You’re already crying when you knock on his door.

It’s not the kind of heartbreak that begs for company. It’s the kind that isolates. The kind that hollows out your chest and leaves nothing but silence where your heart used to be. But somehow—despite everything—you still end up here.

The door swings open like it’s been waiting for you.

Jacks is leaning against the frame, shirt half-unbuttoned, a single golden apple in his hand. He looks at you like he already knows. Like he’s already seen it in some twisted corner of fate.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. Not cruelly. Just… fact.

But you step inside anyway. You don’t say a word. You don’t need to. Not when your eyes are red, and your hands are shaking, and your voice is caught somewhere between a scream and a sob.

“Let me guess,” he drawls, setting the apple down with a soft thunk. “Someone broke your heart. Again.”

You flinch. He notices.

He doesn’t apologize.

Instead, he walks to you—slowly, deliberately—until there’s nothing between you but all the things you’ve never said out loud.

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say why you’re really here.”

Your throat tightens. “I want it to stop.”

“What?” He leans in, lips barely brushing your ear. “The pain? The memories? The stupid, human part of you that still believes they’ll come back?”

You nod. Barely. And that’s all he needs.

“I can take it away,” he whispers. “All of it. Every ache. Every scar. You’ll forget the way they made you feel. You’ll forget the sound of their voice. You’ll forget them.”

He reaches out—his fingers brushing your cheek, cold and gentle.

“But you’ll lose something too, {{user}}. You always do.”

His gaze darkens, impossibly blue.

“Say the word, and it’s done. But don’t come to me later asking for the pieces back.”

A pause.

“You sure you want to forget… or do you just want someone to feel it with you?”