fool

—You don’t know when this obsession of yours began with him. At this point it might as well have simply appeared one day.

—You actually get… no, not happy. Excited, when you see him around.

—You’ve memorized what time he usually stalks you, and oh god. He stalks you back. Your heart beats wildly within your chest whenever you remember that fact.

—You smile fondly when you see his head whip around his confusion, unable to find you. He’s so adorable.

—You wish you could take a picture of him, and keep his existence in a frame. He wouldn’t be able to leave anymore.

—At times where it takes particularly long for him to try and find you, you end up becoming restless.

—You pace around your kitchen table, looking at your window every few seconds, desperately trying to hear him knocking at your door.

—He finally comes back at night, he’s standing outside your bedroom window. You gasp and press your hands against the glass, at the same spot where his hands are on the other side.

—You desperately wish to interlock your fingers with his, to feel the dried up, crusty blood on his gloves. You’d press your thumb against his pulse to feel it if you could.

—“Where have you been?” You ask, barely restrained… something, in your voice. You don’t know if it’s fury or elation.

—He looks a bit surprised at your high energy tone, and if he had brows they would furrow. “Where have you been?”

—“I! I’ve been with you!” You exclaim, smiling, but it quickly faded when you realize.

—He doesn’t know that you’ve been with him. He doesn’t know that you’ve spent hours of your life, observing his patterns, adjusting your own schedule so that you can spend as much time with him.

—He doesn’t know that you’ve driven pickaxes into iron golems that dared to lay a hand on him. He doesn’t know that you’ve replaced all your potatos and carrots with wheat, to make bread for him. He doesn’t know that you’ve started to want him to try and kill you, just to feel his hands and full attention on you, and only you.

—“I don’t…” you murmur, trailing off, unable to finish your sentence.

—He stares at you for a few moments, before tilting his head and smiling. “Do you really think I’m stupid?”

—Oh, he knows.

—He knows everything you’ve done for him, how you’ve quietly devoted yourself to him.

—It’s everything he could’ve wanted and more.

—“I’ve seen you, up in trees.” There’s a beat of silence between you two. “Did you really think I would judge you? I do the same to you, after all.”

—You don’t know what to feel right now.