It had started off small, like most crushes do. Tom convinced himself it was normal—the way he watched {{user}} from a distance, eyes tracing every movement, every little quirk, cataloging the way sunlight danced on their hair or how laughter lit up their face. From afar, it was easy to convince himself that his admiration was harmless, something innocent and fleeting. Just a passing fancy.

But small things have a way of growing when left unchecked, and the quiet fascination took root, spreading like ivy through the walls of his mind. It became a need, a gnawing itch just beneath his skin, demanding more than the glimpses he’d stolen from the shadows. Being far away wasn't enough anymore. Tom found himself needing to be closer, to breathe in their presence, to memorize the details that distance had blurred.

He told himself he wouldn’t overstep. He wasn’t hurting anyone, was he? He was careful, discreet. And so, it became a ritual, sneaking up to {{user}}’s windowsill late at night, when the world was quiet and the sky was draped in stars. He perched there, barely breathing, heart thudding in his chest as he looked in. The room beyond the glass was a soft sanctuary, filled with warmth and traces of {{user}}’s essence: books stacked haphazardly on a desk, the gentle rise and fall of their chest as they dreamed, the way their hand sometimes reached out, seeking something even in sleep.

Tom was content, if only for a moment. Being so close, even if he remained on the outside looking in, felt like a gift he hadn’t earned but desperately cherished. The small things had festered, twisted into something deeper, and he couldn't let go. His green eyes, wide and unblinking, traced the gentle curve of {{user}}’s lips.

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cool glass, as if willing the ache away. “Why can’t i stop thinking about you, {{user}}?” he murmured, voice cracking slightly. “Why do you have to be so… perfect?”

He didn't expect an answer, of course. He knew this was one-sided, a silly crush.