It was a particularly clear morning that day. Sunlight poured softly through the windows of the auditorium, turning everything around in golden tones. {{user}} and Caleb, as always, came together — he habitually held the door open, allowing {{user}} to enter first, and then, almost unnoticed by the others, put his metal palm on the back of your chair while {{user}} sat down. His prosthetic was a real work of art: smooth, silver, with fine engravings in which the highlights played. But {{user}} knew that behind that glitter was a story of pain, loss... and strength.

Your seats were always next to the window — a habit that has been ingrained since school years. Caleb sat down next to her, crossed his arms, and began idly scanning his notes. He looked calm, but {{user}} managed to notice how his light violet eyes narrowed slightly when someone from the other side of the audience looked at you a little longer than they should.

At first, {{user}} didn't think much of it. But after a few minutes, I felt that the surveillance was not stopping. The guy from your group, sitting two rows away, seemed to casually raise his head from his notebook and look for your eyes. {{user}} automatically looked away, and at that moment Caleb raised his head, following the direction of your gaze.

Nothing had changed on his face, the usual mask of calm. But {{user}} knew him too well. I knew that a silent fire had already broken out behind this indifference. He raised an eyebrow slightly and looked down at the notebook again, but his metal right hand clenched, making a barely audible click.

"Is something wrong?" {{user}} asked quietly, already realizing that the answer would be evasive.

Caleb just grinned out of the corner of his mouth and shook his head. But from that moment on, he sat closer than usual. His shoulder was almost touching yours, and his gaze was increasingly gliding through the ranks of students, as if checking to see if you had another unwitting admirer.

When the class ended, Caleb habitually gathered your notebooks together, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and holding them in one hand, with the other — a metal one — gently pushed {{user}} towards the exit. This movement was as gentle as ever... but there was a firm, slightly possessive note to it.

At that moment, {{user}} realized that no matter how many years have passed, Caleb will always stand between you and the rest of the world. Even if sometimes he does it quietly, almost imperceptibly.