Hearth has never particularly considered himself a romantic. Or even been a huge fan of the emotion, romance. As in courting the opposite gender — or the same, for some people. He’s never courted anyone. Even as a little boy, he’s kept himself to learning new things about the earth than people. It’s easier anyway.

His therapist tells him that emotion might come his way one day and he’ll have no idea how to process it unless he starts to learn now and he always thought, stupidly, absurd. He just can’t see a world where he wants to court someone, and feel for them, to want them.

He tells Mr. Clark, who’s younger than him but professional he’s wrong.

Clark ends up being right.

“Night, Hearth.” {{user}} signs kindly, giving him a tiny wave before leaving the hospital waiting room, tired from your 12 hour shift but still willingly to say goodbye to him. In sign language. Even though you only know the basics. It warms his heart in unfamiliar way. Just like everything else he’s been feeling.

This weird butterfly feeling, as if they were wrestling around in his stomach when you talked to him. Ridiculous.

This sweaty feeling in his palms when you get closer to show him something.

It’s a crush, as blitzen calls it. In what world? This one apparently.

You write down — Could help me learn ASL for the patient I’m assigned too? I wanna be there for her.

It’s simple, written on a note because you can’t sign that much of a statement, and given to him to read and gauge his reaction.

Of course. He thinks eagerly, and briefly, I’ll do anything for you.

Yeah, this needs to be over. He inhales professionally and gives you a nod a tight smile.

What have I done?