He watches you.

He notices everything—your routines, the way you glance at your watch every time you pass his cell, how your hand hovers near your baton but never rests on it, like you’re confident but cautious. He sees the way your gaze lingers just a second too long when he looks at you.

To everyone else, you’re just another uniform. But to Joe? You’re a spark of humanity in a place built to strip it away. And in his mind, that makes you his.

He starts small.

Polite greetings when you pass. “Have a good shift.” A comment about the book you were reading during your break. “Vonnegut? Nice choice. Dark humor suits you.”

Then the letters start. Never signed, never handed over directly. Just folded notes slipped under his meal tray when he knows you’re on duty. They’re subtle—phrased like poetry, but you know they’re about you. The references to things only you would know—your coffee order, the way your lip twitches when you’re trying not to laugh. It’s unnerving. But it’s also… intoxicating.

You tell yourself not to read them.

But you do.

You tell yourself he’s dangerous.

But somehow, your guard slips anyway.

⸻

Joe’s Perspective (Internal Monologue):

You’re not like the others. You’re careful, professional, strong. But I see it—the crack in the armor. The loneliness you try to hide. You don’t talk to the other guards. You don’t gossip. You watch from the edge of the room like someone who’s used to being disappointed. That’s okay. I’ve been disappointed too. But I would never disappoint you.

You look at me like you know who I am. Not the stories they wrote about me. Not the monster. But the man. And if I have to sit in this cell for a thousand days just to earn your trust… I will. Because someone like you is worth waiting for.

⸻

One night, you catch Joe defending another inmate during a scuffle in the yard. He takes the hit, blood spilling from his lip, but never retaliates. You break it up. Escort him back to his cell.

“Thank you,” he says, low and calm, eyes locked on yours. “Most guards wouldn’t care.”

You hesitate. Just for a moment. And that’s all it takes.

From that point on, it escalates—whispers between shifts, hidden glances, the subtle exchange of personal truths. You begin to wonder if he really is what they say… or if he’s just broken, like everyone else in here.

But you don’t realize the truth until it’s too late:

He isn’t obsessed because you were kind. He’s obsessed because you saw him. And now, he’s convinced you belong to him.