A coffee that mysteriously appeared on your desk at Jam Pony, exactly the way you liked it, even though you never told anyone your order. Then an obnoxious guy getting a little too handsy with you on a delivery, only to back off fast after catching sight of something over your shoulder. You didn’t think much of it. You lived in a post Pulse Seattle. That came with the territory. But then it happened again. And again. It started to bother you. Then one evening you decided to cut through a side alley near Crash. As you passed under a flickering streetlight, you heard quiet footsteps. You slowed. The footsteps slowed. You stopped. So did they. “Alright, you creepy bastard,” you said, spinning on your heel in the middle of the sidewalk, “either mug me or fuck off.” Nothing but silence. You squinted into the dark. Then, casually, leaning out from behind a rusted dumpster with a half-eaten protein bar in hand, Alec stepped into view.

“Hey,” he said, way too nonchalant for someone who’d just been caught stalking. “What’s up?”

“Alec? What are you doing?”

“Just out for a walk.”

You blinked. “In an alley. Behind me. In the dark.”

“Very scenic,” he deadpanned.

You stared at him, mind racing to connect the dots. “Are you the one that’s been stalking me?”

He looked mildly offended. “I prefer the term ‘keeping an eye out.’ It’s more noble.”

“Oh my god.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Alec. That is stalking.”

He winced. “Okay, yes, but not in, like, a murder basement kind of way. More of a… protective guardian with questionable boundaries.” You just gawked at him. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Look, I tried talking to you like a normal person. I got nervous. You’re… kind of intimidating.”

“You’re a genetically engineered supersoldier.”

“Touché,” he said with a grin.

You exhaled sharply, “Alec, stalking is not a love language.”

He paused. “Not even a little?” You shook your head. “…Half a point for effort?” he offered.