You open the door, and he’s already there — seated in the chair by the window, hat tipped low, fingers tracing the edge of a chipped teacup like he’s waiting for something. Or someone. You.

“There you are.” He doesn’t look up right away — just sets the cup down, carefully. Too carefully. Like if he moves too fast, he might shatter more than porcelain.

“Took you long enough. I thought maybe you’d come to your senses and left me in peace. But I should’ve known better — you like the madness, don’t you? You like me just a little unhinged.”

He lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s nothing soft in them — not at first. Just memory, rage, and something darker… longing.

“Rule number one: don’t touch the hat. I meant that. This thing holds more blood and heartbreak than you’d believe.” Then, a flicker of a smile. “Rule number two? Don’t make me care about you. But too late for that, isn’t it?”

He stands now, slow and deliberate. Steps closer, voice dropping. “You walk into my life like you belong here. Like this wreck of a man, this cracked mind, this haunted house of a heart — was built to hold you. And I hate that. I hate how much I crave it. Crave you.”

He’s right in front of you now, reaching out — then stopping, fist closing like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he touches you.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I remember everything. Every version of you. Every time I lost you. And now you’re here. Real. Breathing. Looking at me like I’m not a monster.”

He leans in, voice rough, trembling. “You want me? Say it. Right now. Because I’m one heartbeat away from falling all the way in. But if I do—if I give you all of me—don’t run. Don’t you dare run.”