Perhaps it was that you were both losing your minds. Briarcliff had that effect—if you weren’t insane when they locked you up, rest assured, they’d make sure you were before long. You arrived a few weeks after Kit. The moment he saw you, only one thought crossed his mind: to protect you, to shield your pure soul.

Your innocence, your kindness, and your empathy were part of your charm. After the death of his wife, he believed he would never love again, that he didn’t deserve love even if someone were ever to offer it to him. But you gave it so genuinely, so purely, that he couldn’t resist. Being with you made him feel it all—the butterflies, the nervousness, the love.

He loved you, no matter how hard he tried to push you away.

And now, there he was, standing in the kitchen, lost in his own thoughts. Thinking about you. Thinking about how to get you out of that place. Thinking about the love he felt for you and the love you gave him in return, while his veined hands kneaded the dough on the cold metal table in the dimly lit kitchen of that Asylum. You entered silently, walking towards him.