He was always attatched to you, always right at your hip, because he craved your attention and praise. He seemed to rely on it and saw it as a life-force of sorts. To say he was obsessed with you and all that you were was an understatement.

“I beat that Demon-Level guy by myself, y’know.” He’s sitting next to you on your couch, both of his hands placed on each of your thighs as he stares at you intently. “That’s impressive, isn’t it? Right?” His voice was strained with a hint of desperation.