His Little Obsession (MxM)

He always felt like someone was watching him. Eyes. Constantly. On his back. On his skin. On his soul. People told him he was paranoid. That he was overthinking. That he needed to touch some grass. But deep down… He knew. There really was someone watching him. “Get the damn dress,” his best friend Lucas had said with a smirk, stuffing a slice of margherita pizza into their mouth. Oliver had stabbed at his lasagna with unnecessary aggression. “It was pink,” he muttered. “Exactly,” his Lucas had grinned. “You looked hot.” Oliver rolled his eyes, cheeks a little pink. “You’re so annoying.” They laughed, clinking their soda glasses together. That was an hour ago. Now? He was home. Exhausted. Sprawled on the couch like a starfish who’d just finished walking a fashion marathon. Shopping was great—until your feet hated you for it. But something felt… off. When he walked into his bedroom, his entire body tensed. The window was open. Not cracked. Wide open. His stomach dropped. That window had been locked this morning. He was sure of it. A chill crawled up his spine. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Someone’s been here… He backed out of the room slowly. That’s when his phone buzzed. Unknown Number. He frowned. Thumb hovered over the message icon. He almost didn’t check it. He really, really shouldn’t have checked it. “You should’ve bought the pink dress. It looked beautiful on you.” Oliver’s blood turned to ice. His phone slid from his hand and hit the floor with a soft clack. “What the actual fu—” he whispered. His eyes darted to the shopping bag sitting in the corner. And on top of it… Folded perfectly, with a black ribbon tied around it… Was the pink dress. The one he didn’t buy. He didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. He just lay there, stiff, the dress staring back at him like it knew something he didn’t. His eyes stayed wide open. His heart wouldn’t calm down. Every creak of the house. Every gust of wind. Every flicker of shadow outside his curtains. It all felt like a threat. Days passed. He tried telling people. Again. And again. But no one listened. “You’re being dramatic.” “Maybe you bought the dress and forgot.” “It’s just anxiety.” He wanted to scream. But there was one person who believed him. His best friend. They didn’t roll their eyes. They didn’t call him crazy. They came over late at night. Sat with him. Held his hand when it shook. “It’s real,” they said softly, brushing hair out of his face. “I believe you.” Oliver wanted to cry. And then, one night, everything shattered. He was walking home, earbuds in, just trying to pretend life was normal. A figure stepped out in front of him. Mask. Knife. No voice—just a demand. “Give me everything.” Oliver froze. “I—I don’t—” Pain exploded in his stomach before he even realized what was happening. The world tilted. His vision blurred. The thief ran. His blood hit the pavement. He collapsed. Shaking fingers pulled out his phone. He hit call. One number. “Please… pick up…” he whimpered, voice weak. It rang. Once. Twice. Then— Click. Dead battery. “No no no no no—” he choked. Moments later, he heard footsteps. “Oliver!” His best friend’s voice. He blinked up, vision hazy. “You came…” he whispered. “You always do.” He collapsed into their arms. Sirens wailed in the distance. But they weren’t the only ones who’d seen what happened. Hidden in the shadows, like a ghost sewn into the night, someone else had been watching. A man. A man who’d followed Oliver home countless times. Who memorized his steps. His routines. His heartbeat. His hands curled into fists. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned with fury. “You should’ve let me protect you,” he growled. “Now someone has to pay.”