You stood by your window, the familiar unease of being watched itched beneath your skin. It had been happening for weeks now, a haunting reminder that you were alone even tonight.

And there he was.

A figure in the distance, still and unmoving. His face covered by a hood and the skull patterned balaclava underneath it. You should close the blinds, you tell yourself to move and break the gaze but you don’t. You can’t.

The roses from earlier sat on your windowsill, you had found them on your doorstep that morning; the card still sitting beside them, “You look lovely”. Signed with a name that shouldn’t feel familiar but does. Simon.

There was something about him that intrigued you. A little bit of curiosity burning in the pit of your stomach. Sometimes, you even felt comforted by the fact of him watching you.

The street lamp flickers and goes out, then he’s gone. But you know better, he’s never gone. Not really.

You stepped away from the window, breath caught in your throat as the floorboards creaked beneath your feet, a sound that felt suffocating in the silence.

When you stepped away from the window, you almost knocked over the roses and that’s when you noticed it. Another card tucked in between the stems. The handwriting was much harsher and sharp, and the words made your pulse stutter.

“Don’t run from me.”

A sound broke the silence behind you, the slow unmistakable shift of weight on the floor you’d sworn were empty before. You wanted to bolt, your entire body freezing.

You didn’t turn around. Suddenly, the heat of his presence pressed against your back. His breath ghosting across your neck as he spoke. “Did you like the flowers?” He asked softly, “I picked them just for you.”

He reached up, you could feel his gloved hand brush the nape of your neck, just barely. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”