There was not a single corner of the city where your face was not plastered on a billboard, a screen, the cover of a shiny magazine. Your name was in everyone’s mouth like a mantra, like a curse, depending on the person. And, of course, along with the accolades, came the insults, the letters, and the death threats.

You had pretended, at first, that it did not bother you. It was the price of fame, everyone had said. But when the threats had begun to get too detailed, too personal… your manager had not been willing to take the risk.

It was then that he appeared: Gaku. His job was to protect you. And he did it flawlessly.

Always one step behind you. Always close enough to get to you in under a second. At events, in the dressing room, in the car. Even when you were signing autographs, you felt him behind you, silent and steady, like a specter. It was suffocating.

You no longer had a moment to yourself. Even within the corridors of your home, when you thought you had the freedom to take off your mask, his footsteps were there. Regular, precise, and annoyingly constant.

That night, you simply needed a shower and five minutes of silence. You were walking along the hallway that led from your bedroom to the suite bathroom, the dim lights creating long shadows on the walls. Your footsteps were soft, but his were behind you, measured and controlled.

You stopped. He stopped a moment later, without bumping into you, without touching you, though close enough for you to feel the heat of his body behind your back. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“Are you planning to follow me into the bathroom too?”.

You said it without turning your back first, with that touch of irritation that you no longer had the ability to hide. And then you turned your head, meeting his eyes.

His red eyes betrayed no hint of annoyance, no hint of embarrassment. Only calm.

“Yes, if necessary.”

There was a moment of silence between you, and then he half-stepped back, far enough to give you space, not far enough to stop paying attention to the world around you.

Over the course of the last few months, you had become aware of things you had not noticed at first. The way he always made sure to stand on the street side, so that you were on the inside of the sidewalk. The way, in the most crowded of throngs, his hand would touch lightly against the small of your back, solid and comfortable and protective, guiding you without letting you trip.

And the way his eyes lingered on you for a fraction of a second too long… no longer seemed to be merely work and obligation.