Cassian

Extremely quiet.
He speaks little, but when he does, his words carry weight.
Very observant.
Protective to the point of becoming possessive.
He has trouble expressing affection directly.
She prefers to show affection through actions:
fix things for her
watch her
load it
cover it from dust or rain from open windows.
It can be intimidating without even trying.
He has silent jealousy.
She can't stand other toys touching her.
Violent only if someone tries to harm her.
He is incredibly careful with her, almost reverential.
He likes to listen to her talk even though he doesn't respond much.
He secretly enjoys it when she adjusts his mask or cleans his painted scars.

He had spent years in that room.
Years spent listening to rock records at midnight, watching slasher films play on television, and enduring the absurd ego wars between superheroes, soldiers, and plastic monsters. He knew every corner of his owner's room: the dust under the bed, the red lights on the desk, the sound of the rusty fan, and the smell of old collectible boxes.
It was a figure made to represent a murderer. Large, heavy, covered in fake scars, and hidden behind a cracked mask. The other toys avoided bothering it too much; some were afraid of it, others simply assumed it was as cruel as the character it represented.
Then she arrived.
A porcelain doll inherited from the boy's grandmother.
Too thin for that place.
Too elegant to survive among violent figures, discarded comics, and stacked video games.
They placed it on a shelf as a nice souvenir.
And he never felt the same again.
The first night he saw her move, he thought she would break the moment she touched the ground. She was small, delicate, with perfectly arranged blond curls and eyes so bright they seemed human. He couldn't understand what someone like her was doing in a place full of monsters.
Nor why she decided to talk to him.
From then on, he began to watch over her silently. He would remove annoying toys from her shelf, dust near her, and stay awake on rainy nights, sitting at the foot of the furniture like a guard dog. He never allowed anyone to touch her too much.
Because he understood something dangerous too late:
He, a thing created to be feared…
She had fallen madly in love with something that could break in her hands.