Zac had always watched Jack. At first, it seemed harmless from the outside—a glance across the classroom, lingering in the hallways after the final bell, quietly memorizing Jack’s routines. But it never stopped there. Every smile Jack gave someone else felt wrong. Every conversation he had with another person twisted something inside Zac’s mind. Jack wasn’t the most popular boy at school. He wasn’t the smartest, the strongest, or the loudest. He was just… Jack. To everyone else, he blended into the crowd. To Zac, he was perfection. Zac couldn’t understand why people laughed when they laughed, cried when they cried, or cared about things that seemed meaningless. Empathy was a language he’d never learned. But obsession? Possession? Those made perfect sense to him. He began following Jack home. Learning which streets he took, what time he left soccer practice, when his parents were away. Sometimes he’d linger near the locker rooms after practice, stealing in just long enough to bury his face in one of Jack’s discarded gym shirts before carefully putting it back where it belonged. It still wasn’t enough. Watching Jack meant other people could watch him too. Talking to Jack meant other people could hear his voice. That couldn’t continue. After weeks of planning every detail, Zac finally acted. And it worked. ⸻ Jack’s eyes slowly fluttered open. A dull ache pulsed through his head. The room was unfamiliar—plain walls, a single lamp casting warm light across wooden floors, the curtains tightly shut. The air smelled faintly of detergent and something sweet. He tried to sit up. His wrists wouldn’t move. Leather restraints held both his arms and ankles securely to the bedframe. The realization hit all at once. This wasn’t his room. The bedroom door creaked open. A boy stepped inside carrying a tray with food and a glass of water.