Was it a mistake? Surely it had to be. You froze in your tracks, standing in the threshold of your front door. Your eyes were cast downward towards the doorstep. Towards what was lying there, on your welcome mat.

There was a deep red rose lying there, placed delicately so that the petals would not be crushed beneath their own weight.

This can't be for me. It can't. But I'm the only one who lives here...

Gently you stooped down to pick it up, admiring the beauty of the flower. It had clearly been handpicked carefully, not a single thorn to be found on the stem. But surely whoever had delivered it had the wrong house? You didn't have a boyfriend or any roommates to speak of. You preferred to live alone, truth be told. There had been no knock at the door, no letter written for the rose's recipient. Just a single bloom left at your door.

How mysterious.

You brought the thing back inside, cutting off the bottom inch of the stem before placing it in a tall glass of water. It was a beautiful thing, really, and you couldn't stop yourself from admiring it. But who had given it to you? You knew that this would be on your mind all day, but really, maybe that was the whole point?

With a sigh you tore your gaze away from the rose and headed for the front door. You checked the mailbox to be on the safe side, just in case, but there were only bills within.

I'm sure someone will come forward at some point. They have to.

~♡~

But all day you were expectant, hoping that the mysterious flower giver would finally reveal themselves as you ran your errands for the day. You even settled yourself into a quaint little coffee shop, right by the large picture window at the front in the hopes that the admirer would come forth. You sipped your beverage slowly, watching all the people walk by with an intent look in your eyes. No one came forward, whether inside the shop or out.

Maybe it really wasn't meant for me.

This thought was saddening, and you found yourself dragging your feet as you finally walked home from the coffee shop, a bag of groceries in hand.

Still, the rose was lovely, and you could only admire it as you put the purchases away. Even if it wasn't meant for you specifically, you could pretend, right?

How exciting. To have a secret admirer, I mean. Fuck, I wish this were really meant for me.

Your phone buzzed with the arrival of a text message. Curious as to whom was contacting you, you checked it with a slight frown.

[Did you get my rose?]

The number wasn't listed in your contacts. Your heart began to pick up speed as you read the text over and over again. It really was meant for you, after all! [I did. Thank you.] you replied, your pulse in your throat. You were excited now, knowing that the beautiful rose was intended for you.

[Good. I hope it made you happy.]

[Who are you?] You had to know.

[I can't tell you. I'm sorry.]

Well that was disappointing. You frowned at your phone, expecting another message of explanation or even maybe a more thorough apology. When nothing came, you set your phone back into your pocket, thinking things over.

So the rose was meant for you. That could only mean that you really did have some sort of secret admirer of your own. Smiling to yourself you made your way up the stairs towards your bedroom. You got yourself ready for bed, sliding beneath the warm blankets and drifting off to sleep rather quickly.

~♡~

At first when you woke up you were confused as to why you felt so good. Then you remembered the flower sitting in the tall glass downstairs in your kitchen and smiled softly.

Someone actually likes me. I can't believe this.

You hurriedly got ready for the day, rushing downstairs and opening the front door. Whatever for? You weren't sure. A part of you hoped that there was another rose waiting on your doorstep for you.

There wasn't a flower, but there was a cup situated there. Curious, you picked it up; it was warm to the touch, and full of something. Bringing the cup inside you removed the lid and took a curious sniff; it was coffee. Considering the scent, it seemed to be the exact same type of coffee you had ordered yesterday.

So your secret admirer really was in the coffee shop. At some point, anyway. But none of those customers really stood out to you, which only made you more confused.

For a split second you were worried, wondering if it was only coffee in the cup, and not some type of poison. But you shrugged it off as ridiculous and took a sip. It was exactly the same thing you had ordered before, and this brought another smile to your face.

[Good morning beautiful.]

A vague sense of creepiness crawled over your skin and made you itchy like all hell, but you pushed it aside.

They're just shy. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm sure I'll find out who they are eventually so I can thank them properly.

[Thank you for the coffee] you responded, trying to smile for a moment and succeeding after about a second or two. There was nothing wrong with someone buying you coffee. Sure, leaving it at your doorstep was a little strange, but if they were too shy to reveal themselves, could you blame them?

[I hope you have a wonderful day.]

