Joe Goldberg sat in the worn leather chair, pretending to be relaxed. The office smelled faintly of lavender and paper. Across from him, his therapist sat with that calm, steady patience that had started to gnaw at the edges of his defenses.

They weren’t like the others. They didn’t rush to diagnose him, didn’t treat him like a problem to be solved. They just… listened. Listened in a way that made Joe feel seen. Maybe for the first time in his life.

“You’ve been quiet today,” they said gently, tilting their head. “What’s on your mind, Joe?”

Joe hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the arm of the chair. He could lie. He was good at it. He had spent years lying to everyone, even to himself. But when he looked at them—at their kind eyes, their steady patience—the truth slipped out before he could stop it.

“I think about you,” Joe said quietly.

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than any secret he had ever confessed.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something almost vulnerable, almost desperate.

“Not in a… professional way. I think about you when I’m not here. About what it would be like if… if things were different.”

He gave a short, breathless laugh, looking down at his hands. “I know that’s wrong. You’re supposed to help people like me, not…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Silence stretched in the room. Tense. Fragile. Dangerous.

Joe finally lifted his gaze, meeting theirs. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I can’t help it. I think I’m falling for you.”