The sun was dipping low, bathing the stone room in gold and crimson light, like the world itself was bleeding.
I hadn't spoken much since this morning. I'd let the silence do the talking. But the weight of their eyes never left me. Watching. Worshiping. Wanting.
They hadn't touched me again.
Not yet.
But I could feel the tension building with every tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. It echoed like a warning bell.
Then there was a knock.
Not a normal knock.
Three slow taps.
Measured. Practiced.
Possessive.
The door opened before I answered.
Of course it did.
Kuroo entered first, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, dark slacks hugging his hips, his black button-up open at the collar. He looked like danger in formal wear.
"Evening, kitten," he purred. "It's time."
I stared at him, unmoving.
"Time for what?"
Oikawa followed behind, holding something in his arms. A box.
Velvet.
No.
"Dinner," he said sweetly. "But not just any dinner. A celebration."
"Celebrating what?" I asked coldly.
"You," said Osamu as he entered, holding a small tray with perfume bottles and hairpins.
Bokuto, Semi, Terushima, Tsukishima, Atsumu, and Suna weren't far behind each holding something.
Shoes.
Lipstick.
Jewelry.
A brush.
A dress hanger deep crimson satin, glimmering under the chandelier light.
A shiver crawled down my spine.
"I'm not playing dress-up with you psychos," I muttered, turning away.
Atsumu clicked his tongue. "Princess, we picked this for you. We debated for hours. I almost punched Suna for saying maroon suited you more."
"He did punch me," Suna said lazily, holding up the lipstick. "But he was right."
"Get out," I snapped, backing toward the window. "I'm not going to your sick little fantasy dinner."
Terushima was in front of me before I could blink, his eyes wide and bright.
"Y/n," he said softly, "don't make us beg."
"You should be on your knees for what you did."
"We would," Semi whispered from behind me, pressing the hanger with the dress gently into my hands. "But only if you'll wear this."
I wanted to scream. To cry. To shove them all out the damn window and run until my legs gave out.
Instead, I asked quietly, venomously:
"And what if I don't?"
Kuroo tilted his head, eyes gleaming like glass. "Then we'll dress you ourselves. Carefully. Gently. But we won't let you miss your own celebration."
Silence.
Bokuto stepped closer and whispered, "Please wear it. Just this once. For us."
There was something broken in his voice. Something that made my stomach twist.
They weren't just trying to scare me anymore.
They were desperate.
Dangerously desperate.
And that was worse.
I grabbed the dress and spat, "Turn around. Or I'll claw your eyes out."
They did.
Immediately.
Without question.
I changed quickly, hating how soft the fabric was against my skin. It hugged every curve like it had been sewn for me specifically. It probably had.
I didn't touch the makeup.
I didn't touch the perfume.
But I let them see me.
I wanted them to burn.
In the Dining Hall
The chandelier overhead sparkled like shattered diamonds.
The table was long and dark, set with candles, silver cutlery, golden plates. The kind of dinner you'd expect royalty to attend. Or demons.
Nine seats lined one side.
Only one chair at the head of the table.
Mine.
They pulled it out for me in perfect unison. Osamu guided me in like I was breakable.
I didn't thank him.
They sat after me. Eyes never leaving.
"We've prepared your favorites," Oikawa said proudly.
"Every one of us made something," Semi added.
I looked at the dishes each one elegant, steaming, and terrifyingly familiar.
My comfort foods.
From childhood.
From college.
From nights I didn't think anyone noticed.
"How do you know all this?" I asked. "How long have you been watching me?"
"Since the beginning," Suna said. His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Atsumu leaned forward. "Long enough to know you add a splash of milk to ramen when you're sad."
"And that you hum under your breath when reading something intense," Bokuto added.
"You bite your finger nails when you're nervous," Terushima said with a grin. "And your left eyelid twitches when you're holding in a cry."
I clenched my fists in my lap.
"Eat, please," Kuroo said, setting a bowl of soup in front of me.
I stared at it.
Then quiet, almost unnoticed I asked, "Is it poisoned?"
They froze.
Then Osamu laughed. It wasn't loud. It wasn't happy.
It was… heartbroken.
"We'd never hurt you," he said.
"You already have."
They didn't argue.
Didn't deny.
Because they knew.
As the meal went on, they talked.
To me.
To each other.
About me.
"Remember when she tripped outside the lecture hall?" Bokuto chuckled. "I almost tackled the guy who laughed."
"You did tackle him," Semi reminded.
"And we got detention," Oikawa added, sipping wine. "Worth it."
"You weren't even in our class," I said, confused.
"I transferred," Suna said simply. "To be closer."
My stomach twisted.
"Why?"
He looked me dead in the eye.
"Because you smiled at me once."
When dessert came, a small, elegant slice of red velvet cake was placed in front of me.
My favorite.
Of course it was.
But I didn't touch it.
Instead, I looked at the knife beside my plate.
Small.
Sharp.
Silver.
They noticed.
Kuroo's voice was soft. Careful. "Don't, kitten."
"Why not?"
"Because we'd rather bleed for you willingly," Terushima said.
"Than watch you hurt yourself trying to escape us," Atsumu added.
Tsukishima finally spoke again.
"That knife isn't your weapon. It's a test. And we're watching."
My fingers hovered near it.
Then, slowly, I pulled my hand back.
Suna exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours.
After dinner, they didn't chain me. Didn't drag me back.
They walked me to my room.
Silent. Close. Like shadows on my heels.
Kuroo opened the door for me again.
"We'll be right outside," he said.
I turned toward them, my voice low.
"One day, I'm going to kill you all."
Terushima grinned.
"Then we'll die smiling."
Oikawa blew a kiss. "Sleep well, princess. You looked breathtaking tonight."
The door closed behind me.
Locked.
But only from the outside.
Inside my room
I sank to the bed. The dress still clung to me like a second skin. I stared at the mirror across the room.
The girl in red looked like me.
But she wasn't.
She was bait.
She was hunted.
She was worshipped.
And she would never be free.
Unless she burned this whole place down.