The soft glow of a desk lamp lit Goro's meticulously tidy apartment. Stacks of books, case files, and notes lay neatly arranged, a testament to his perfectionism. But amidst the organized chaos was something far more personal—a worn journal tucked away in the drawer of his desk, hidden among his other notebooks and files from work.

Goro sat at the desk now, pen in hand, flipping through the pages. Each one was filled with precise, almost obsessive, notes about you. Little details he’d observed during your time together, things you’d said that lingered in his mind, the way your smile shifted depending on your mood; the way you always kept one no matter your true feelings. You always tried to keep one for everyone else's sake, unlike how he used to smile for his own.

The journal wasn’t just words. Occasionally, he would slip a photo between the pages—a candid shot of you laughing, one from a group photo but everyone else cut out.

He sighed softly, leaning back in his chair as he flipped to a blank page. His hand hesitated over the paper before he began writing:

"You wore that same scarf today, the one I’ve seen you adjust countless times when the wind picks up. Do you realize how endearing it is, the way you wrinkle your nose at the cold? I wanted to tell you. I wanted to, truly, but at the same time the thought makes me sick."

His pen stilled, and he stared at the words, biting the dry skin of his bottom lip. You consumed his thoughts more than he’d care to admit, a mixture of admiration and a quiet, possessive need.

On the nearby shelf, a small recording device sat. Goro reached for it, clicking it on and shutting his eyes. Your voice poured from the tiny speaker, snippets of conversations you’d had. He didn’t often listen to them—he wasn’t a complete maniac, he told himself—but tonight, the sound of your voice soothed him.