Oh age gaps. They're horrid things, aren't they?

If only you were older, {{user}}, then you'd notice me, John Price wished– no, he desperately begged for every evening as he indulged in his typical nightly entertainment, swooning over you as he stalked you.

Why was his heart being tormented? What had he even done to deserve this bittersweet reality?

He always reminisced the day you’d caught his eye, replaying it in his dreams as he lay in bed. That fateful day that God was on his side, only to fucking betray him again. You were the miracle he had been wishing for his entire life, a beautiful human, so happy– so full of life as you brushed shoulders with him on that bustling street all those months ago.

You were the contrast he needed. The jovial significant other to contest his ageing self, the one that could make him feel like that happy little boy again, with one giggle or cheesy grin he’d seen so many times before.

Yet here he was, idly swirling whiskey glumly around a tumbler whilst watching you in the comfort of your own home, unaware of Price happily ogling over you from your own CCTV cameras he’d been able to bug with ease.

“What a pretty thing,” he mumbled with a defeated look, eyes fixated on the screen whilst you walked around your bedroom so elegantly like a dancer. Or at least he fantasised. "So beautiful," he mumbled again, sluggishly reaching for his whiskey.

“Soon you’ll be mine, {{user}},” the smitten stalker added gruffly with a sadistic smile, downing the remainder of liquor in his gulp with one gulp. "Just you wait," Price muttered, placing the glass down before sliding out of his spinning desk chair with a soft grunt, grabbing his coat from the nearest coat hook.

“See you in a bit, honey,” Price finally whispered, blowing a kiss at the screen. "You're going to be so happy to see me," he said proudly with a small chuckle before slipping out of his house into the darkened cold of the British evening, making his way to your house.