x Reader)

121.) Acceptance

The bullet struck Keiji's skull with an explosive violence that left little room for doubt. It entered at an angle, the sharp crack of bone splitting the air as it drove through the fragile tissues of his brain. His face, caught in mid-mockery, twisted into an expression of horror as his eyes went wide, unable to process the sudden loss of control. His lips parted in a final, useless gasp, a thin trickle of blood beginning to pour from the corners of his mouth as the force of the bullet drove his head forward.

His body jerked, frozen in a violent shudder, before collapsing like a broken marionette. His hands, once so eager to control, now twitched involuntarily, palms open and lifeless. The blood, dark and thick, surged from the front of his skull, splattering against the cold floor. His body hit the concrete with a soft, sickening thud, the motion almost unceremonious as it slid slightly, pooling the crimson fluid beneath him.

Keiji's face was frozen in a look of disbelief, his dark eyes wide and unblinking, staring at nothing. His mouth, still open in that failed attempt to speak, slackened as his body went completely still. The blood from his wound began to congeal, spreading out in dark streaks across the floor, staining the concrete in an abstract pattern of death. His once-impulsive movements were now gone, leaving only the grotesque remains of a boy who had tried to control, manipulate, and destroy.

(Y/n) stood there, her hand still gripped tightly around the gun, her fingers numb from the cold metal. Her face was blank, hollow. No joy, no satisfaction. Just the hollow emptiness that came with survival, with the knowledge that she had done what needed to be done. And yet, as she looked down at the remains of Keiji, she couldn't quite shake the words he had said before the final shot. Even in death, they still nagged at the back of her mind.

She adjusted the gun in her hand, her grip unshaken, but her mind... her mind was elsewhere. She had to make sure Yuuto was dead. She couldn't afford any loose ends. But there was another thing to take care of first.

She had heard a gunshot earlier. Had Keiji killed Yuuto? Or was it just another lie, a manipulation to keep her from pulling the trigger? The words echoed in her mind, an irritating buzz that she couldn't quite shake. She hated how his lies still clung to her, even now. He was gone, but his words remained like a poison in her thoughts. She couldn't let them matter. She couldn't let him haunt her anymore.

Taking one final glance at the lifeless body of the boy who had once held so much power over her, she turned and walked out of the deep freeze room. The cold, stark air slapped against her skin, but she didn't flinch. There were more pressing matters. She couldn't afford to think about anything except what was next. The basement was a quiet place now, a place where memories and horrors lingered like thick fog. She could hear the faintest echo of her own footsteps against the cold concrete, the sound of her own heartbeat pulsing in her ears.

Her feet led her into the small, morgue-like room, and there, on the cold, steel table, was Emi. The girl's face was pale, her features gaunt and hollow, as if the life had been drained from her very soul. Her skin was thin, almost translucent, and her lips were pressed tight, the corners drawn into a faint grimace. She wasn't crying. She wasn't pleading. She was just... empty.

The sight of Emi brought a strange, hollow pang to (Y/n)'s chest. She had been so wrapped up in everything else, in the fight for survival, in the chaos, that she had almost forgotten about the girl. Emi had been a victim, just like her.

Without a word, (Y/n) stepped forward, her movements mechanical as she undid the restraints that bound Emi's wrists and ankles. The knots had been tight, far too tight for comfort, but it didn't matter. (Y/n)'s hands moved quickly, deftly, unraveling the restraints as she silently worked.

Emi's eyes flickered with recognition, but she didn't move. She didn't speak. Her mouth, though no longer sewn shut, remained tight, as though she was afraid to speak or even to breathe. (Y/n) didn't wait for her. She didn't offer comfort, didn't try to make her feel safe. She was numb. She wasn't here to rescue anyone. She wasn't here to be anyone's savior.