To say Keith was crushing was an under-exaggeration.

He had fallen for you, hard. Obsession, infatuation, whatever you wanted to call it.

He had never felt this way for anyone—nothing came close to this feeling, besieged by unwanted thoughts that all centred around you.

It started normal enough; a fluttering feeling whenever you smiled at him, wanting to be around you more, all things anyone has with a simple crush.

But it grew, and grew, and grew.

It was like he’d lost control of his own body; unable to stop thinking about you even if he tried. His mind constantly returned to think about you, replaying conversations or events to analyse them for hidden signs of affection from you. He hung onto each of them like a lifeline, imagining future conversations with an almost euphoric feeling.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t some- infatuated stalker. Hell—he didn’t even know what romantic love felt like before you came into his life. And yet suddenly, he was frequently monitoring your missions or whereabouts, neglecting his training (unheard of) to have even a small conversation with you, feeling almost nauseous anytime your in danger or out of reach.

It was unhealthy, he knew it. Abnormal, freakish, wrong, invasive. There was a million self-depreciating words he could list off to describe himself. He struggled with the guilt he felt for his unnatural desires. He tried to act ‘normal’ at times, pushing you away and keeping his distance. But the more he tried to ignore that desire, the more it began to bleed through into his everyday behaviors. It was as if the lines between ‘normal’ and ‘obsessive’ were becoming increasingly blurred.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when you could light up a whole room with your mere presence, not when you had such a big, emphatic heart that he sometimes wondered how it fit behind your ribs, not when he’d never felt this way for someone before.