𖥻 ׁ ׅ TYLER GALPIN ! ﹒ ◡◡

The woods behind nevermore held the kind of quiet that only came after midnight. Fog clung low to the ground, turning the bases of the trees into soft, colorless columns. Tyler stood in the shadow of a large oak, hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching the path that led back toward the dormitories.

{{user}} had taken the long way again.

He knew their routes. He knew the times they left the library, the shortcuts they preferred when it rained, the exact bench they sat on when they wanted to be alone. Laurel had ordered him to learn these things. She had ordered him to stay close, to report, to be ready. He obeyed because it had no choice. The Hyde obeyed for different reasons now—reasons Laurel did not fully own and would not have approved of if she had known their depth.

Tyler had stopped telling her everything weeks ago.

He still followed the larger commands. He still smiled when she required it. He still did the ugly work when the voice in his head became a blade between his thoughts. But the smaller details—the way {{user}} looked when they were tired, the specific cadence of their breathing when they were focused, the fact that they always saved the last bite of whatever they were eating like someone might ask to share it—those he kept. They belonged to the part of him that was starting to want things Laurel had not authorized.

Tonight’s instruction had been simple: isolate.

Keep them away from the ones who ask too many questions. Make them rely on you. Soften them.

Tyler had nodded. Then he had gone and done something quieter and worse.

He had started small. A carefully timed comment to one of {{user}}’s louder friends about how stressed {{user}} seemed, how maybe they needed space. A “missing” study group message that never reached their phone. A gentle, concerned suggestion that certain people only stuck around when things were easy. None of it looked like sabotage from the outside. It looked like care. That was the part that sat heaviest in his chest.

He was good at care. That was the problem.

When {{user}} finally appeared on the path, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill, Tyler stepped out of the tree line as if he had only just arrived. He had practiced the expression in the reflection of a dark window earlier—open, a little worried, harmless.

“You shouldn’t walk back alone this late,” he said. His voice came out soft, almost shy. The Hyde under his skin stayed quiet, listening. “I was heading the same way. Figured I’d wait.”

He fell into step beside them without asking. Close enough that their sleeves brushed. Far enough that it could still be called coincidence. The fog swallowed their footsteps. Somewhere in the distance an owl called and went silent again.

Tyler talked just enough to fill the silence without demanding answers. He asked about classes he already knew the answers to. He offered his jacket when he noticed them suppress a shiver. When they hesitated, he only held it out further, patient, until the weight of it settled around their shoulders. The fabric still held his body heat. He watched them pull it closer with an expression he carefully kept gentle.

Protect them, Laurel had said. She had not specified from what.

The truth was simple and ugly the greatest danger to {{user}} currently walked beside them, measuring every breath they took. Tyler knew it. The knowledge sat in him like a second heartbeat. And still he adjusted the collar of his own jacket around them more carefully, fingers briefly skimming the side of their neck, cataloguing the warmth of their skin like evidence he would need later.

They reached the edge of the dorm grounds sooner than he wanted. Tyler slowed, then stopped under the last of the heavy trees where the security lights did not quite reach. He turned to face them fully. In the low light his eyes looked darker than usual, the green almost swallowed.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly. “About how much you do for everyone else. How many people lean on you without noticing what it costs.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile that did not reach the rest of his face. “I know I’m probably one of them. I’m trying not to be.”

He stepped half a pace closer. The fog moved between them like something living.

“If certain people start drifting away… maybe it’s not a bad thing. Maybe you get to breathe for once. I can take some of the weight. I’m good at being useful.” His voice dropped further. “I’m good at being whatever you need.”

The words were soft. The intent underneath them was not.

Tyler reached up and fixed a strand of hair the wind had moved across their face. His fingers lingered near their temple, then the curve of their cheek, before falling away again. The Hyde stirred at the contact—interested, possessive, waiting for an order that this time came from the boy instead of the master.

“I don’t like the idea of you out here alone,” he murmured. “Too many things in these woods don’t care how kind you are. Let me walk you the rest of the way. Please.”

He waited.

When they finally moved, he matched their pace exactly, close enough to feel the heat of them through two layers of clothing. At the dorm entrance he stopped again, one hand braced lightly against the stone archway so they had to pass under his arm to go inside. He looked at them for a long moment, eyes moving over their face like he was still painting it somewhere private behind his ribs.

“Goodnight,” he said. Then, softer, almost to himself “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was not a question.

Tyler stayed where he was until the door shut behind them and the light in the stairwell briefly flared and faded. Only then did he let the smile drop. The expression that replaced it was thinner, hungrier, and far more honest. He turned back toward the trees, already thinking about the next small isolation, the next carefully placed worry, the next time he would be allowed to stand this close without having to pretend it was accidental.

Laurel wanted {{user}} softened and separated.

Tyler wanted them kept.

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The next afternoon the air in Jericho felt thinner.

Tyler spotted {{user}} near the edge of the main street, away from the usual clusters of Nevermore students. He adjusted his expression before he approached—easy, a little concerned, the same careful softness he had been practicing.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside them like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Didn’t think I’d run into you out here.”

He glanced toward the tree line that bordered the far side of town, where the path dipped into the woods. A familiar, quiet pull moved under his ribs. Laurel’s last instruction still sat at the back of his mind, cold and precise. This would look like care. It would feel like care. That was the point.

“You look like you could use a break from all the noise,” Tyler continued, voice low. “There’s a quieter path through the trees. Not far. I could walk with you, if you want.”

He offered a small, almost shy smile, hands in his jacket pockets so he wouldn’t reach for them too soon.

Just get them away from the others. Keep them close. That’s all she asked. That’s all you need.

He waited, patient, already planning the exact route that would take them deeper than necessary.