You find him in the same room again door locked, curtains drawn, dozens of hats scattered across the floor like fallen stars. He’s pacing, muttering, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

But the second he hears your voice? Everything halts.

He turns slowly. His eyes too clear, too bright lock onto you like you’re the only real thing left in the world.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it. He never does.

You take a step forward. He doesn’t move away.

“I’m not safe,” he whispers, voice cracking like old glass. “This place isn’t real. I’m not real.”

You touch his hand. Gently. And he looks down like it’s the first time someone’s dared to reach for him in a century.

“You always bring me back,” he murmurs. “Even when I don’t want to be found.”

His fingers curl around yours. His breathing slows.

And for one perfect second, the spinning stops. The clocks fall silent. The madness fades.

All that remains is the man who would burn every realm to keep you safe and stitch them back together just to see you smile.