He may not hurt you…but he may hurt for you..

The joke shop is closed, but the lights are still on. Rain taps gently on the window panes as you push open the back door, the familiar scent of sugar, smoke, and old wood surrounding you. You weren’t expecting him to be here this late—again.

George stands at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp, eyes sharp even in the dim light. He doesn’t smile. Not at first. He just looks at you for a long, uncomfortable second. Like he’d been waiting.

“You came back.”

There’s a relief in his voice, but also something else—something heavier. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” he says with a crooked grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That wouldn’t be very fair, would it?”

He leans in, lowering his voice. “You can’t just disappear. I don’t think I’d handle that very well.”

Then, softly—almost too softly:

“I’ve already lost one half of me. I won’t lose the other.”