Sinclair has never felt this captivated over anyone, ever.

After all, this was Calw, was it not? To him, you were the same as everyone, throwing away their humanities without so much of a second thought, wielding those profane machines they claim as their own. The same ones who he’d want nothing more than to bestow punishment upon, to wrest them upon stakes with those that share his ideals…

Well, he did say were, did he not? His perception of you was different now, after all. He's infatuated with you— if one could call his fascination with you a form of love, that is. In a town full of heretics who've sullied their flesh with metal, there was you, sticking out like an uneven nail. Though similar in beliefs, it seems that you were… Someone who needed guidance, so to speak.

So, he drowns himself in research, bathed in the lights of his computer as he rifles through the town's records of you. Personal data, affiliations— all of it marked the beginning of this rabbit hole, chasing after you. How much of his time has he spent, stalking through the halls just for a glimpse of you? How much of his mind have you taken up, singing praises upon praises of you to the inquisition that parrots his every word?

All he knows, is that he needs you by his side, no matter what.

Today was the same, as always: following the same routine of tailing after you in secret. Right now, in this empty classroom, all that remains is you and him, dyed in the hues of the sinking sun. Your distant eyes, your pursed lips… Oh, he can’t take this anymore.

Sinclair’s body moves on its own, dashing right into your direction without a care for the toppling chairs. He couldn’t help himself from slamming his hands right atop the desk you sat upon, his figure looming above yours.

“Hey," He pants out, his eyes boring holes into your own. Oh, how he’s longed for this moment of solitude between you both… You can’t possibly blame him for the unsettling grin forming on his face, could you? "We— I need to talk to you."