#((autoheart))

You’re used to this. Closing shifts, long walks home, empty streets. You’ve convinced yourself for months that the occasional chill running down your spine was just paranoia.

But tonight, paranoia feels real.

Because you don’t know that someone’s been following you for four months straight. Watching, memorizing, waiting.

Jeff knows, though.

And tonight, he’s finally ready to reveal himself.

From across the street, Jeff’s hooded figure shadows your steps. He’s memorized this route by now. from the Video games n' Movies store to your apartment, every turn, every flickering streetlight, every moment you hum to yourself out of boredom.

He could’ve taken you a hundred times over by now. But what fun would that be?

No, he wanted to savor it. To watch you. To learn you. To own you before you even realized it.

And tonight, when you disappear into your apartment building, he slips in just before the door shuts. Silent. Grinning.

Like a fox finally entering the pen of a flock of sheep.

The building is quiet. Too quiet. The dim overhead light flickers as you trudge down the hall, yawning, digging for your bag for keys.

Then, movement.

You glance up, and your stomach drops.

He’s standing at the far end of the hall.

Pale skin stretched into a carved smile. Wide, dark eyes gleaming with mania. A knife glinting faintly in one hand.

You freeze.

“Ohhh, don’t look at me like that,” he croons, stepping closer. His voice is playful, low and menacing, terrifying in its glee. “I’ve walking you home for months, doll. Thought it was about time we met properly.”

Your heart thunders, but your brain screams one thing: Don’t let him see fear.

So you force your voice steady. “You’re my stalker.”

He laughs, throwing his head back. “Stalker? Tch, no, no, no. I’m your admirer. Your number one fan. Big difference, .”

You slowly inch back toward your door. “Fans don’t break into people’s apartments.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he smirks, knife twirling between his fingers. “Fans do anything for the ones they're obsessed with...”

And with that, he lunges.

You bolt. Your bag drops to the floor as you sprint down the hall, adrenaline flooding your veins. The stairwell door slams open under your shove, and you pound up the stairs, breath ragged.

Behind you, Jeff laughs. Not angry. Not frustrated. Amused.

“Ohhh, this is adorable! Run, baby, run! Let’s make it interesting!”

You shove harder, racing up flight after flight, until you burst onto the rooftop. The heavy metal door slams shut behind you, and the night air hits like ice.

“Shit! I'm trapped!”

You cursed, whirling around, chest heaving. The city sprawls below, glittering with streetlights. And then,

The door creaks open.

Jeff steps out, knife in hand, grin stretching impossibly wide.

“You’re fast,” he praises, voice low and hungry. “I like that.”

You back away until your heels hit the low ledge. Cornered. Trapped.

And then, he drops the knife.

The clatter echoes across the rooftop.

Your breath catches.

“What are you—?”

“Shh.” Jeff steps closer, hands suddenly empty, expression shifting from predator to something disturbingly soft. “Relax, doll. I didn’t bring you up here to kill you.”

“Then why—?”

He grabs your hand. Warm, calloused, firm. His other slides to your waist.

And then, you’re swaying. wtf

“W-what the hell are you doing?” you stammer, stiff in his grip.

“Dancing,” he answers simply, spinning you clumsily beneath the moonlight. His grin doesn’t falter. “What, never slow danced on a rooftop with your stalker before?”

“This is insane.”

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees, pulling you flush against him, his scarred lips inches from yours. “But it’s romantic, too. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. His hold is strong, unyielding—but not cruel. He guides you like you might break, even though his voice is dark, obsessive, raw.

“I don’t even know you,” you whisper.

“Oh, baby.” His voice drops lower, eyes burning into yours. “But I know you. I know everything. I know you close the store at midnight. I know you hum when you’re nervous. I know you’re smart enough not to scream, because you figured out I’d like it too much.”

You swallow hard. He isn’t wrong.

“And here’s the thing,” Jeff continues, leaning close until his breath ghosts your cheek. “I don’t want to kill you. Not you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

Your pulse skips. “Like what?”

“Alive.”

The world blurs. It’s just the two of you swaying under the silver spill of the moon, the city humming below. His grip is forceful but weirdly careful, guiding you through a rhythm only he can hear.

You should shove him away. You should run, fight, something.

Instead, you find yourself staring at him too long, lips parted, breath uneven.

And he notices.

“Ohhh,” Jeff hums, his grin curling into something darker. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to like this.”

Your cheeks heat. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. His nose brushes yours. “But You're mine. So I guess, you're insane too.”

He spins you one last time before pulling you flush against his chest, chest heaving. His forehead presses against yours, eyes burning.

“This better been worth it because I practiced for 3 whole weeks just for you,” he whispers, staring into your soul, dead serious.

“…Damn. Well, I guess you got me..”

His breath catches. The grin splits his face wide again.

And then his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, desperate, forceful but careful. His carved smile presses heat against your mouth, his hands clutching you like you’re the only real thing in the world. It’s terrifying. It’s intoxicating. It’s wrong.

And yet—you don’t pull away.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his grin is wild, voice breathless. “You’re mine now. Forever. And if anyone tries to take you…” His eyes glint dangerously. “I’ll paint the world red.”

And maybe, just maybe… you don’t care. Lies.

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ 🥧

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