Work Text:
Nico was a shadow in the halls of St. Augustine Academy.
He always goes unnoticed—invisible even. He had always been good at blending in. But it wasn’t disappearing because he’s unremarkable. No, Nico was invisible because he wanted to be. He knew how to move quietly, how to occupy the background without drawing attention, how to become a shadow in a sea of faces. And maybe, that’s how it started.
The first time he really noticed EJ, it was nothing more than a stray laugh echoing in the hallway. Bright, effortless, and impossible to ignore. Nico was walking to class, eyes glued to the floor, headphones blasting music he barely heard, when something made him look up. There was EJ, leaning casually against a locker, talking with his friends, his smile genuine and warm. The way the light caught his hair made Nico’s heart tighten in a way he didn’t understand.
From that moment on, Nico was fascinated.
It was like discovering a song he’d been humming without realizing it. He felt this urgent need to know everything about EJ—the lyrics, the melody, every note.
He started small, quietly observing. Class schedules, locker location, which hallways EJ favored. He kept notes in a tiny notebook, hidden between the pages of an old calculus textbook no one ever borrowed. People were predictable, especially those who thought they had nothing to hide.
EJ had a routine: morning coffee from the vending machine in Building B, lunch at the far corner of the cafeteria with the same three friends, study group on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the library’s alfresco. Nico memorized it all like scripture.
But just knowing where EJ was wasn’t enough. Nico needed more. He wanted more.
He began noticing details no one else cared about—the brand of cologne EJ wore, soft citrus with a sharper edge beneath; how his laughter changed depending on who he was with; the slight limp he carried on rainy days, like an old injury trying to stay quiet.
One rainy afternoon, Nico even followed EJ home. He told himself it was just once. EJ didn’t have an umbrella, only a thin jacket pulled over his head, and Nico kept a safe distance, hood up and hands buried deep in pockets. He watched as EJ unlocked the door to a modest townhouse at the edge of town and disappeared inside, keys jingling softly behind him. It was like a secret Nico wasn’t meant to hear.
From there, things escalated. He learned the names of EJ’s parents, his little sister’s favorite cartoon, the scent of fabric softener EJ’s family used. He knew EJ always slept on the left side of his bed, sometimes with the window cracked open just enough to let a breeze in.
Night after night, he memorized the exact time the light flickered off in that room—10:00 PM, sharp. Nico didn’t call it obsession. Not yet. He called it understanding. To him, knowing someone so deeply, so completely, was beautiful. Love, he believed, wasn’t about connection. It was about attention.
And no one paid more attention to EJ than Nico did.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Nico bought a small camera, something compact enough to slip into his bag unnoticed.
He told himself it was for practice, for photography class, even though he wasn’t enrolled in one. It was really just a stupid excuse. Deep down, he knew why he bought it.
The first photo he took was of EJ at the cafeteria table, laughing, a half-eaten sandwich paused mid-air. The shot was blurry, taken through a window, but it didn’t matter. He printed it that night. Then another, and another; EJ alone at his locker, EJ’s reflection in a vending machine window, EJ bent over a textbook in the library. Each picture was a still frame of something sacred. He stored them all in a box under his bed, labeled simply with the letter E.
One day, he slipped into EJ’s locker when no one was around. The code was easy—0907—his birthday, Nico had learned. Inside, he found what the world never saw: wrinkled notes, a half-used lip balm, a polaroid of a beach he didn’t recognize, and a folded flyer for a guitar lesson from two years ago.
He touched everything, not to steal, but to understand. Tracing the edges of EJ’s life like a puzzle made just for him felt calming. One day, he left a blank note inside the locker, just to see if EJ would notice. The next day, EJ found it, blinked, then slipped it into his pocket without a word, without looking around.
Nico’s breath caught. He saw it. He kept it.
That night, Nico lay awake, replaying the moment over and over. What did EJ think when he touched that blank paper? Was it confusing? Intriguing? Did it make his heart race like Nico’s had?
Nico started noticing even more. Small things like the twitch in EJ’s left eye when tired, the way his knuckles were always white from gripping the pen too tight, the faint scar behind his right ear. No one else saw these things, because no one else looked close enough.
