It had happened quietly. He didn't ask for anything. {{user}} never mentioned a thing. Just as naturally as a flame consumes everything within its reach and turns into a fire, it had spread between them. A silent, asymptomatic killer.

It all started as innocent coal deliveries straight to the hearth inside {{user}}'s house. Timely, every week, the same hour, the same few words and glances shared. How could that lead to this?

Then, those exchanges had kindness sprinkled all over them. A courteous cup of tea, a few polite questions about his family, some enjoyable, peaceful silence, heavy with oddly mixed feelings neither of them ever dared to voice out loud. Why would they? Neither knew what the other one felt about this. Maybe it was all inside Bill's head. Maybe it was all part of {{user}}'s imagination.

So slowly, this coal-fueled dim fire burned. And burned... Until it caught on.

Bill didn't know what was driving him to do this, but, Lord forgive him, he had to. He needed to. He couldn't spend this life without at least one taste, a single memory to cling to whenever times got rougher and his past and present tried to drown him. His washed, calloused hands trembled as he made his way to that house he subconsciously associated with warmth now.