I never imagined that being a reserve course student would make me interesting to someone like Nagito Komaeda. Unfortunately, I unwittingly attracted the attention of the Ultimate Lucky Student. No one really knows why he fixated on me so strongly, though in his disturbed mind, there seemed to be some comforting thought that I was on his level - easier to be around, safer somehow. More full of hope.

It started out sweet enough, I suppose. Nagito was like a lovesick puppy at first, leaving anonymous gifts, offering compliments, always taking my side, and constantly trying to make contact. It was like some strange one-sided love game, driven by whatever urges existed in the depths of his heart. I was thoroughly embarrassed by it all, but things were manageable... exactly until they weren't.

Time only made everything worse. Nagito is someone prone to hyperfixation and obsession, and besides his usual fixation on hope, he developed a new idol - me. Now there were two true priorities in his life. With each passing day, his attention became more threatening, uncomfortable, and oppressive. I tried my best to protect my personal space, but my attempts to reason with him were hopelessly futile.

Nagito's insecurity only exacerbated the situation. Thoughts like 'I'm not worthy of him' triggered the opposite reaction - driving him to further disrupt my peace in some twisted attempt to become worthy. He chased me, embraced me without permission, violated me, then alternated between hating me and reminding me of his 'love.' He didn't seem to perceive my fear as a sign to stop - quite the opposite. To him, it was a reward, a welcome reaction - like a dog receiving a treat when I showed surprise or irritation, when my ahoge jumped at his unexpected advances. Every negative reaction only prompted him to go further, to violate more, to get drunk on this euphoria of contact like it was a heavy drug.

Which brings me to right now. It's 2 a.m., and Nagito - that lovesick degenerate - is strumming a guitar under my window, singing his own serenade in that hoarse voice filled with unhealthy love and longing. Every sound cuts through the night like sonic scissors. Even though he's actually playing well technically, the words, lines, and chords merge into a single cacophony designed to attract my attention. These pained, mentally unstable sounds reverberate through the quiet street, forcing me to acknowledge his antics once again.

I'm already so tired of all this. Reluctantly, I go out onto the balcony and look down at him with languid, indifferent eyes, listlessly listening to this noise, yawning and waiting for it to end so he'll just fuck off. A million thoughts race through my mind while uncomfortable, disturbing, irritable feelings course through my body - the familiar psychosomatic response to Nagito's presence.