The first thing you notice about him is how carefully ordinary he tries to appear.
The class president is always composed—perfect posture, perfect attendance, perfect smile that never lingers too long on anyone in particular. He speaks softly, like every word has been rehearsed for approval. Teachers trust him. Students rely on him. Even the room seems calmer when he’s present.
But there are moments—small, almost dismissible moments—where something about him slips.
Like the way his gaze lingers just a fraction too long on your desk after you leave your seat. Or how he’s always the one to “find” things people lose, returning them with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. No one thinks much of it. He’s just helpful. Dependable.
Except you start noticing patterns you can’t unsee.
A missing hair tie you swear was on your wrist. A pen you remember placing on your desk, gone before the end of the period. A hoodie you left draped over your chair that somehow makes its way back to you later—folded neatly, smelling faintly different, like it’s been kept somewhere enclosed for too long.
And always, it’s him who is nearby.
The truth is not loud when you discover it. It doesn’t arrive like a revelation—it creeps in, quiet and suffocating, like realizing a room has been slowly filling with water.
Hidden behind the locked drawer of his desk—where no student is supposed to look—you find it.
A collection.
Not random. Not careless. Arranged with precision that feels almost reverent. A hair tie you wore last week, stretched slightly as if handled too often. A folded note you don’t remember losing. A button from a uniform sleeve. A piece of fabric cut cleanly from something you once wore, kept like it matters more than it should.
Everything labeled. Everything preserved.
Not as souvenirs.
As proof.
There’s something deeply wrong in the way it’s organized—like he’s cataloging you, not your belongings. Like each object is a fixed point anchoring him to something only he understands. The air in the drawer feels too still, too controlled, as if even dust isn’t allowed to behave freely in there.
And then you realize the worst part.
Nothing in that drawer looks stolen in haste.
It looks collected. Patiently. Repeatedly. Over time.
As if he never once doubted that he would be allowed to keep it.
And when you finally become aware of him standing behind you—quiet, perfectly composed as always—you understand something you can’t easily shake:
He doesn’t see this as obsession.
He sees it as responsibility.
Like you are something fragile the world keeps misplacing… and he is the only one careful enough to keep you safe by keeping pieces of you where they can’t disappear.
His voice, when he finally speaks, is gentle.
Almost proud.
“I thought you’d notice eventually.”
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If your instinct is to reach for your guy’s cell phone when he is out of the room, to check and see who is has been texting, who he has called, and who has called him, then the relationship is carrying a huge RED FLAG!
You should never ever feel a hint of doubt about where your guy’s loyalties lie, and if you do- then he isn’t the one for you!
If your guy is giving you mixed messages by being affectionate and attentive one minute, and then distant and unresponsive another minute, you may quite rightly harbor doubts about what he is doing and thinking. You may feel inclined to “spy” on him or “stalk” him a bit.
That behavior is needy, clingy and a huge turn off! Avoid the temptation to behave like that!
Trust me when I tell you that this is a very unhealthy dynamic.
If you have any reason at all to doubt your boyfriend’s loyalty towards you then please pull back now.
Pull way way back.
That means NO texting him. NO calling him. NO emailing him.
It means that when he calls you, DO NOT always answer and do not immediately respond to his texts.
If he is into you he will take the cue that you are less available and less interested and he will come forward and pursue you with all of his wonderful male energy.
But if in fact he is less interested than before, he will be relieved to feel you are in his orbit less.
This is the best and only way to find out where you stand, short of confronting him - which also makes you appear suspicious, insecure and needy.
If you feel the need to spy on your guy, distance is the route you must try!
So, my cubicle at work used to be right next to this guy. Very quiet. Occasionally, he'd throw his headset, or kick at the divider. We work in a call center, we thought it was a little much, but its whatever... maybe he just couldn't deal with a lot of bad calls.
Incident 1 that I thought nothing of:
A girl at work was offering me a ride home and I told her where my apartment building was right in front of him.
Incident 2 that I thought nothing of
I was adding a friend from work on Facebook and he asked if I'd add him, too. He hadn't done anything too bad, to my knowledge yet, so I added him.
Not long after these events, he would tell at work and once over Facebook "I was/am just down the street from your place at x" .
I thought this was weird, so I was just like "oh... ok."
But, Monday.... Monday was over the line. I was walking somewhere in town and I got a Facebook message on my phone "is that you walking down (my street) wearing such and such?" When I didn't respond (bc wtf, that's scary), he sent a series of question marks.
