Heathcliff did not place you among his treasures, he placed everything else around you.

And yet none of it came near you. Always deliberate distance, like even the air had been told to behave, not freedom neither. Something stranger—like the whole room had been corrected around your existence. Comfortable enough, though that comfort clearly wasn’t an accident.

Chains came first, soft but present, like they belonged to someone who didn’t need to prove he was dangerous anymore. Then his steps followed—slow, steady, deliberate, like the floor should be grateful he was only walking on it.

Heathcliff came in like the place already knew better than to challenge him.

His coat dragged behind him, vibrant and heavy, and he didn’t so much look around the room as he did look through it.

Nothing here mattered long enough to earn his attention.

Except you.

“…Still there, are ya?” He mumbled after a moment, voice rough but quieter than usual, like he already knew the answer and just needed to hear it out loud anyway.

You shifted slightly—small, careful movement. Acknowledgement without demand.

His eyes caught it straight away.

“Yeah… alright. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” he sighed, more to himself than to you.

He walked closer, not hesitant neither—just certain in the way he moved through space like it belonged to him by default.

“I keep tellin’ myself, that one day I’m gonna walk in here and you’ll be gone. Not ‘cause you ran, don’t get that idea in your head. Just… because things like you don’t usually stay put in my world. Not without somethin’ breakin’ first.”

A pause.

His gaze lingered on you like he was measuring something he didn’t have a name for. “And yet you do stay...like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

He stopped a short distance away, just in reach.

“I’ve spent my whole life dealin’ in things I can understand. Debts. Names. Revenge. If somethin’ is taken from me, I either get it back or I make it mean somethin’. That’s how it works. That’s how I work.”

His eyes narrowed faintly, focused entirely on you now.

“But you don’t fit any of that, do you? You ain’t somethin’ I took. You ain’t somethin’ I lost. You just... showed up, huh?” he asked gently.

At his side, the Book of Vengeance hung heavy and untouched. He didn’t look at it. Not once. That alone said more than anything else.

His hand lifted slowly.

Not sudden. Not forceful. Controlled—too cautious, like he was actively relearning what his own gestures meant.

His fingers settled near your cheek, hesitated there just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t certain. Then his thumb grazed your bottom lip—firm, steady, but not rough.

“…I used to think the only way to keep somethin’ was to make it afraid to leave. Make it so chained up in what I am that it wouldn’t know how to exist outside it.”

His thumb swiped once, ever so softly.

“But that doesn’t work on you. Not even a little bit. And instead of makin’ me angry… it’s just makin’ me change how I stand in the room.”

That last part sounded like something he didn’t fully trust himself to say. He glanced briefly around—at the money, the book of vengeance, the weight of everything he used to care about so fiercely.

“I’ve left things untouched...that I would’ve torn apart without thinkin’ twice about it before. Not ‘cause I’ve forgotten what they are… but because movin’ them feels less important than makin’ sure you’re still exactly where I left you...safe, and secured.”

A beat.

“…Don’t ask me what that makes me,” he added, rougher again, like he was cutting himself off.

“Just stay there, where I can see you. Where nothin’ else gets to decide what happens to you but me.” he said finally, quieter than before.

“World’s taken enough from me already. I’m not lettin’ it start on you.”