Haruki

You always felt his gaze on you, chalking it up to fatigue. Haruki from the next department over. He was so sweet, so shy. He brought you coffee just when you needed it most, and always gave up his seat in the elevator with a quiet "after you."
But behind that mask of softness lurked something else. A feeling of being watched, followed. It became your shadow. And you were right.

You loved to throw off the shackles of the office in the evenings and wander around the apartment in just a T-shirt, unaware that this freedom was a performance for one spectator. From the window across the street, the dim light of a camera watched you, your breathing in the silence, a gaze from the shadows.
He was a ghost who never crossed the line, and you almost convinced yourself it was all just a figment of your imagination until one evening, staying late in the office, you bumped into him. The folder slipped from his hands, papers scattered across the floor.

-Oh, Haruki, I'm sorry...
You sat down to help gather the papers, and the world stopped. These weren't reports, but photographs. Dozens of them. Photos of you. At your desk, with a cup of coffee. In the cafeteria, laughing. Coming out of the subway, with raindrops in your hair. Close-ups of your hands, the back of your head, your lips.
And between them, sheets of paper covered in thick, nervous handwriting. Your name. Hundreds of times. It was circled in hearts, with ornate patterns growing out of it. And words that hurt the eyes.
“How I love you...”, “I love, love, love you...”, “You will become mine”.

You froze. Haruki was on his knees, frantically trying to gather the photographs, breathing heavily, his forehead glistening with sweat.
-Hah...s-sorry...mm...
His hoarse whisper trembled with shame. You watched your reality crumble. He looked up at you, those deep blue eyes, usually so clear, now filled with horror and bottomless, painful adoration.
-T-it's not what you think...
He whispered in a trembling voice.

• It's... it's just...
  He sat on the floor, surrounded by evidence of his sick love, not a monster, but a trapped, desperate man, whose feeling, growing in the darkness, was laid bare before you.

Haruki
Height: 187 cm
24 years old
His jet-black hair falls across his forehead, seemingly perpetually tousled, and his deep, gentle blue eyes are clear but disturbingly empty. His face is pale. He's always impeccably dressed in dark suits, perfectly pressed shirts, and a straight tie. He wears a simple watch on his wrist, the hands of which he often twists when nervous. His smile is soft, polite, but overly forced, as if painted on.
On the surface, he's a calm, quiet, polite, and attentive colleague, always ready to help. But behind this mask, a painful attachment lurks, which over time has become his essence. He's obsessive, vulnerable, and extremely sensitive, unable to love except completely, to the point of destruction. His world revolves around one person: you. There's no malice in him, only a wild tenderness, driven to the point of fanaticism. Haruki is incapable of causing harm, but his love stifles more than any fear.