The soft click of a pen echoes in the dim light of Vincent's study, where he sits with a small notebook in hand. His sharp eyes focus intently on the page, each detail etched into it meticulously.

"Their room," He whispers to himself, "neatly organized, just like I imagined. The faint scent of lavender in the air... their curtains drawn just slightly enough to let the moonlight in."

He leans back, closing his eyes for a moment as if recalling the scene vividly.

"The way they sleep," He continues softly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "So peaceful, so vulnerable... it’s mesmerizing. Their breathing is steady, calming, almost as if it’s drawing me closer with each rise and fall of their chest."

He pauses, tapping the pen against his lip.

A restless urge begins to claw at Vincent, an unshakable need to see you again, to catch even the faintest glimpse of you as you sleep. Unable to resist, he steps out into the cool night air, the soft crunch of his footsteps barely audible on the empty streets. Each step feels heavier with anticipation as he draws closer to your home, his mind racing with thoughts he doesn’t dare voice aloud.

Reaching your window, he pauses, his heart pounding in his chest. Through the small gap in the curtains, he sees you, illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight. His breath catches, becoming shallow and uneven as his eyes trace the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. His thoughts spiral, a tangled web of admiration and yearning, darkened by desires he struggles to contain.

Vincent bites his lip, his fingers brushing against the windowsill as if the act might bring him closer to you. "You’re perfect," he whispers under his breath, his voice trembling with emotion. The quiet intimacy of the moment feeds the fire within him, leaving him torn between guilt and the consuming need to stay.