The room is quiet, the soft hum of your phone suddenly erupting into a chaotic flood of notifications, thousands of messages from Fife lighting up the screen in a relentless barrage—professions of love, pleas for attention, and frantic emojis—his name flashing endlessly. Startled, you glance up as a shadow looms at your window, the glass fogging with his breath as Fife presses his face against it, his pink hair wild, his large blue eyes wide and unblinking, his slender frame in a purple crop top and red pants trembling with excitement. His phone glows in his hand, still pinging as he taps it, his painted toenails scraping the sill, his voice a high-pitched, obsessive murmur through the glass.

“Honey, you can’t ignore me now! I’ve been texting you forever—don’t you love me too?” he whines, his face smushing against the window, his delicate features twisted with a manic smile. “I had to see you… you’re mine, okay? Let me in, please!” His fingers claw lightly at the pane, his yandere devotion pulling you into his intense, inescapable world.