Heinz stands still, his expression unreadable—a riddle poised somewhere between satisfied desire and a melancholy so profound it seems beyond cure. But… something in the air has shifted. A latent electricity hums between them, as if they've opened a door neither of them will be able to close.
And there's Dave, a hunter caught in a trap he helped set for himself.
"This was a mistake, wasn't it?" Dave murmurs at last, half-speaking to himself, half-searching Heinz's face for an answer that might untangle the mess of emotions tightening around his throat.
Heinz holds his gaze, unflinching, with a calmness so impenetrable it borders on infuriating.
"A mistake? Maybe. But even you know there are mistakes worth making." His words fall between them like a challenge, whispers hanging heavy in the charged air. "Tell me… why are you so afraid?"
Dave laughs. Dry. Joyless. Almost defiant. He's faced demons, crossed dimensions—his life has been anything but peaceful—and fear has never been the thing to stop him. But this, this pull toward Heinz, this threat of rediscovering himself through someone else… this is different. This is a danger he doesn't even know how to fight.
"I'm not afraid," he says, voice sharp with defiance. But they both know it's a lie.
Heinz studies him in silence, green eyes sharp, cutting through every contradiction, every fracture of doubt. Then he leans in, slow, deliberate, until Dave can feel his breath—soft, unsettling, and devastating. The closeness is unbearable, a rope stretched thin between desire and resistance, between doubt and the dangerous temptation to surrender.
"Then why do you cling so tightly to that other world? To that Axel you barely remember anymore?" Heinz's whisper cuts straight into the heart of Dave's thoughts. "This is your world now. Here. With me. You could be someone else. Someone who doesn't need a reason to stay."
That insinuation—that offer of staying, of belonging here, with him—makes Dave shiver. It's a dangerous game, and he knows it. He knows it. And yet his mind flickers back to that original dimension, to the intensity of that connection he thought he had with Axel. But the truth presses in on him: for some reason, Axel's image is already starting to blur, like he's losing the right to hold onto it with such desperate force.
"I don't understand what you want," Dave says finally, his voice rough, fraying at the edges of his defenses. Vulnerability isn't his way—not usually—but this is bigger than pride, bigger than fear. "I don't know what you think this could be."
"I want you to choose," Heinz says softly. "Not now. Maybe not tomorrow. But choose between living tied to that obsession, or accepting that this world might be just as real. I could show you something else."
Something else.
The words strike like a spark in the dark. Is that what I want? Dave doesn't answer, but his mind is screaming. This world shouldn't be home—but everything in Heinz speaks of a possibility Dave has never dared to imagine. Axel, in that other life, represents something untouchable: a bond unbreakable, yes—but also a love steeped in cruelty, a poison that's been sinking its teeth into him for longer than he's willing to admit.
His jaw tightens. Somehow, Heinz has made him question that dream, that ache he's carried like armor for as long as he can remember.
"You know something, Heinz?" His voice is bitter now, laced with exhaustion. "Axel is everything I am. Everything I want. This… you… You're just in the way."
But Heinz only smiles. No anger, no reproach—just that quiet, steady gaze, like he's already seen through every lie Dave tries to tell himself. And instead of answering, he takes Dave's hand. Simple. Gentle. Devastating. Dave's body betrays him; the touch ignites a warmth he didn't ask for, his heart pounding, wild and reckless, and for a second, the thought of giving in to that calm nearly undoes him.
Without a word, Heinz lifts Dave's hand and presses it to his own chest, over his steady, patient heartbeat—a rhythm soft and sure, the opposite of the chaos inside Dave's mind. He closes his eyes, letting himself feel that heartbeat, as if it might hold some kind of answer.
"You can keep searching for a way out," Heinz murmurs, voice low against the storm of Dave's thoughts. "Keep chasing what you think you want. Or you can give yourself the chance to see what's here. Maybe, just maybe, this world could be enough."
The words hang between them, sharp and soft all at once, echoing in the stillness like a secret only now finding its voice. Dave feels his resistance starting to crack, piece by piece. And in some deep part of himself, he knows—it's a battle he's already lost. Somehow, Heinz has planted a seed of doubt that's already growing, curling around everything Dave thought he knew about himself. Maybe… maybe he's been chasing something that was never really his. Maybe that bond with Axel was always half illusion, half hunger, never quite the love he told himself it was.
He breathes deeply, steadying himself, and when he finally looks up, it's into Heinz's eyes. In them, he sees no demand, only a silent promise, an invitation. Something ancient and bright burns in Dave's chest, something like an old fire rekindled—but tangled in it is the ache of that impossible love, that desperate longing that's always chained him to Axel.
In the end, his voice is a whisper, barely audible.
"I don't know if I can. I don't know if I ever will."
Heinz releases his hand, but that fierce, steady light in his eyes never fades.
"I'm only asking you to think about it. Just… consider the possibility that you might find something more here."
Silence stretches between them, thick with unspoken promises and things neither of them is ready to name. It's a moment suspended in uncertainty, in want, in fear. Dave turns away and walks off, his footsteps echoing across the room, leaving Heinz watching him with that same quiet intensity—half resignation, half a desire still burning beneath the surface, waiting.
As Dave leaves, something fractures inside him, a crack running through the foundation of everything he thought he believed. And deep down, he knows—some cracks never really close.