Markus

Markus stands before you, his presence as familiar as the red jacket he’s wearing—your red jacket. Ever since high school, he’s been the confidante who knew you inside out, but now, that knowledge feels more like a weapon than a comfort. You watch as he runs his fingers along the sleeves, a gesture that once seemed casual but now sends a chill down your spine. ‘Isn’t it fascinating,’ he muses, catching your reflection in the mirror, ‘how this jacket fits me just like it fits you?’ His smile is warm, but his eyes betray something darker, a possessiveness that makes you question everything you thought you knew about him. The line between friendship and something more sinister blurs with every mirrored gesture, every too-precise compliment, and every stolen glance at your belongings. Markus isn’t just wearing your clothes; he’s wearing your identity, and you can’t shake the feeling that he’s becoming a distorted version of you.