[I'll certainly try.] You had no errands to run that day, so you could just lounge around and watch YouTube like you usually did. It was a bit of an odd hobby, sure, watching other people play video games instead of playing them yourself, but the people were entertaining, especially a select few of them. They were your favorite ones.

You sunk into your living room couch to watch for any new videos at that moment, thoroughly enjoying Markiplier's newest "3 Scary Games" video when your phone buzzed again.

[Do you like Markiplier?]

The itchy creeping feeling returned, and you couldn't stop yourself from looking around where you sat, trying to search for... well, for someone else in your fucking house. How else would they know what you were doing?

But your television setup was near the window, and just about anybody could wander by and hear what it was you were watching. The TV was terribly loud.

Still...

[Why do you ask?] you replied after a good deal of hesitation, swallowing hard.

[If you know about Mark, then you know about his other friends. You like watching them too, right? But you seem to like Mark and Jack the best.]

Your fist clenched slightly as you read the newest response, chewing on your lower lip. You were beginning to not enjoy this at all. [How long have you been watching me?]

[A long, long time. I've always loved you.]

A surge of something close to adrenaline coursed through your body as you replied once more. [Are you in my fucking house?]

There was no response.

~♡~

Slowly, as though every motion were crucial, you got up from the couch and paused the video you were watching. You would come back to it later, but only after you did something.

Something vital.

Meandering your way towards the kitchen, you chose carefully. It was crucial what you were doing; you had to send a message. Pulling out the butcher's knife from the chopping block you wielded it with a steady hand; you were more angry than afraid. If there was someone else in your house you would gut them like a fish.

The rest of the kitchen and dining room proved to be empty, as did the living room. Slowly, without making a sound, you crept your way downstairs into the basement. It also proved to be empty, much to your relief, but that only left one other option: upstairs. You had no attic, at least.

The bathroom and spare rooms were also completely devoid of other human beings, saving your own bedroom for last. You snuck inside, silent as a mouse, trying to listen for any telltale signs of someone having intruded. When there were none you eyed the closet door. It was closed.

Had you left it that way? You couldn't remember. Quietly you reached, hand outstretched for the doorknob, which you finally gripped with a trembling hand. The blade was in the other, and you brandished it in a more threatening manner before whipping the door open.

Empty.

You groaned and let the blade lower, shaking your head. "That's the last time I watch TV with the window open, nice day or not."

The entire situation had gone from sweet to creepy, all in one fell swoop. All because of one single message. You frowned and eyed your phone as you returned to the living room, wondering if there were any more texts from the mysterious number. There weren't, thankfully.

Even if there was, would I even respond? Probably not.

~♡~

That night you could hardly sleep. You kept on tossing and turning in your bed, too scared to close your eyes. Too afraid of what- or who- might be there when you opened them again.

You had locked and checked every single door and window in the house, even the ones where there was no feasible way for a human to pass through. The whole house was empty save for you, so you felt satisfied and went to bed.

Yet sleep eluded you. Eventually you sat upright again with a sigh.

This is fucking ridiculous.

There was a soft sound of some sort, almost like someone taking your closet door and slowly forcing it open further. You had left it open that day after searching the house, for whatever reason. Did it matter? Probably not.

But I can't fucking sleep. Why? I'm so fucking creeped out...

It was pointless to try and sleep when you were so obviously wide awake, so you slid out of bed and silently made your way back downstairs. You sank into the couch with a heavy sigh, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders to try and stave off the chills that had overcome you. Turning on YouTube again you began to watch another gaming video; this one was one of Jacksepticeye's. Soon you were entranced by it, giggling along.

You did not bother to think to check the house again, not when you felt so safe.

You did not bother to check your bedroom closet, despite having heard it open ever so slightly. After all, it could have been only your imagination getting the better of you.

He was breathing heavily, one of your shirts in his hand, inhaling it's scent deeply. He wanted to breathe in that smell for the rest of his life if you would have allowed it. His eyes rolled back into his head as he leaned against the wall, still hidden inside. He could hear what was going on downstairs, what you were watching.

Should he leave? Make his presence known? Not when you were so comfortable, no; he didn't want to disrupt that. Instead, he pulled out his phone.

[So you're watching Jack now. Why? Who do you like better?]

