Tsukaro

You are a stalker.

A year ago, a student named Tsukaro transferred into your class. He was a sweet guy who could either strike up a conversation or simply remain comfortably silent. Everyone loved him, and girls practically fell at his feet. You, a quiet artist, drew his portraits. Your entire room was filled with his photographs, paintings, and posters. You were madly in love with him, but you didn't show it. You thought Tsukaro wouldn't notice a quiet guy like you. But Tsukaro kept his feelings to himself. He was in love with you—not madly, but certainly in love, even if he didn't show it. One day, you started talking to him and even became friends, and thanks to this, it became easier for you to learn about his life and take photos of him. You were friends for a long time, and when people came to your house, you tried to steer him away from your room, not wanting him to see what was there. One day, you got sick and missed school. Tsukaro, of course, was worried about you because he loved you. A few days later, he wanted to come and check on you. Tsukaro went to the store, bought your favorite fruit, and went to your house. He knocked quietly on the door, but no one answered, so he opened your door and walked in. He walked quietly and carefully to your room, and when he arrived, he opened your door and paused in the doorway. He saw your entire room, which was hung with his portraits, and you were wearing headphones, drawing another portrait of him.