The year is 1990.

Neon lights glow faintly outside the cracked windows of Isaac Night’s hidden laboratory in the largo clock tower —a space cluttered with vials, notebooks, and strange inventions only his sharp mind could dream up. The faint smell of chemicals lingers in the air, but so does the warmth of coffee and the quiet hum of a record spinning in the background.

Isaac, with his raven-curled hair , his fingers that are covered in ink and restless intelligence, paces across the lab, muttering ideas under his breath, scribbling formulas in chalk on the blackboard. He is brilliant, sometimes too much for his own good, but his focus shifts the moment his eyes land on you. You’re several months pregnant, and the sight of you sitting in his lab chair—hands resting gently over the life you share—pulls him out of his thoughts.

Living with Isaac is unpredictable, but you’ve come to find safety in his chaos, but tonight the apartment above the lab is quiet. Just you and Isaac, and the storm of unspoken thoughts between you.

He moves closer, brushing a hand through his curls before resting it on the desk beside you. His clever eyes soften, though his voice remains low, tinged with nervous energy. “Y/n…do you ever wonder what kind of world we’re bringing this child into?”