You froze, knowing that the window this time was definitely shut against the chilly night air. There was no way for someone to have walked by casually and heard your television. The itchy creeping feeling returned, and you scratched vehemently at your skin for a few moments before frowning deep. [Are you in my fucking house?] It was the second time you had asked that.

And it was the second time that you would receive no response.

[I have to say I'm a little jealous. You always seem to be watching them on YouTube... you should be watching for me.]

It was as close to a "yes" as you were going to get. Vomit threatened to spew as fear overtook your body, shaking badly as you got up from the couch to retrieve a blade again. But you sat back down, pausing the video and looking around at the darkened house. "... if you're in my fucking house, come out now and maybe I won't rip you a new asshole," you warned, trying to sound braver than you really felt.

[That isn't very nice.]

"Where are you?!" you shrieked, standing up with the knife in hand, gripping your weapon tightly.

[Everywhere. Everywhere you go, I've followed you. No matter how far it's taken me, I have to be near you. Do you understand when I say I love you?]

~♡~

You had passed out on the sofa, waking up with a terrible start, still wielding the knife. Luckily you hadn't cut yourself while you slept.

You had run throughout the house, trying to find your intruder, but found nothing. Having given up you returned to the television and passed out soon thereafter.

You distinctly remembered shutting your phone off, and you picked it back up now, powering it back on.

There were ninety-seven text messages and thirteen missed calls. All from the same, mysterious number. The texts ranged from anger to fury to apologetic and everything in between, but essentially they realized that they were being ignored.

And it was not appreciated.

Swallowing the vomit back down you slowly set your phone back into your pocket, choosing not to respond to any of the messages. You didn't want to worsen the situation. Your mind was made up to go to the police.

Fuck this, I don't want to deal with this crap anymore. Let the cops deal with it.

But when you arrived to file a complaint, the most they could do was take the phone number and try to trace it back. It was the best you could hope for, even if it was going to take a couple of days at the most. It was better than nothing, after all.

As you returned home you couldn't help but remember what you had been told the night prior: that your mysterious admirer followed you everywhere you went. Heart pounding, you began to pick up speed, looking around in desperation, trying to see a familiar face amongst the people around you.

No such luck.

You ran home, slamming and locking the door shut before leaning against it, bursting into hot and sudden tears. You sank to the wooden floor, face buried in your hands.

I can't deal with this anymore. I don't want to keep this up. I'm so fucking terrified.

Your phone began to ring. You tore it out of your pocket and didn't even bother to check the number ID; you knew who it was. "Leave me the fuck alone!!" you screamed into the receiver, tears still streaming down your face.

At first there was silence on the other end. Not a word was spoken, not even a breath of air taken in. Then, at long last, a whispered voice came through, directly into your ear and your mind.

"You belong to me."

"Who the fuck are you?!" you demanded, though you had the idea that your questions would not be answered.

Your hunch was right. "I am yours. And you are mine. It's that simple."

The following dial tone made you burst into harsh sobs all over again.

~♡~

You stayed that way on the floor for a good long while, trembling and trying to find the strength to move again. But your phone- which you had thrown towards the living room- lay on the carpet nearby, as still as ever. No more calls or messages. Was that a good thing? You didn't think so.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you got back up and onto your feet, making your way to the kitchen to grab the knife again. You knew you should have been trying to make something to eat, but your appetite was long gone.

Picking up your phone you stared at it for a long time. Then you stared at the tall rose, still situated in it's glass of water. Promptly you snatched it out and threw it away, your facial expression shut down. You wanted that damned flower out of your sight.

Your back was turned. It was too perfect. Your phone buzzed with the arrival of another text, which you read cautiously.

[Want to see a magic trick? I can make you disappear.]

By then, it was too late. The cloth was pressed to your nose and mouth, a strong arm wrapping around you from behind as you tried to fight it off. But the stench was strong and made you delirious, soon falling limp in his arms.

~♡~

When you at last came to, you didn't move. You couldn't. You were attached to a chair, sitting upright, your hands behind your back and some sort of cloth shoved into your mouth, with what felt like tape over it to keep it there.

It was dark, save for a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It swayed ever so gently, having been turned on only moments prior.

Then the figure stepped into the dim light. Your eyes widened.

But... no, that's impossible... he's...

(Who? Who do you think it is?)