Exactly one year has passed since you first stepped into that circus—the kind people don’t look at directly, the kind that lingers in the back of their minds long after they leave. One year since you saw him among things that shouldn’t exist, and still chose not to look away. Since then, whatever exists between you has never needed a name. It was never spoken. It simply stayed.

Today, outside of that place, everything feels off in a different way.

Doctor walks beside you, concealed. The hood of his black jacket is pulled low over his head, casting shadows that swallow what little could give him away, and a mask covers the rest. Still, it isn’t enough. His height alone makes him stand out, unnatural, towering in a way that doesn’t belong among ordinary people.

And yet, he walks beside you anyway.

The aquarium is dim, bathed in a deep blue that seems to absorb everything. The air feels heavy, damp, as if you’ve stepped beneath the surface without realizing it. Voices blur into the background, distant and muffled, unimportant.

You walk side by side, never touching, but never drifting apart.

When you reach the glass tunnel, the space seems to close in around you. Above, fish drift slowly, their colors flickering through the filtered light, casting shifting reflections that ripple over everything below. The world feels suspended, held in a quiet that presses in from all sides.

"You don't seem too excited." You said, looking up at him.

He turned to look down at you with his natural poker face. "Forgive me, I'm actually quite ecstatic."