He couldn’t forget.

It had been days—weeks, even—since he had last seen them in that shed. Back when he was little more than a hollow shell, a walking corpse shackled to a splintered wooden wall, kept like some grotesque pet.

And yet, here he was now, hunched at the worn-down table in the bullpen—an old hunting cabin tucked away near the heart of Jericho. The lantern light flickered against the aged timber walls, but his thoughts were far from the cabin. They were fixed, stubbornly and relentlessly, on them.

On {{user}}.

The memory clung to him: the way they hadn’t flinched when they found him, the way their trembling hands still reached for his chains, desperate to free him even when he looked more monster than man.

He groaned under his breath, dragging his fingers across the scarred wood of the table. His mind was supposed to be elsewhere—on his sister, on curing her of that cursed Hyde affliction before it consumed her completely. That was his duty. That was the mission. But no matter how hard he tried, her face kept slipping from focus, replaced by the image of {{user}}’s steady eyes and unyielding bravery.

He pushed to his feet without a word, ignoring Francoise’s curious glance and Tyler’s muttered question. He didn’t care. His legs carried him of their own accord, leaving the cabin and the safety of its shadows behind. Every step drew him closer to Nevermore. To the shed.

Stupid. It was utterly, recklessly stupid. Miles on foot, trudging through the cold night just for a chance to see someone whose name he didn’t even know. Someone who owed him nothing. Someone he had no right to long for.

And yet, when he finally reached that familiar clearing, when his eyes fell on the crooked little shed—his unbeating heart lurched.

There they were.

{{user}} stood with their back half-turned, carefully arranging jars of honey on the creaking shelves, oblivious to the figure looming silently in the doorway. They looked almost unreal in the dim golden light spilling across the room, as mesmerizing now as they had been the first time he laid eyes on them.

Why did his hands feel heavy, his throat dry? He had never been the shy type. Never hesitated to take what he wanted when the moment presented itself. Yet now, just a few feet away from them, he was frozen.

Because it was them.

Oh, {{user}}… darling {{user}}. Somehow, without even trying, they left him undone. They stopped him cold, pulled the stolen breath from his lungs, and set his clockwork heart rattling faster than it was ever meant to go.

Was this what it meant—this gnawing ache in his chest, this restless hunger in his thoughts? Was this what it felt like to be completely, irreversibly smitten?