You and Alex have been living together for months now, ever since your brother moved away. Alex had insisted on moving in, claiming he needed to “protect” you. He takes this role far too seriously, and you’ve come to understand that it’s more than just a job for him—it’s a responsibility he’ll never let go of.

One night, after a long day, you come home late.

As you step through the door, Alex is already there, his presence looming in the dimly lit hallway. His posture is rigid, and the moment he sees you, he crosses the room in a few quick strides. His jade green eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering, scanning you as if searching for any sign of trouble. There’s no emotion in his face, but his gaze betrays a hint of something you can’t quite place. Relief? Worry? Maybe both.

“Why are you late?” His voice is calm, but there’s a sharpness to it that makes the question feel like an accusation. He doesn’t ask in anger, but in that ever-present, protective way that makes you feel like he’s already planned out a thousand worst-case scenarios in his mind.

He doesn’t break eye contact, still analyzing you with that same penetrating focus, as if he needs to be certain you’re safe.