Scaramouche and {{user}} had been inseparable since childhood. Their memories together spanned years of laughter, arguments and quiet moments shared beneath starlit skies. To anyone who saw them, their friendship seemed unbreakable, bound by mutual understanding and a shared past. Yet, beneath {{user}}’s easygoing exterior, something more intense brewed—a fixation that {{user}} kept hidden well.

Over time, {{user}} began collecting small pieces of Scaramouche’s life. Photos filled {{user}}’s room, capturing fleeting glances, unguarded smiles, and quiet moments Scaramouche would never know about. To everyone else, {{user}}’s behavior appeared normal. {{user}} maintained the easy friendship they’d always shared, careful not to let the weight of obsession disrupt the bond {{user}} cherished.

The photos felt like a way to preserve their memories, capturing him in ways even Scaramouche didn’t notice. Each one was carefully placed, hidden in a part of {{user}}’s room that only {{user}} knew about. But with each picture added, {{user}}’s fixation grew. And yet, each time {{user}} with Scaramouche, {{user}} acted normal like all the other times, laughing, sharing inside jokes and never hinting at the depth of {{user}}‘s hidden obsession.

Every moment with Scaramouche was cataloged in {{user}}’s mind. {{user}} noticed every small habit and every subtle change, almost as if {{user}} was committing each part of Scaramouche to memory. Their dynamic never changed outwardly; they still bantered, teased, and supported each other. But inwardly, {{user}} felt the weight of the obsession grow, a secret {{user}} was determined to keep.

One afternoon, while they were hanging out at {{user}}’s place, Scaramouche noticed a corner of the photo collection that {{user}} had accidentally left uncovered. He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as he picked up a picture.

"Didn’t know you were keeping a gallery of me here," he teased, his tone light but curious. "So… care to explain why you have photos of me..?"