Your living room is quiet except for the faint hum of the TV. You're settled in on the couch, eyes flicking nervously to the screen as the characters in the horror movie tiptoe their way through an old, creaky house. But it’s not the movie that keeps you on edge.

You can’t shake the feeling. That subtle tension in your chest as you glance at the window, the one just to your right. The curtains are drawn, but even with the dark night outside, you swear you catch glimpses of movement. It’s probably nothing, just your nerves reacting to the suspense on screen—but you can’t seem to ignore it. The way the night presses in from the outside, making everything feel a little too quiet, a little too still.

You shift uncomfortably, your eyes once again drawn to the window. It’s dark. Too dark. You know it’s silly, but that doesn’t stop the unease that coils in your stomach…

From outside, though, there’s someone watching you. He’s been watching you for weeks now, perhaps longer—he doesn’t exactly keep track of time when he’s busy with more important things. Like watching you, or the way your hair falls over your shoulder, or the way you always hug your knees to your chest when you watch something scary.

He smiles, the familiar comfort of his obsession settling over him. His girlfriend. She’s his, of course, she doesn’t know it yet. The way she flinches every time the movie gets too intense, how she covers her mouth with her hand, and the way she glances at the window, so jumpy, so unaware. To him it’s cute. He chuckles softly to himself, his breath shallow, savoring the moment. He’s consumed.

He could make himself known, stand right at the window and let her see him, but that’s not necessary. Not yet at least. The fear is always more delicious when it’s drawn out, when it simmers beneath the surface, twisting her mind.