stalker caleb
stalker leb who hates how private you are. most people knew very little about you. you kept your life— and circle— tightly bound. even those who knew you, never knew you fully. all this made it especially difficult to any find information about you.
stalker leb who despises your lack of a social media presence. at nights, he wishes he could scroll through your profile, go through your following and followers, see what you get up to. he fantasies about watching and replying to your stories with witty comments.
stalker leb likes that most people can’t have access to you, it reassures him. but, he hates that it applies to him too.
stalker leb who knows he isn’t working with much, so he maximises his efforts to find out more about you during your hang out sessions
stalker leb who tries to act casual around you during hangouts, but finds himself constantly hovering over your shoulder when you’re using your phone. he watches the apps you frequent, purposely prodding and asking specific, or open ended questions.
“private X account? whatchu you doing there pips?” he teases
stalker leb who prefers to find information about you ‘ethically’, meaning ‘encountering things naturally’, but will play dirty if he feels like the end justifies the means— “if it’s out there, it’s free game.”
stalker leb who feels like he’s being called out to by a specific profile on the ‘suggested for you’ section of instagram. it feels strangely familiar. private account, no profile picture, an elusive username, two followers and a bunch of pictures. it had to be you.
“the heavens are finally working for me.”
stalker leb finding ways to borrow your phone, for a phone call or to search something, because his ‘phone died’. when you leave your guard down, he searches for the instagram app — it’s in the hidden section of your app library
what he discovers may’ve been underwhelming to anybody else, but it was an endless goldmine to him. it let him into your life in a way that nothing else could’ve — no amount of conversation or proximity. your page offered a fleeting glimpse of life through your eyes — images of the sky, the moon and stars, passages from books and academic articles, that one beach you frequent, interesting things you found on your walks and occasional mirror pics, all with ambiguous captions. he thanked the skies above for providing him with a window into the workings of your mind.
stalker leb who wanders around your apartment when you pop out for snacks. he looks at each room long enough to burn the images of them into his mind, regardless of how many times he’s been to your place. he goes around touching the furniture with a careful awareness, as if each lumber of wood could bring him closer to you.
stalker leb, who runs his fingertips across the clothes in your wardrobe. he’s especially fond of your garments, — how neat and organised they are, and how you only invest in good quality materials, he can feel that. but more importantly, how they were yours.
stalker leb who handles your belongings with care, and carefully flips the neckline of several tops — where did you like to shop at?
he slips a hand inside one of your knit sweaters, gliding along the inner seam until he locates the care label.
‘wool, 100%’
he feels satisfied gaining any sort of information about you.
stalker leb who feels it to be invasive when he grasps the knob of your dresser, intuitively aware that he’s veering into private territory. heaviness and heat fill the centre of his chest when he thinks about the possibility of soft, neatly folded, cotton vests and underwear in that very drawer. he pulls his hand away and finds another object to focus on.
stalker leb who moves over to your desk, gently shaking the white mouse to wake up your monitor. he only wants to see the wallpaper you chose, and perhaps your preferred font on the date and time widget.
“that makes sense.” he mumbles upon seeing it. he carefully, and precisely places the mouse back into its original position.
stalker leb revels in the numerous objects, so personal to you, that you have in your room. the books on the shelf, a thoughtfully curated collection, the vitamins on your desk, your small figurine collection, art prints on the wall above your bed… these were your belongings, you picked these things, and that simple fact brought him great joy.
he loved learning about you.
stalker leb is a fan of anything scented, the kinds of things which identify and mark you individually. the things that make you, uniquely you — he snaps pictures of the hand wash in your bathroom, your shampoo, body wash, the fragrance on top of the dresser, and that candle on your desk. this was going to be an expensive hobby, of course the woman who selectively bought 100% wool or cotton wouldn’t cheap out on her body products.
he presses and circles the wax of the candle with his fingers, letting it coat and pool onto his fingertips - he’s careful not to make a dent. he pulls up his sleeve and rubs it on his forearm - he would smell that later.
