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He liked to think he knew you pretty well. This included your full name, address, your birthday, assumed from body language and gifts regarding the few people you occasionally hung out with, family member names, your relationship with them, your major - same as his, photography - and where you worked. The last one was surprisingly the easiest to find. All he had to do was follow you and stay hidden, something he was exceptionally good at.
Like a one-way mirror, you couldn't see him, but he could see you perfectly, in all your beauty.
You were different, inside and out, like a red rose in a sea of white petals. You didn't look at him like he was a scourge on the planet, like he was some kind of pest that just wandered around the filthy floors. At least, that's what he gathered the first time you saw him. A simple smile was all it took.
In some sick way he didn't really consider it stalking. More like protecting you from the corruption of everyone else in this damn school. Or trying to, as much as one can try without talking to any of them.
The thoughts that pricked his mind like thorns were teetering on the thin line between moderately off-putting and fucked up - a mix of 'it's not like I'm hurting anyone' and 'you're a goddamn creep, you know that?'
None of that would stop him, as much as they tried to. You were the one good thing he had to look forward to every day, the only thing that dragged him out of bed and pushed him through the dingy apartment door.
Simon didn't think today would be any different. He'd finish up his classes, wander around a bit, wait for you to finish classes, watch you go about your daily business, and go home. Unless you did something particularly exciting, neither did he. Just like him, he noted, you didn't go out too often aside from work. Most people would find that drab, boring maybe, but Simon felt the opposite. The fact that you would be able to understand how he felt only made him want you more. Of course, he wanted to see you happy, but deep down he wished you would be lonely, leaving the perfect hole in your heart for him to fill.
Today, you hadn't stopped to talk to your friends and had instead gotten to class 20 minutes early. Maybe to study, like the good student you were. Maybe you were just bored. Either way, seeing you so early was definitely a pleasant surprise.
Simon's eyes follow you as your footsteps echo in the large room. The place was practically empty - only a couple of other people either studying or lazing around kept him company. As you pass him in the row below, he suppresses the urge to reach out and grab you by the shoulder, to urge you to linger there a bit longer. To keep you somewhere safe and take care of you, to worship you. Shit, stop it. Then you'd really be a weirdo. Seriously, what the fuck is...
"Nice bag."
There you were, standing right in front of him in all your glory, full attention on his eyes.
That was it. Those two words had his heart pounding like a damn drum. Looking into your soft gaze and genuine smile did nothing to remedy this, and he wondered how he'd muster up the courage to say a single thing to you face to face for the first time.
Simon had promised himself he wouldn't ruin a good thing if he didn't have to. As long as you didn't notice him, this game could continue for as long as he pleased, really. But the opportunity was too perfect, as if some divine being had formulated the situation by hand.
"Oh. Thanks."
You flash him one last smile before returning to pull out your notes, smile quickly fading into a focused expression, head tilted just slightly to follow your writing. He can't help the way his eyes linger on your paper, flickering between a book and the lined sheet, fingers delicately positioned to keep the paper still and unwrinkled.
"Uh--do we have..."
"Yeah?" You haven't looked up even though your head's pointed in his direction. You even make the effort to indicate where your attention was when speaking. Wow.
"Is there a test coming up...or something?"
"Yeah, next week." Your gaze lifts to meet his, brows raised. "You didn't know?"
"Must've forgotten." Simon rests his head on gloved hands, studying the split ends of your hair as you throw him a questioning look. Lost for words, he stares back as he tries to grasp a coherent sentence.
Stop. We're done.
"...Could I borrow your notes for a second?"
Goddammit.
"Sure," You say, quickly turning and adding a final flourish to your writing. His hand nearly touches yours as you reach up to hand him the paper, neat and legible, unlike his own scribbled-in-a-rush notes. "Falling asleep back there?" You chuckle quietly, voice a low hum. "I hardly ever see you write anything."
See me? "Oh, yeah...I just, uh..." Simon's notes look more like doodles of you from the little bits and pieces he has memorized instead of what you had written down. "Don't sleep much at home."
"How come?"
"Couldn't tell you," he mutters. Too busy thinking of keeping you by my side. "I guess the street's loud."
"That's a given. I kind of like it. It's comforting in a way, you know?"
"Yeah, I get it." The sketch is coming together pretty well. You've turned around in your chair completely, giving him a better view of your features when he occasionally looks up during conversation. Only about 5 minutes have passed, but people are starting to file in, including your friends.
"You live around here?" You shift forward slightly.
"Just down the street. You?"
"A mile away, max. You drive, or...?" He knows exactly where you mean.
"No, walking." Shame creeps up Simon's neck. He should've learned to drive when his mother urged him to.
"Me too. I can't drive yet."
The knot in his chest releases. Safe for now.
As quickly as he can he finishes lightly shading the sketch and leans forward to pass your notes back. You nod at him with a grin, and before he can say thank you, dark, slimy thoughts briefly flash through his head again. For a moment, he considers how easy it would be to stop you on the street by force, to push you down by the neck and persuade you to love him, one way or another. The darkness would be more than enough to keep him from seeing the terror on your face, or the way tears crawl down your cheeks.
Then he thinks about how nice it would be to have you love him genuinely, of your own volition, no strings attached. Just loving him for existing.
The first one would be simpler, but...
"Thanks a lot." His hand shoots up maybe a bit too fast out of gratitude.
"Anytime. Try not to fall asleep too often, yeah?"
Anything for you.
"Hah. Sure."