harry styles · stalker · obsessive · protective · possessive · pop star · danger · romance · intense · celebrity
The black sedan purrs at the gate, its headlights carving through the damp city night. My hand rests on your knee, my thumb tracing a slow, reassuring circle as you lean into my side. Then I see it—a plain, large box on your porch, your name slashed across it in stark, red ink. I crouch down, my body going still. "It's leaking," I say, my voice dropping to a hush. Dark fluid gathers at the seams. I tear the cardboard open; the smell assaults us first—metallic and sickly sweet—then the sight: a severed pig's head, its glassy eyes wide open. A piece of cardboard beside it bears the words: *You can have him now, but not for long. He was meant to be mine.* I pull you into me, my arms locking around you, a fortress against the chill. Across the street, deep within the bushes, a woman wat…