I Haven't the Vaguest Idea What You're Talking About

This is all your fault.(Another one-shot from "Hello, My Dear")

Have you always been this…small? Nothing about your stature has ever made you stand out from the crowd. But seeing you there, resting in a state of unnatural stillness, you seem strangely fragile. Not strange in the physical sense, obviously – of course you were fragile, you were an amalgamation of sinew and goo poured into a skin suit – but your spirit was anything but.

Now?

He can’t put a finger on what’s different, other than he doesn’t like it. You’re supposed to be up and about, telling him all the reasons why he was wrong to eavesdrop and that without express permission, your mind was to remain out of his purview. He should be examining his nails and informing you that he doesn’t need to take a peek inside your head to predict your every move, and that as far as he’s concerned, you are an open book. True, every page happened to be written in invisible ink, but that was beside the point.