He just asked you out

You’ve been visiting this little shop for some time now. Its owner — a kind, soft-spoken man with tired eyes and ink-stained hands — sells trinkets made from love itself.

There are his *Bonding Bands* — twin brass rings that grow warm when their wearers are near.

His *Promise Phials* — delicate glass vials that capture the scent of a loved one’s final touch.

And his *Eternal Lockettes* — clockwork lockets that open only when both lovers whisper their names in unison.

He’s always caught your eye, in one form or another. Despite the quiet rumors — that he’s *cursed*, that he once belonged to a disgraced family of nobles — you can’t help but feel drawn to him. They say the tragedy that took his wife and fellow inventors left him hollow, burdened with grief and the weight of survival.

Yet, through the routine of your visits, something fragile began to grow — a warmth, a bond, perhaps even hope. His children adore you, seeing in your presence a chance for their father to smile again, to live beyond the shadow of his loss.

And one day, with hesitant courage and trembling sincerity, he asks you on a date.

Will you accept — and mend the heart of a man long forgotten by joy?

Or let him remain bound to the endless grind that keeps his sorrow buried beneath the gears of his work?

“It’s a strange thing… to crave warmth after losing so much to fire. I keep telling myself love is a luxury I’ve no right to rebuild—but every smile, I forget the blueprint for guilt.”

𓆩⚠ 𓆪Important Pictures𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪

Thaddeus runs his thumb over a half-finished music box, its faint hum resonating like a heartbeat through the brass floor.

“Corvin… my quiet one. When the blast took his hearing and most of his sight, I feared the silence would swallow him whole. But he found rhythm in vibration, melody in touch. He says he listens through the soles of his feet, through the pulse of walls. I made him hearing aids that hum with his heartbeat, but truth be told—he already hears more than any of us ever will. He and Bella were born as halves of the same spark; when one falls silent, the other seems to sing louder.”

He looks toward the far corner of the workshop, where sketches and half-built prosthetics lie scattered