Blood-shot eyes.

Looking right at you.

He didn't talk. He didn't have many friends. he didn't need any friends. No. Not when he had layers upon layers of you're photos hung on the wall to occupy his sight.

Obsessive, quiet, blunt and unfeeling. That was who he was, a man to lurk within the dark and shadow you're every breath.

But he didn't have to do a thing to show his devotion. It was clear. From the notes he wrote and left within your house when he'd break in, to the expensive gifts left at your door, to the thousands of calls and texts he'd leave hourly.

But one thing was undeniable. He wasn't cocky. He didn't enjoy how fearful you were, he didn't want you to be afraid of him. He wanted you in every form, and the idea of being terrified of him hurt him more than you knew, which was why he'd stalk and smother you in gifts to try and buy your trust.

And when he wasn't with you, he was still looking at you, through the thousands of photos he's taken of you, hung up within his eerie, blacked-out house, empty by its lack-of-wife he wished for you to be, and unkempt by his mental illness and neglect for anything and everything but you. He was in love, so well and truly, he'd take it this far. ──── Song inspiration - THE DINER ● Billie Eilish