But Nico did. He sees everything.
Then came the night of the window. For weeks, he knew EJ left it cracked open, just an inch or two, facing the backyard, hidden by a sycamore tree. When the house fell silent, one light after another flicked off—parents’ bedroom first, then the sister’s—Nico made his move.
He climbed the fence, boots quiet against the wood, breath cold in the night air. The window creaked softly as he slipped inside and closed it behind him. EJ was asleep. Moonlight washed over the room in a faint glow, and Nico stood still, listening to the steady rhythm of EJ’s breathing, deep and even. His arm lay over the blankets, shirt riding up slightly to expose the curve of his back.
Nico didn’t move. Just looked. The room smelled like EJ—warm cotton, citrus shampoo, faint traces of cologne on a hoodie draped over a chair. His fingers twitched, aching to reach out, but he didn’t touch. Not yet.
Instead, he wandered the room, admiring every detail like a visitor in a museum. The pile of dog-eared books on the desk, a photo of EJ and his sister at a festival, blurred faces frozen in motion. A chipped coffee mug. A half-finished sketch hidden beneath a notebook, rough and uncertain.
You’re not perfect, Nico thought, eyes hungry.
You’re real. You’re real, and I know you better than anyone.
He edged closer to the bed, close enough to hear the little sounds EJ made in sleep—the catch of breath, the shift of fabric. He leaned down, inches from EJ’s face, smelled the shampoo, saw the flutter of eyelashes. For a moment, he imagined brushing a finger lightly across EJ’s cheek but stopped himself. He wanted to preserve this moment, keep it pure.
He whispered softly, words meant only for the dark, “You don’t see me yet. But you will.” Then he left as quietly as he came, slipping back into the night.
But part of him never left.
Nico kept returning. Not every night. He wasn’t reckless. Just often enough to keep the feeling alive, to make sure EJ was still there, still real, still breathing the same quiet rhythm he’d memorized. He began touching small things—a hoodie sleeve smoothed flat on the desk, a pencil turned just so, once catching a strand of hair on EJ’s comb. He took that strand with him.
At school, his watching became raw and burning. Every laugh EJ shared with others twisted Nico’s stomach. Every time someone got too close, his chest tightened with a sick, crawling heat.
You don’t know what they want, he thought.
You don’t see what I see. But I do. I’m watching. Always.
He was losing sleep, skipping meals, but never missing a single moment.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
This was Nico’s routine for weeks. Watching EJ, following every gaze, every step, every breathe. Sneaking inside EJ’s house at night, if he needed more.
But then something strange happened.
A note slipped from EJ’s notebook during English class. Nico caught it before it hit the ground. His heart stopped—it was blank. Completely white. Just like the note he’d left in EJ’s locker weeks ago that no one had ever mentioned. He looked up and caught EJ watching him, just for a second—not startled, not confused, just watching. Then EJ smiled and tucked the note away like it meant nothing.
Nico tried to ignore it. Tried to tell himself it was a coincidence. But it happened again. And again.
He found his camera moved slightly one morning, though no one else knew he had it. It wasn’t missing, nothing new added or removed—except the last photo. It was completely black, just faint static fuzz, timestamped at 1:33 AM. That wasn’t right. Nico always kept it off at night.
Unless someone else had taken it.
That night, he snuck into EJ’s room again. Something felt off. EJ wasn't there. The bed was rumpled like he had just left. On the desk, next to the pile of books, lay a single photograph, face-down. Nico picked it up with trembling hands. It was a photo of someone—hood up, hands in pockets, staring outside the school gates. No one else was in the frame.
Cold spread through him. It felt familiar. Too familiar.
But Nico laughed inside his mind.
It can’t be… It’s impossible, right?
Nico brushed off his worries. Continued his routines like nothing’s wrong.
Then came Luke. A classmate who’s loud, obnoxious, all charisma and no depth. Nico had seen him hovering around EJ, laughing too loudly, asking too many questions. Today, Luke touched EJ’s arm, a light grip. EJ didn’t flinch, just smiled distractedly. But Nico felt it like a blade under his skin.
