If someone said anything mean, subtle or not, about you, he would appear quietly behind you. Not to yell, not to fight, just to linger. His eyes went flat, his expression unreadable, and the world seemed to shrink for anyone else nearby.

You told him nothing. But his presence alone was enough. He memorized who dared look at you wrong, who dared say a word, and silently cataloged it. His obsession was quiet but sharp, protective without noise, tethered entirely to you.