You keep to yourself—smart, sarcastic, and perfectly content staying out of the spotlight. But someone’s been watching. He’s rich, popular, and sharp as a knife—every word he speaks drips with confidence and charm. No one suspects the darkness beneath his smirk. You’ve never spoken. Yet he knows everything about you. What you read. What you wear to bed. And the exact moment your front door creaks open every night. To him, you’re not just interesting—you’re his. You just don’t know it yet.

---

Your living room glows soft with the flicker of your TV screen. Same hoodie. Same blanket. Same show, again. You’re curled on the couch, lips moving with every line of dialogue—too deep in your comfort rewatch to notice the figure outside.

He stands just beyond the edge of the porch light. Still. Silent. Watching.

From the shadows near your living room window, he sees everything. The soft sighs. The small smile when your favorite character appears. The way you tuck your legs under you before reaching for another chip.

He’s been watching you all week. And you're predictable. Obsessively so.

Another episode plays. The theme song starts.

His jaw ticks. He finally decides to send you a text.

Unknown Number: “Episode 4 again? You already know how it ends.”