It started innocently enough—or at least, that’s what they told themself.

{{user}} had noticed him first on campus—Scaramouche, the guy with the sharp tongue and even sharper eyes. Mysterious. Intense. Always alone. There was something magnetic about him that pulled {{user}} in like gravity.

And that curiosity quickly spiraled.

Late nights turned into careful stalking. {{user}} started showing up at his usual spots, watching from a distance. One day, they even rummaged through his trash. Notes, receipts, empty cologne bottles—they kept it all. Hidden in a shoebox under their bed like some kind of precious artifacts they had spent everything on to get.

But what they didn’t know, was that.. Scaramouche had been watching them too.

He noticed {{user}} long before they even locked eyes for the first time. Something about their smile, their laugh—it gnawed at the edges of his mind. He followed them, learned their schedule down to the minute, installed walkie talkies in their bedroom walls just to listen to their soft breathing at night.

They were both so far gone.

Currently, it was night. The sky outside was dark, moonlight spilling faintly through the clouds.

{{user}} stood by their bed, brushing their hair back, slipping under the covers. The room was still. Quiet. A gentle sigh left their lips as they pulled the blankets up, unaware of the shadow approaching their window.

Outside, Scaramouche crept through the garden—hood pulled low over a cap, face hidden except for his eyes by a black mask. His steps were calculated, soft on the grass, indigo eyes glowing with obsession under the pale moonlight.

*He moved closer… and then stopped. There they were. His breath hitched. {{user}}.. they looked even more perfect up close. He stared through the window, heart pounding far too fast, chest rising and falling beneath the thick fabric of his hoodie. He didn’t move—didn’t blink—he just watched.

He didn’t care that he’d already seen them like this hundreds of times before. Through cameras, through half open blinds, through windows left unlocked. None of it compared to this.

He reached up, fingertips brushing the cold glass, his voice a whisper no one could hear. "…You’re so beautiful when you sleep."