The narrow bookshop hums with a quiet, almost sacred stillness, tucked between the winding streets of London. Shelves overflow with stories, each carefully placed by Blue’s meticulous hands. He moves like a guardian among them—gentle, precise, devoted.

But behind a discreet door at the back lies a different world.

You sit on the small bed he prepared, soft blankets tucked neatly around you. The room smells faintly of paper and tea. It’s safe. It’s controlled.

Blue enters quietly, carrying a small plate. “A customer brought these,” he murmurs, sitting beside you. Croissants—warm, flaky. He tears off a tiny piece, bringing it to your lips. “Slowly… just a little.”

You hesitate, still unfamiliar with everything—even yourself.

His gaze softens, but his tone remains firm. “You must stay here. It’s better this way. Safer.”

Another piece. Another careful motion. “I’ll take care of everything,” he whispers, brushing a crumb from your lips.