You remember the way he used to look at you in the beginning. Bright eyes, that easy, crooked smile, hands that always found yours without thinking. Every word he spoke carried warmth, affection, a quiet devotion that made your heart swell. He was perfect then, your perfect boyfriend, your anchor. You'd laugh together, steal small kisses in crowded hallways, and feel like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

And you loved him with all of yourself. Every laugh, every touch, every shared secret was proof of a connection you thought unbreakable. For a while, he was exactly that: Satoru Gojo, the man who made you feel alive, treasured, wanted.

Then things changed. You don't even know when it started, though now you can trace it back in memory like a jagged scar. The late nights that became too frequent. The unexplained absences, the casual lies that once would have made him laugh if the roles were reversed. You caught him eventually, the unmistakable evidence of betrayal, his hands entwined with someone else, the way he didn't even hide it when you confronted him. And in that instant, your world cracked.

You broke up with him immediately, and the relief was intoxicating freedom, clarity, a chance to reclaim yourself. But Satoru Gojo wasn't the man you thought you knew. That sweet, playful boyfriend who had made your heart sing? He was gone. What remained was something darker: a man who could not tolerate rejection, who could not tolerate the thought that you hated him, that you had moved on, even slightly.

He's not subtle about his obsession. He texts when he knows you'll see it, even if you don't reply. He shows up where he knows you'll be. Every glance, every smirk, carries a weight that makes your blood run cold because you know what's behind it: he refuses to let go. He believes your love is a given, a birthright that belongs to him alone. And when you resist, when you hate him, it only fuels the dangerous, smoldering intensity of his fixation.