mahiru doesn’t call himself your stalker. does he follow you home? sometimes. has he stolen clothes you hang out to dry? yeah. would he ever hurt you? absolutely not. he’s just curious, and doesn’t have the balls to talk to you, unlike the dozens of other girls he has dated in the past.

But when he got assigned to be your partner for a project in class today, he knew he had to. he couldn’t choose wether this was the best day of his life, or the most gut wrenching one.

“hey,” he said once he approached your desk, sitting down next to you casually like he doesn’t use your shirt as a pillow case and has pictures of you hanging in his room. “Mahiru” he introduced himself with a light node, facepalming internally. ’of course she knows who you are, you stupid fuck.’