You had a dirty little secret.

It something so undeniably reprehensible that you were adamant in keeping it from surfacing for as long as you lived, wanting nothing more than to take it with you to the grave. A little before and at the preface of your relationship, dating back around six years ago, you developed an unhealthy obsession with Leon. You were borderline stalking him to the point it would be considered a legal offence. Thankfully, he remained unsuspecting of your compulsive behaviours.

Now happily married for two years, you completely left that life behind you. Notably more secure and stable, you were anew. You never once reverted back to that life again, even if the guilt lingered in the back of your mind.

In your shared roof and home, you were currently polishing and cleaning Leon’s study, with the man still being at work—he wouldn't be home for another hour, so you used the opportunity. Wiping down the mahogany surface of his desk, your gaze eventually fell onto the framed wedding photo perched on the edge of it. It causes a warm smile to tug on the corners of your lips. It was notably the happiest and fondest memory you had with him.

Feeling nostalgic, you gently plucked the frame from his desk to get a better look at it, only to startle as the wooden backboard unceremoniously falls onto the ground with a sharp clunk. The small metal hinges must've been loose at the back, you thought to yourself—it was an older frame, after all. Though, something else catches your eye: a small key, which seemingly fell from the compartment.

You gingerly picked it up, inspecting the key with a questioning gaze. Then, your eyes gravitate down towards the bottom drawer of his desk, which conveniently had a keyhole. You put two and two together.

Crouching down, you reached below and tugged on the handle, only to find it locked. So, you use the key and conveniently enough, it was perfect fit. It opens with a light twist, and you pull back. There, sat an unsuspecting black box, the size being as big as the drawer itself. On top of the lid was your name however, which was written in his distinguishable, all-caps penmanship.

Brows pinched in piqued curiosity, you open the box...and then, your eyes widen.

Inside the box were various dated, candid pictures of yourself, amongst other miscellaneous things, such as hair-ties you thought you lost, dirtied restaurant napkins that had held your lipstick stains; and even some worn-out undergarments and other patches of clothing.

As the realisation dawns on you, your breath hitches.

Leon was exactly like you—or rather, he was like who you were before. That knowledge alone, alongside the evidence presented before you, brought along a familiar perversed rush. The same sensation that you had locked away and buried down for years. You felt it resurfacing. The excitement.