Slytherin Boys x Y/N Short Stories/Reacts

Stalker #THREE

It started out innocently enough—at least, that's what Y/N tried to tell herself.

First, it was the misplaced quill. She'd left it on her desk in the library one evening, only to find it missing by morning. Next came the shadowed figure she saw at the edge of the grounds one night, a silhouette briefly illuminated by the moon before disappearing as if it had never been there. Y/N convinced herself she was imagining things, or that maybe she'd been seeing people who just happened to be in the same place at the same time. But the incidents didn't stop.

One evening, after a dinner hosted by her family, Y/N felt something new—an envelope slipped discreetly under her door, its flap sealed with a black wax stamp. She held it for a moment, feeling a slight apprehension as she traced the sharp edges of the letters, written in smooth, precise handwriting. "You're even more fascinating when you think no one is watching."

The words left her feeling exposed. She felt an urge to speak to someone about it, yet there was no one she fully trusted. Theo was often close, his friendly warmth familiar, though at times his kindness bordered on protectiveness. Then, of course, there was Enzo—always ready to lend an ear, his concern genuine. And then there was Blaise, who would likely dismiss her worries with that typical smirk of his, an air of indifference that sometimes made her wonder if he noticed more than he let on.

Over the next few days, the feeling of being watched intensified. As she walked through the halls, she would occasionally catch a glimpse of a figure in her periphery, only for it to disappear as soon as she turned to look. When she was in the common areas, she would sense someone's gaze, a presence that made her skin prickle. But every time she tried to pinpoint the source, it would slip away like smoke.

One night, a knock sounded on her door, and she found Theo standing outside, his brows drawn together in genuine concern. "You've seemed on edge lately," he said, his tone gentle. "Is everything alright?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. Theo was kind, but if she mentioned the notes, she feared it might only make her seem paranoid. Still, she nodded and assured him everything was fine, watching as he reluctantly accepted her response and turned to leave. She considered telling him about the letters but held back, something inside her uncertain if she could fully trust anyone.

Later that night, she found herself alone, wandering near the edge of the property. The air was thick, the silence almost eerie, when she saw someone standing beneath the trees. For a split second, she thought it was Enzo, his posture familiar, his head tilted as though deep in thought. But when the figure moved, it was with a smoothness and grace that sent a chill through her. She blinked, and the figure was gone.

The following morning, another letter arrived. This one felt colder, darker, as if the writer was peeling back layers she hadn't even realized she'd hidden. "It's pointless confiding in shadows; they won't help you." The mention of "shadows" made her think of Theo and Enzo again, though neither seemed like the type to be so cryptic. As her mind raced, her eyes returned to the handwriting, smooth and elegant, with a hint of flair. There was something faintly familiar about it, though she couldn't place why.

Determined to clear her head, Y/N went to the library later that day, finding comfort in the quiet. But as she sat, she couldn't help noticing a subtle presence nearby. A familiar figure appeared in her line of sight—Blaise, leaning casually against the bookshelf across the room, his gaze focused intently on the pages of his book. He looked up once, meeting her eyes with a raised brow before looking back down, an amused glint in his gaze that made her feel oddly unsettled. Blaise had always been hard to read, that air of nonchalance masking something far deeper.

That evening, another note lay waiting in her room. "Do you still think you're safe in the light?" The words seemed almost mocking, taunting her for her attempts to escape the feeling of being watched. Her mind ran in circles, wondering if it could be Theo, with his secretive glances, or even Mattheo, who always seemed to have a dark fascination with her presence despite always keeping his distance.

Just when she thought the evening couldn't get stranger, there was a light knock on her door. Mattheo stood there, his usual air of calm unaffected by her obvious discomfort. "Are you hiding from something?" he asked, a slight smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. The question struck her as odd, almost too knowing, as if he sensed her thoughts. She shook her head, laughing it off, though she could feel his gaze lingering as she closed the door, that unsettling half-smile haunting her thoughts.

Days passed, and the notes continued, each one peeling back another layer of her carefully constructed composure. Each time she tried to suspect someone new, her mind circled back to Mattheo, only for her to dismiss the thought—he seemed too indifferent, too aloof to play such games. But the feeling of something dark, something hidden beneath his calm demeanor, lingered in her thoughts.

Finally, one evening, Y/N found a letter waiting on her bed, different from the others. The words were precise, almost too personal, as if whoever had written them had spent hours studying her every move. "I see you for who you truly are. But they don't see you at all, do they?"

Her breath caught, the meaning behind the words sending a chill through her. This was no mere observer, no casual acquaintance who had seen her in passing. Whoever wrote this had been watching closely, almost intimately, as if he'd seen past every wall she'd put up. Her eyes darted back to the handwriting, and suddenly, it struck her.

The elegant curve of each letter, the slight flourish at the end—it was unmistakably Blaise's.

The revelation hit her like a cold wave, realization settling in as she recalled every note, every encounter, every glance that had once seemed inconsequential. Blaise had been there all along, lurking in the shadows with that all-too-familiar smirk, his calculated gaze masking a hidden obsession.

The truth hit hard, and as she stepped back, she sensed a presence behind her. She turned, pulse quickening, and there he stood—Blaise, leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her with that signature smirk, his eyes sharp, too knowing.

"You finally figured it out," he murmured, stepping closer, his gaze darkening. "I thought you'd never notice."

Y/N swallowed, trying to find her voice, but he only tilted his head, his expression unfazed by her shock.

"I've always seen you, Y/N," he whispered, his words chillingly calm. "Every step, every look, every thought you thought was hidden. It was never a game. You just never looked close enough."

His fingers traced the edge of one of the letters lying on her desk, eyes gleaming with a quiet satisfaction. "But now," he said, voice dropping to a low murmur, "there's nowhere left for you to hide."