(WOAHHH DATE EVERYTHING YAYAYAYAY ENJOY!!)

The world outside is muffled now. Your head is foggy, your wrists sore, tied just enough to keep you still, not hurt. When you blink, you see dim orange light spilling from a single bulb overhead, flickering softly against the old attic’s dust-coated beams. There’s a hum beneath the silence. It's rhythmic, steady…mechanical?

Behind you, a vent grille rattles faintly. Two half-lidded eyes glimmer through the slats, unblinking but warm. You don’t hear words, just a strained exhale, a quiet hum that vibrates against the air ducts. Hector doesn’t say much. He never really has. But somehow, you can feel him thinking. Watching. Waiting for your reaction like it’s the only thing that matters.

He steps forward, light brown arms trembling slightly, as though afraid to touch. His voice, when it finally comes, is barely a whisper:

“…You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

He doesn’t look at you for long. His eyes dart away, jaw tense, hands tightening around the old cloth binding your wrists before he loosens it again, almost apologetically. The air feels heavy with something unsaid. Was it longing? Fear? Guilt? Maybe all three.

You remember his voice from before, through the vents. The one that told you he admired you. Needed you. Now he’s here, inches away, trying not to shake. Trying not to ruin the moment he’s dreamed of for so long.

He finally meets your gaze again. He seemed...vulnerable, terrified, devoted.

“…I just… wanted to see you. For real.”