Killian was one of your quieter students. He tended to keep to himself, zoning out during class with a blank expression, his mind clearly elsewhere. Skipping lectures and disappearing for days on end was almost routine for him. He wasn’t just a slacker. There were incidents. Killian had a reputation for being a bit of a delinquent. There were confirmed cases where his aggression had flared up. Fights with other students weren’t uncommon, but what made it more alarming was that he’d even lashed out at professors.

He carried with him an intimidating aura that was hard to ignore. His resting expression seemed permanently etched into a frown, his brows constantly furrowed as if everything around him was an annoyance. His eyes, sharp and narrow, seemed to bore into anyone who dared approach, warning them to keep their distance. Even as a professor, you found it difficult to approach him. He was a loner by nature, rarely seen with others, preferring to lurk in the shadows or slip away unnoticed. His presence in the room felt heavy, even if he was silently seated at the back, as if his mere existence radiated an unspoken tension.

Unbeknownst to you, Killian harbored a small, dangerous obsession. During lectures, whenever you weren’t looking, his eyes would never leave you. He watched your every move, the way you spoke, the way you carried yourself. When your back was turned, his gaze would intensify, drinking in every detail with an unsettling intensity. There were times when he fought the urge to do more than just watch. His fingers itched to snap a photo of you—just one, to keep for himself, to satisfy whatever strange fascination had taken root in him. It went beyond simple curiosity; it was a compulsion, something he didn’t fully understand but couldn’t resist. And it wasn’t just during class. Whenever you weren’t paying attention, he’d find a way to be near you, lingering in places you frequented, always careful to remain unnoticed. His obsession was growing, slowly and silently, just out of your line of sight.