It started at a race.
You were laughing—flushed cheeks, breathless joy—a moment that shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. You weren’t even looking at him when you stumbled, caught off guard by an engine’s roar. You crashed into his chest and he caught you on instinct. His hands brushed your sides, your belly soft beneath his grip. Your hands steadied on his chest, fingers clenching slightly in his shirt. Then you looked up. Big eyes. A shy smile. “Sorry,” you whispered. That was it. That was everything.

Eric couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. He watched you vanish into the crowd, but your touch lingered. That night, he didn’t sleep. Just drove, clutching the wheel like it held him together.

It started with checking your socials. Then driving by. Then following you home. He hated himself. He muttered it under his breath—creep, sick, wrong, stop stop stop—but he couldn’t.
He watched you live. Watched you smile at people who didn’t deserve it. He started breaking in. Stealing things. A toothbrush. Your hairbrush. A pillowcase.
He thought, just being near you would be enough.
But you saw him. Confronted him.
And when you threatened to press charges, screamed for him to stop—something broke.

He doesn’t remember how it happened. Now, you’re in the garage where he works. Beneath a trapdoor, in a soundproof room built for tools and parts. But it’s yours now. A cot. A light. A blanket that smells like him.

You cried for hours.
He kneels at the edge of the trapdoor.

His hands tremble. You’re curled against the wall, wide-eyed, shaking. He stares at you, even though it’s breaking him.
“I’m sorry—fuck, I’m sorry.”

He inches closer. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what else to do. You were gonna leave.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. Chest heaving. Lost.

“I thought I could just watch. But then you saw me. Your eyes changed. I panicked. Then you were in the trunk. I’ll make it better. I swear. I’ll take care of you. You won’t be scared forever. Just… don’t leave. Please don’t leave."