No one touches him but me.
He stalked Luke after school for days, moving like smoke, quiet and focused. When Luke wasn’t looking, Nico grabbed the back of his hoodie and slammed him against a wall.
“Don’t touch him again,” Nico said, cold and steady.
Luke struggled, eyes wide with fear as Nico whispered, “I’ve been watching you. I know where you live, what time your mom gets home, that you leave your backdoor unlocked everyday. I know you like I know him.”
Then, easing the pressure just enough for Luke to breathe, Nico warned, “If I see you with him again, or hear your name from his lips, I’ll show you just how well I know you.”
Luke dropped, coughing, terrified. Nico walked away without looking back.
He was his. Always had been. They just didn’t know it yet. He just didn't know it yet.
But that night, something was different.
The box under his bed—the one filled with photos, hair strands, blank notes—was gone. In its place was a single envelope.
Inside, a note in unfamiliar handwriting:
Who says you know me?
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
It continued in small ways. A new toothbrush in his bathroom, though no one else lived with him or came over. He checked the locks twice, told himself he was paranoid. But then, the next day, a thin folded note appeared in his backpack, smelling faintly of tangerine and sandalwood—EJ’s cologne.
He unfolded it with shaking hands.
It was a rough graphite drawing of him, curled on his bed, hoodie pulled over his head. The angle was from above, as if someone stood at the foot of the bed, watching.
Nico stared for a long time, said nothing, burned it quietly in the sink.
The next day at school, when he passed EJ in the hallway, EJ looked at him. Not just a glance, but really looked. His eyes cut through the crowd, and then he smiled.
And everything changed.
Because it wasn’t the smile Nico knew—the bright, effortless one from months ago at the lockers. This smile was slower, heavier, weighted with something deeper. It was the kind of smile that felt like it could see right through him, straight into the darkest corners of his world, the box beneath his bed that wasn’t there anymore. It didn't help that he box where he’d hidden everything about EJ, his secret collection of photos and notes, now gone.
That night, Nico couldn’t sleep. His mind raced as he double-checked every lock and window, the sound of silence too loud around him. He sat up in bed with the lights on, heart hammering, ears straining for any creak or shuffle that might mean someone else was there. Hours passed, dragging into midnight, until his phone buzzed sharply at exactly 1:33 AM. No name, just an unfamiliar number, no message—only a single image.
It was a photo of him.
Standing in his own bathroom, brushing his teeth, captured from behind. The intimacy of the moment twisted cold in his chest. Was it even possible for someone to get so close?
For three days, Nico didn’t dare go near EJ’s house. But obsession isn’t something you can outrun, it pulls you back with a magnetic force. He found himself standing under the sycamore tree’s shadow once more, staring up at EJ’s window. The curtain shifted. No one there.
Then, faint music. Soft and muffled, alive. Not coming from a speaker, but played live, like a memory being replayed. It was the very song Nico had heard that first time, the one that had echoed faintly from his headphones in the hallway when he first noticed EJ—only this time, the melody was off-key, the notes a little scattered, as if someone was struggling to remember, playing from the heart.
Nico stumbled back, breath catching, hands trembling.
It hit him then, with brutal clarity, he wasn’t stalking EJ anymore. He never had been. Something else was happening.
But old routines die hard, as they say. He couldn’t stop watching. Even as the walls of his world began to close in, Nico kept his routines: following EJ at a distance, memorizing his steps, counting the pauses between his smiles, noticing the small shifts; like how EJ now chewed gum instead of biting his nails, or how he’d changed the password of his locker.
Except Nico had the combination—0709—his birthday. He’d figured it out weeks ago. But still, even though the cat would’ve been dead by now even without his curiosity, Nico still got curious.
One afternoon, when the hall was empty, he slipped inside like always. The locker was filled with ordinary things—books, spare clothes, a half-eaten bag of chips—but something caught his eye taped to the inside of the door. A small, round mirror, cracked at the edge, angled perfectly to catch whoever opened it.
Scrawled beneath in thick black ink were the words:
Smile for me this time.