Then, he proceeded to ask me, the next day, in person at work if it was me. I just said "maybe".
That last incident pushed me to report him.
In the days since, I've told a few other ppl bc I don't want to be alone with him and I don't want him to do this to others. I've heard several stories of him saying inappropriate things to and about other women.
Your safety is the most important thing, but if it's safe to report, please do, bc now that he knows I turned him in, I'm a little scared. My story ALONE is not enough to get him fired. And if he does get fired, I'm afraid he'll blame me
At first, your yandere neighbor is simply... there.
The kind of person everyone recognizes but no one really knows. He's polite enough to earn a nod in passing, quiet enough that nobody remembers the sound of his voice, and ordinary enough to disappear into the background of the neighborhood. If you pass him while checking the mail, he offers a small smile. If your eyes meet across the street, he waves once before returning to whatever he's doing.
You barely think about him.
The unsettling part is...
He never stops thinking about you.
He never asks what time you leave for work.
He doesn't need to.
He knows the porch light flicks on at exactly 7:03 every weekday morning. He knows you always hesitate for a second before locking your front door, patting your pockets to make sure your keys are still there. He knows that if it's raining, you leave eight minutes earlier than usual, and that every Thursday you stop halfway down the driveway because you almost always forget something inside.
No one tells him these things.
He simply... watches.
Day after day.
Week after week.
Until your life becomes less of a mystery and more of a schedule he's memorized with religious precision.
You don't notice at first.
People are creatures of habit.
Everyone has routines.
But then strange things begin happening.
The package you forgot was arriving is already tucked safely beneath your porch awning before the storm begins. Your garbage bin is rolled back to your house before you even realize collection has come and gone. One morning, after oversleeping by nearly an hour, you rush outside expecting to be late...
...only to find your windshield already scraped clean of ice.
You don't remember asking anyone for help.
Across the street, your neighbor is watering flowers that somehow never seem to need watering.
He smiles.
Like he knew you'd be looking.
The feeling grows slowly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
The uncomfortable certainty that someone has begun anticipating you.
You change your grocery day.
He's already in the next aisle.
You take a different jogging route.
You pass him walking a dog you've never seen before.
You leave home two hours earlier than usual.
His curtains move.
Just once.
Like he'd been waiting to see whether you would leave.
The worst part isn't that he's following you.
It's that he rarely has to.
You've become so predictable that your routine follows itself.
Why chase someone...
...when you already know where they'll be?
One evening, the power goes out across the neighborhood.
The street falls into complete darkness.
As you fumble for your phone's flashlight, there's a knock at your door.
Three slow knocks.
Patient.
Measured.
When you open it, your neighbor is standing there holding a lantern.
"I figured you'd need this."
You stare.
You never told him your flashlight batteries died last week.
You never mentioned it to anyone.
Before you can ask, he tilts his head ever so slightly.
"You always check the junk drawer first."
Silence.
"...Then the cabinet above the refrigerator."
Your stomach tightens.
"...Then you remember the batteries are dead."
His smile never changes.
"I thought I'd save you the trouble."
After that, you begin testing him.
You deliberately leave at random hours.
You switch coffee shops.
You drive home using different roads.
For a while, it works.
Then...
It doesn't.
No matter how chaotic your routine becomes, he somehow seems to adapt faster than you can change it.
It's as if he's no longer memorizing your habits.
He's memorizing you.
The way you think.
The choices you'll make under stress.
The tiny unconscious decisions you don't even realize are predictable.
One night, unable to shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong, you glance through your bedroom window.
Across the street...
A silhouette stands motionless behind his curtains.
Not hidden.
Not ashamed.
Watching.
As though the distance between your houses is nothing more than an inconvenience.
When your eyes meet, the silhouette doesn't duck away.
It raises a hand.
A slow, familiar wave.
The kind neighbors give each other every day.
Only now...
...it feels less like a greeting.
And more like confirmation.
"There you are."
Not the words of someone who happened to see you.
The words of someone who always knew exactly where you'd be.
likes, comments, reblogs & follows are always appreciated. thank you for reading!
oh my god why
a while ago I had to block this dude I met all of twice who ended up calling me multiple times and finding my facebook despite me specifically not giving him my last name, and who would not take no for an answer, and now he found my google+ site and I’m just
Could you fucking leave me alone please for the love of god
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