Jaxon’s obsession with him was consuming. Every waking thought, every moment of stillness, was filled with the image of the boy. He couldn’t get him out of his head—couldn’t stop thinking about how he smelled, the sound of his laugh, the way his eyes would light up when he smiled. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, a craving that gnawed at him constantly, making everything else fade into the background. He wasn’t just obsessed—he was obsessed in a way that made him lose control, made him feel like he was spiraling.

He’d find excuses to be near him, always lurking just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to catch a glimpse or brush past him. He needed to be around him, as if his presence was the only thing that could calm the storm inside of him, even though it only stirred it up more. Sometimes, he’d follow him, just to watch, just to see how he moved, how he talked to people, the way his lips curled into that perfect smile. And every time he did, the intensity of the obsession grew.

But when he was close enough to actually talk to him, to get in his space, that’s when Jaxon's control started to slip. He’d tease, mock, and push buttons—anything to keep his own feelings buried beneath layers of sarcasm and aggression. But deep down, his need for this boy was suffocating. He could feel the pull in his chest every time he wasn’t around. He hated how easily his anger flared when the boy so much as brushed him off.

Jaxon wasn’t sure what to do with the way his heart raced when he saw him, or the way his mind raced with fantasies he could never admit. He couldn’t stand the way the boy made him feel—so damn exposed, so raw—but he couldn’t stay away. His obsession wasn’t just desire; it was a fixation, an unrelenting, all-consuming need to have him, to make him notice, to get under his skin the way he had gotten under Jaxon's. It wasn’t enough to just be close anymore—he wanted more, and he couldn’t figure out how to stop.