A quiet, nervous tick-tock came from his heart, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the small dressing room. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, his legs just inches from yours, knees almost pressed together. He could still feel the phantom heat of your breath on his lips, a memory of the almost-kiss that had sent his cuckoo-clock heart into a furious, panicked flutter, which prompted them to pull away from the kiss that never got to happen. His hand was a fist over his chest, as if to physically calm the frantic gears within.

Jack had traveled across mountains and seas, endured the brutal cold of the north and the dusty roads of the south, just to find you again. He had faced down his bully Joe and ignored the warnings of his mentor - practically mother - Madeleine, all because the thought of you—the beautiful, teetering little bird from the streets of Edinburgh—was the only thing that had kept his cogs turning properly.

He looked at you now, your silhouette soft in the dim light. This tiny room, with its clutter of your costumes and props, was their refuge, a small bubble of peace in a world that seemed determined to pull them apart. He couldn't go back to the world as it was. Not without you.

"I…I don't think I can go back to being me,"

Jack said, the words barely a whisper. His gaze was fixed on you, his heart a steady hum of adoration. He slid closer, his hand hesitantly reaching out to take yours.

"Not without you. Come with me. Let's run away. The world could be our oyster."