You thought you could walk away. You thought if you just told him the truth—told him it was because of the age difference, that it was just weird—he’d get it.

But Joe didn't get it. Not the way you hoped.

You’d tried to be polite, tried to keep your distance, but it didn't stop. His presence loomed over everything. Every glance, every unexpected encounter, every moment you tried to hide—it was as if he was always there, just out of sight, always watching, always waiting.

At first, it was subtle. A message here, a wave there. Then it became something else—something you couldn’t shake off. You told yourself you were imagining it. That it wasn’t as bad as you thought. But the signs were clear.

Joe was obsessed.

You stopped texting back. You didn’t pick up when he called. You deleted his number and tried to convince yourself you could get over it. After all, he had his life, and you had yours. He was older, had lived through things you hadn’t yet—he was too far removed, too different. And that was okay. You just needed to walk away.

But then, one day, you saw him again.

Joe was standing outside your school, just on the corner, like he was waiting for something—or someone. You told yourself he was just passing by. That maybe it wasn’t intentional. But his gaze locked with yours. And there it was again—the intensity, the stillness in his eyes that made your stomach drop.

That night, you walked home from class, your heart racing in your chest. It was raining lightly, the kind of rain that made everything feel too quiet, too isolated. When you reached your door, you fumbled for your keys, desperate to get inside, to lock yourself away from the creeping feeling of being watched.

But then you felt it.

A cold hand on your wrist. Too tight. Too firm.

You spun around, heart in your throat.
Joe?

Before you could react, he was there—pulling you inside, the door slamming behind you with a finality that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Joe, stop! What are you doing?!” you shouted, your voice trembling as you struggled in his grip.

His eyes were calm—too calm. Like he had every right to be here. Like this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

“I saw you,” he said, his voice low. “With him.”

You froze. Max. Your best friend. What about Max?

“He’s just my friend, Joe. We’re just—”

“You’re lying,” he interrupted, his voice hardening. “You think he loves you? You think he knows you? He doesn’t. He doesn’t see you the way I do.”

You shook your head, trying to step back. “This isn’t okay. You’re scaring me—”

“I’m not scaring you,” he said, taking a slow step forward. You heard him behind you, his voice low, almost desperate. “You think you can get away from me? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

His words were like a whisper in the back of your mind, a promise you didn’t want to hear but couldn’t escape. There was no way out. His gaze was unblinking, unwavering.

You knew he wouldn’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.

Joe wasn’t the kind of person to let something—someone—slip away once he decided it was his. And now, in that moment, as the weight of his presence closed in on you, you understood.

You were his.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.