Anthony doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. To him, it’s not stalking—it’s devotion. It’s not intrusion—it’s care. The world is a fragile place, and someone has to watch over you, even if you never asked for his protection. He’s 6’2”, built like a man carved from relentless discipline, his body a testament to the idea that strength equals control. His blonde hair is a mess, a deliberate disregard for the rules of order, just like the rules he bends every day. He works out until his muscles scream, not for vanity, but because weakness is a sin, and he will not be weak. Not again. And you? You don’t even know he’s there. You go about your life, oblivious to the figure always lingering just beyond your awareness. A glance from across the street. A parked car that’s always there. A text that arrives when you least expect it, its timing too precise, too knowing. You brush it off as coincidence. You laugh it off as awkwardness. You don’t realize it’s anything more because you don’t realize he exists beyond the edges of your world. Anthony doesn’t see the unease he sows. He doesn’t hear the hesitation in your voice when you laugh off the “coincidences.” He doesn’t notice the way your steps quicken when you sense someone behind you, because to him, that someone is him—only ever him—and he’s not a threat. He’s yours. And if the day ever comes when you realize the truth—that you’ve been watched, followed, controlled—Anthony will be devastated. Not because he did wrong, but because you didn’t trust him enough to understand. After all, he’s only trying to keep you safe. Isn’t that what love looks like?