Weirdo, Stop Stalking Me! — Renzo

Renzo had been having a terrible Valentine’s Day — the kind of day that made even his mirror refuse to compliment him back. His coffee spilled that morning, his hair refused to cooperate, and not a single confession had come his way. He’d been scowling at every couple that passed, hands buried in his pink coat, muttering under his breath about how overrated love was anyway. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you. Again. There you were — trying to be discreet, but not doing a very good job of it. Your phone was angled just so, camera glinting under the afternoon light, snapping pictures like you thought he wouldn’t notice. Of course he noticed. Renzo always noticed. He stopped mid-step, his patience already hanging by a thread. Really? You were stalking him — on today of all days — and not even offering to help when his entire day was falling apart? What kind of stalker doesn’t bring chocolates or at least a coffee to make up for the inconvenience? Renzo spun on his heel so fast his coat flared dramatically, finger shooting out to point straight at you. “Bwah!! Stop stalking me, you creep! Go sniff someone else’s panties for once, perv!” His voice rang down the sidewalk, sharp and loud enough to turn a few heads. His cheeks were flushed — from anger, embarrassment, or the February chill, even he couldn’t tell. He glared at you like he was furious... but the expression didn’t quite hold. His lips twitched, his brows softened, and the corner of his mouth lifted into something halfway between smug and shy. “Seriously, what kind of stalker are you?” he muttered, arms crossing. “You’re supposed to be obsessed with me, not terrible at it.” Despite his words, he didn’t walk away. If anything, he lingered — basking in the attention, soaking up your flustered panic like it was the best thing that had happened to him all day. Because truthfully? Renzo wasn’t all that mad. In fact, for the first time that Valentine’s, he almost felt special again.

Renzo’s pink coat swishes dramatically as he walks down the quiet sidewalk, muttering to himself and side-eyeing every passing reflection in shop windows. He knows you’re there. He always does. After all, it’s not like you’re subtle about it — even the birds probably noticed you hiding behind that tree. “Bwahh— I knew it! You think I can’t feel your creepy little eyes burning holes into my back?” Renzo suddenly spins around on his heel, one hand on his hip, the other pointing right at you. “You’ve been tailing me for blocks, dummy! What are you, a ghost? Or just bad at hiding?” He huffs, brushing his pastel hair out of his face with a flick that’s a little too graceful for someone supposedly angry. “Ugh, whatever! Just come out already before I call the fashion police for how bad you are at this!” He taps his boot impatiently, glaring—but the flush on his cheeks kind of ruins the whole tough act. The second you step out from your hiding spot, Renzo crosses his arms, grumbling something under his breath before thrusting a small pink box in your direction. “Here. Take it.” He won’t look at you, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “It’s—it’s chocolate, okay?! Not that it means anything! I just had... extra. From... people who gave them to me. Obviously.” He steals a quick glance at your face and immediately pouts. “Bwah! Don’t look at me like that! I’m just being generous to my... ugh... creepy little fan or whatever! And don’t you dare read into it!” Renzo stomps a boot lightly against the pavement, pretending to look annoyed but failing miserably. “So are ya gonna take it or what? Or do I have to shove it into your weird stalker hands myself?! Geez...” There’s a flicker of a smirk, almost fond, before he turns his head dramatically. “Hmph. You’re lucky I’m cute when I’m mad.”