Nico’s heart slammed as he slammed the locker shut. He didn’t look back. His blood was pounding in his ears. And then from that, he noticed other things changing. EJ began wearing a hoodie identical to his own, carrying the same battered book Nico had once obsessed over, filled with cryptic annotations only he recognized. One morning, Nico found his backpack unzipped, nothing stolen nor added, just… touched.
A week later, in the hallway, Nico caught a scent. His own cologne, the mix of grapefruit and frankincense, the one he thought was his secret. But EJ wore it now like armor, like a weapon he could use anytime.
And then came the journal.
It wasn’t his. It appeared in his mailbox one day, wrapped in plain brown paper, no markings. Inside, pages filled with neat, careful handwriting. No dates, but precise, obsessive entries about Nico’s life—what time he woke up, what he wore, the songs he skipped in his playlist, even the brand of batteries he used in his camera. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the tone was unmistakably reverent, detached, almost worshipful.
One entry said:
He bites his nails when he’s anxious. I think I started doing it too. It’s very human of him. I think he forgets people are watching. Or maybe he doesn’t care. And… that’s what makes him interesting. I want to know what he dreams about.
Maybe if I lie beside you long enough, I’ll find out.
Nico read that entry four times before tearing out the page and burning it again in the sink. That night, he sat in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling until his vision blurred, clutching a knife under his pillow. He told himself it was all in his head. A joke. A coincidence.
“He’s just messing with me,” Nico whispered into the silence. “He doesn’t actually know.”
But at 1:33 AM, his phone buzzed again. This time, a video. Silent, grainy footage of his own room, his bed from the foot of it. And there he was… Nico, asleep, curled under the blankets, breathing slow and deep. But standing just out of frame was someone else. A shoulder. A hand holding Nico’s camera. The video panned down, revealing the journal on his nightstand, open to the latest entry. Written in the same steady, reverent hand:
I see you. Rooftop. Tomorrow. 1:33 :)
– E.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Nico slammed open the rooftop door, the sound echoing down the stairwell like a gunshot. EJ didn’t flinch. He was calm, leaning against the chain-link fence, cigarette dangling from his fingers, hair tousled by the wind. The storm raging inside Nico was nothing compared to the quiet control EJ radiated.
“I know what you’re doing,” Nico hissed. “The blank notes. My camera. My photos.”
EJ turned slowly, eyes glinting with amusement. He blew a thick plume of smoke into Nico’s face, the bitter scent heavy and suffocating.
“You came,” EJ said softly, “just like I hoped.”
Nico coughed as he inhaled the smoke.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” EJ continued, tilting his head to level it with Nico’s. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To have me this close?”
He flicked ash off the roof with deliberate slowness.
“Did you think you’re the only one who watches, Nico? Did you think you’re the predator?”
Nico stood still. EJ pulled a flash drive from his pocket and tossed it at Nico’s feet.
“There’s a folder labeled ‘NC Window – Jan to April.’ Take a look. You might know the place better than I do.”
Nico’s pulse thundered, breath caught in his throat.
“I see you, Nico,” EJ whispered, leaning in closer, enough for Nico to smell the smoke mixed with something threatening.
“It’s adorable you think I didn’t notice.”
With a final drag, EJ blew smoke right into Nico’s face, then turned away.
The rooftop door slammed shut.
Nico stood frozen, in disbelief, the truth finally clear.
He wasn’t the hunter.
He was the prey.
Nico coughed more, the acrid smoke burning his lungs, but it wasn’t just the cigarette haze choking him. It was the crushing weight of EJ’s words—I see you—echoing louder than any flame Nico had ever thought he controlled. The bitter taste of defeat settled deep in his throat, sharp and unforgiving. He wiped his mouth, heart racing like a trapped animal desperate to break free, and crouched down to grab the flash drive that lay cold and heavy at his feet. His hands trembled as he picked it up, breath shallow and ragged.
Inside that small device were hours—no, days—of footage. Camera angles from outside his window, glimpses into his room, moments of his life caught without his knowledge: his late-night pacing, the restless tossing and turning, whispered thoughts meant only for himself. The videos were intimate and relentless, unmistakably him. It was a level of watching that went beyond obsession, it was an invasion.
