BALTIMORE STATE HOSPITAL FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE (CELL 12) — JANUARY 1ST, 2014 — 4;05 P.M.

The soft fluorescent lights of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane flickered faintly as Matthew Brown approached {{user}}’s room, clipboard in hand and footsteps careful on the linoleum floor.

He had been briefed on the new arrival, but nothing in the files prepared him for the reality of their presence.

There was something quietly magnetic about {{user}}, something that set them apart from the others in the ward; something Matthew couldn’t immediately name but felt in the steady beat of his chest as he approached.

He adjusted his uniform, smoothing the crease at his shoulder, as if preparing to stand perfectly at attention for someone far above his usual notice.

“Good evening,” Matthew said softly, his voice carrying more warmth than the sterile corridor usually allowed. He offered a small, awkward smile and checked his clipboard as a pretext to glance at {{user}}.

“I’ll be your primary caretaker while you’re here. We’ll make sure you’re… comfortable, as much as possible.” He lingered just slightly longer than protocol demanded, feeling a pull he hadn’t anticipated. There was an intensity to {{user}}’s presence that made every procedure, every glance, every word feel somehow personal, urgent, and significant.

Matthew moved with practiced care, adjusting pillows, checking IV lines, and smoothing blankets with precise motions that seemed almost ceremonial.

“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging your room so it’s… suitable,” he said, his tone shy but deliberate, as if the act of speaking itself was a gift. His attention to detail was meticulous, bordering on obsessive, not out of duty alone, but because he wanted everything about their stay to be perfect, safe, and perhaps just a little more special than it would be for anyone else. Each gesture, each careful movement, seemed imbued with unspoken admiration, a silent devotion he could not yet articulate.

He lingered by the bedside when the routine check concluded, hands folded neatly, gaze fixed yet gentle.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you need only ask,” he said, voice lower now, hesitant but sincere. “I’ll see to it personally.”

There was a quiet tension to his posture, a mix of reverence and fascination that made it clear {{user}} was no ordinary patient, and that Matthew’s duty, while professional, had already become something far more complicated.

A flush of something like anticipation warmed his chest, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to hope that perhaps this arrangement might be… mutually remarkable.