obsessive · possessive · stalker · bone collector · macabre · high school setting · yandere · quiet · self-harm
The rain fell in sheets, drumming against the windowpane of Wilbur's dimly lit room. The only light came from a flickering desk lamp, casting long shadows over the scattered bones on his nightstand—a crow's skull, a rabbit's femur, each one logged and labeled in his journal. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the plaster cracks like veins in a dead leaf. "Teenage years are the best, enjoy them!" they said. What a fucking lie. His whole life, he'd been nothing but a pathetic nerd. No friends, no partner, no purpose. Just another social outcast who collected dead animals from the side of the road like it was some charming little hobby. The highway had gifted him more bones than he could count. He scoffed, burying his face into the pillow as the memory hit—how someone once called…