And as Nico’s fingers hovered over the files in his laptop, a new feeling crept in. Darker than fear. A fierce exhilaration, raw and jagged. This wasn’t just a threat. EJ wasn’t just a shadow lurking behind his back. EJ was a challenge. A force of nature Nico wasn’t ready to face but one he couldn’t turn away from.
He shoved the flash drive into his pocket as the rooftop emptied around him, the last ember of EJ’s cigarette glowing like a warning in the dimming sky. The storm inside Nico raged on, louder than ever.
Few days later, there was no note. No text waiting on his phone. Only a small black envelope slipped under his door. Inside, a single card, its handwriting neat and delicate, almost mocking in its calm:
We’re not done. Same time tomorrow in the old theater.
Let’s see who’s really seeing who, baby. :)
– E.
Nico’s heart slammed against his ribs as a part of him screamed to burn the card, to ignore the pull dragging him toward that abandoned place. But obsession is a magnet stronger than reason. He was already halfway there before his mind caught up.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The old theater loomed ahead, a hollow skeleton in the dark. Its faded marquee flickered erratically, broken bulbs casting uneven shadows across the cracked pavement. Inside, dust hung thick in the air, catching the pale moonlight slipping through shattered windows. The creak of Nico’s footsteps echoed loudly on the splintered floorboards as he paused in the center of the stage, the silence pressing down like a heavy blanket.
Then, a voice slid from the darkness—smooth, cold, and low.
“Hi, Nico.”
EJ emerged, half-hidden in shadow, cigarette smoke curling around him like a veil. His face was calm, unreadable, the kind of calm that sent a chill straight to Nico’s core.
“You wanted to know who’s watching,” EJ said with a teasing edge. “Now you’ll see.”
Behind him, the old projector flickered to life, casting a grainy glow over the cracked screen. Hours of footage played out in front of Nico’s widening eyes. Like the contents of the flash drive, it contained his routines, moments he didn’t even think someone else would know. His blood ran cold.
“How long?” Nico’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Longer than you,” EJ replied with a smile that never reached his eyes. “Long enough to learn your rhythms. Your fears.”
EJ stepped forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You thought you had me, huh? Well, surprise baby, you’ve been dancing on my web from the start.”
Nico’s breath hitched, panic clawing at his chest. He thought he was the twisted one, the master of shadows. But standing there in the stale air, under flickering lights, faced with EJ’s relentless gaze, he realized just how wrong he’d been.
There was something mad and dangerous glinting in those eyes—something that belonged not to a friend, or even an enemy, but to a force hungry for more.
“Do you feel it, Nico?” EJ whispered, stepping closer. “Your pulse. It’s racing.”
Before Nico could pull away, the burning tip of EJ’s cigarette pressed against the inside of his forearm. The pain exploded sharp, searing, and immediate. Nico gasped, frozen in shock and fear as the ember branded his skin. EJ traced the glowing line slowly, like carving a signature into flesh.
“I see you,” EJ said, voice ice cold.
Nico stared at the darkening burn, mind spinning, heart pounding in a terrifying rhythm he couldn’t escape. For the first time in months, fear wasn’t just about EJ. It was about himself. About the monster he thought he controlled but was only feeding.
His trembling hand went to the fresh wound, the heat from the burn a cruel reminder of the darkness inside.
EJ’s cold eyes never wavered, watching him like a predator savoring the moment.
“You thought you were the hunter,” EJ whispered, voice low, “but you’re mine now.”
A cruel smile flickered across EJ’s lips, golden and sharp in the flickering theater light. “You must’ve thought I couldn’t escape you,” he said softly, “Should’ve asked first if it’s me who needs escaping, you know.”
Nico’s breath hitched, the line between desire and destruction shattered. In the silence of that ruined theater, two broken souls stood locked in a fire neither could tame.
The world outside didn’t know. They would never understand.
But Nico would never forget.
Because the mark on his skin was only the beginning.
In the ashes of their twisted fire, two shadows burned—neither free, neither whole—forever bound by flames they refused to control.