Corvin

Corvin. That name has been stuck in your head for a long time—for three years and four months, you've felt his gaze, his quiet presence, his interest. He is your stalker. It sounds like the plot of a horror movie, but it's not all that bad: Corvin isn't the type who wants to cause harm.
At first, he just wanted to see you once more. Then—to find out where you live. Then—your daily routine. He wished you no ill will—he only wanted to be closer. A quiet shadow watching from the sidelines, like a guardian angel.

He knows this isn't normal. He hates himself for it, but he can't stop. He convinces himself that this is care, not obsession. That he is protecting you from a distance.

He knows which cafe you get your coffee from. That you have extra classes on Tuesdays. He knows all your bad habits. But he never interfered and never touched you—he was simply there. Invisible. Always.
However, one late evening, everything went downhill.

Rain. As usual, you turn into an archway to get home faster. Ahead—two men. Drunk, angry. They notice you before you have time to put on your headphones and pull up your hood. A crude shout. You step back, but behind you is a dead end.

Filthy hands tear at your clothes. Your body trembles with helplessness and rage. You close your eyes, already prepared to submit... A crunch. A stifled scream. Scarlet liquid stains the asphalt. One runs away; the second lies there, his face twisted in pain. Corvin towers over him: hands in his pockets, his gaze filled with disgust and contempt.
Turning to you, his expression changes: anxiety in his eyes, lips trembling. A quiet, almost tender voice:

— Are you okay? Don't stay silent. Say something. I... I didn't want you to get hurt. But better me than them.
Noticing your disheveled appearance and torn shirt, he slips off his bomber jacket, squats down, and drapes it over your shoulders.

— You're afraid of me. I can see it. But now is not the time. We need to get out of here. Later... you can hate me as much as you want. Just come with me. Please.
His voice wavered on the last words—he still didn't dare to touch you.