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You awakened tied to a chair in a large, dingy room. You struggled against the metal braces as you lifted your head. The floor was concrete, and the ceiling, far above you, was supported by red, metallic beams that divided the pitch-black expanse that was the ceiling into sections. The room was lined with small windows that let in just enough light to let you make out shadowy shapes around you. You couldn’t remember a thing about why you were here. Where were you? What time was it? What had just happened?
You jumped at the sound of footsteps, which echoed around the space. You squinted at a dark figure, who steadily approached you, trying to make out any detail. Once the figure got close enough, you recognized him as Dr. Two-Brains, the fearsome number one villain in the city. The light from the windows glinted off of the goggles he wore. Your eyes fixed on the grotesque mound of flesh fused to the side of his head, before settling on his bloodshot eyes, which dug into you. His face was held in an impersonal scowl, as he tilted his head up to consider you.
“What am I doing here?” You asked frantically. You were still struggling against the restraints, trying to find a way out of this.
“You don’t remember?” His expression did not change.
You stared at him blankly.
His face hardened, as he looked to his right, then back at you. He seemed like he was considering something. He swallowed, then tilted his head down. “...Good.” He said finally.
He turned his back to you. All of a sudden, the restraints on the chair loosened. You jumped to your feet. You could see marks on your skin from where you had struggled against the restraints. You saw a garage door to your right slowly creak open. Sunlight filled the area, revealing the room to be an expansive, filthy warehouse. As your eyes adjusted to the sunlight, you peered out of the garage door. It led onto a street that you vaguely recognized. From what you could tell, you were mere minutes away from your apartment on foot.
Dr. Two-Brains gestured towards the door, still facing away from you. “Leave.”
You checked your pockets, still weary of the doctor, despite him having his back turned to you. You still had your wallet, keys, phone, everything you usually had on you. Nothing had been stolen. You stared at the back of him, trying to sense if any part of this could be a trap.
Dr. Two-Brains turned to glare at you. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?” He gestured wildly. “Go!”
With that, you backed towards the door, keeping your eyes fixed on him, before turning and bolting to safety. As you reached the exit and turned the corner, you felt the warmth of the sunlight outside on your skin. You felt fine, you weren’t injured in any way. What had been the purpose of that? What were you doing in that warehouse?
__
You made it to your English 101 class a bit early. It was the first day, and from what you’d heard, the professor was incredibly strict, and you wanted to do everything you could to ensure you wouldn’t get on their bad side.
As you sat in the back of the room, doodling in your notebook and waiting for class to start, someone walked up to the seat next to yours and sat down. He looked like a normal college kid, except he was wearing long, thick yellow gloves that came up past his elbows. He opened his backpack and took out a notebook.
It’d be best to make a friend in this class, at least someone you can message if you missed class and needed notes. You leaned over to him. “I heard this professor is supposed to be really nasty.” You whispered. “From what my friend said, no late work policy, no absences, and no tardies allowed.”
The person sitting next to you sighed, looking down at his shoes. “Great, like I wasn’t gonna have trouble in this class anyways.”
You caught a glimpse of a textbook resting next to his backpack. You recognized it from some advanced math class you had no desire to take, nor hope of being able to pass. “Hey,” You said, gesturing to it. “isn’t that for, like, super-calculus?”
“Number theory.” He chuckled. “I took calc in sophomore year. Uhh, high school.” He corrected himself, then smiled sheepishly. “I was an early grad, just barely though. Passed English on what I still believe to be a technicality.” He fidgeted with his hands, avoiding eye contact. “Now I’m getting my bachelor’s, working towards my PhD, but I’ve been really putting off taking this class.”
“Well, if you’re that smart, why are you having trouble with English 101?” You teased.
“I’ve always had trouble with English.” He folded his arms. “It’s just so different from the other subjects. In math and science, there’s one real, concrete answer. Even history, sure, there are different interpretations, but nobody can tell you the past didn’t happen. This stuff, however, is so… subjective. I’m going into chemistry for god’s sake, why do I need to take English?” He pleaded to nobody in particular.
“Won’t you need to write papers when you have a PhD?”
He slumped in his chair. “Don’t remind me! I wanna live in blissful ignorance for as long as humanly possible.” He said sarcastically, giving you a small smirk.
You smiled back briefly, then turned back to your notebook.
You felt the person next to you nudge your elbow slightly. “Hey…” He eyed the door in anticipation for the professor to walk in, then turned back to you. “Is there any way you could help me, like, study for this kind of stuff? I’d really need it, and I’d really appreciate it.”
You smiled, considering. “Only if you’d help me study for gen-chem.”
He scoffed. “That’s hardly a fair trade, gen-chem is way easier, but if you’re willing to take the harder option, I guess I’d accept it.”
He extended his hand, offering a handshake. You took it.
“Steven.” He said.
“(y/n).” You said back.
He smiled earnestly, looking into your eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n).”
__
Steven speed-walked to the booth, sitting down. He stared at his shoes, barely turning to address you. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
You gave him a look. “By a minute?”
“I know, I just…” You looked over him, taking in his appearance. This was the first time you’d seen him like this. In all the time you’d spent with him, he’d always had the same gloves on, but this time, they weren’t there. This was possibly the first time you’d seen his bare hands. His hair was not the mess it usually was, it looked like he had put a lot of effort into styling it. This was the most nervous you’d ever seen him, and that was saying something.
“You’re completely fine.” You reached out and put your hand on top of his to try to reassure him.
He smiled, then winced, looking upwards towards the ceiling. “Are these kinds of places always this loud?” The restaurant around you was very busy. The speakers were playing pop music under the conversational noise, and the snare drum cut through the ambient verbal noise at irregular intervals.
“I think so?” You hadn’t really noticed the noise before he said something.
The waitress came by, smiling at both of you.
“Hello!” Steven said, holding up his menu. “I’d like a, uhh…” He looked at you, and his face got beet red. “I’ll just have a salad, I’m not very hungry.”
You blinked. Steven once ate an entire pastrami sandwich in the five minutes before an exam began instead of studying. You’d never seen him pass up on the opportunity to eat good food. You passed the waitress your menu. “I’d like the spaghetti with the garlic bread, please.”
You both handed your menus to the waitress, and she walked away. Steven tapped his fingers on the table, obviously bothered by something. Maybe he was just nervous? Regardless, you decided you should probably say something.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Steven looked up at you with alarm. “Hmm? Oh! Nothing! It’s nothing.” He faked a smile.
You looked at him with concern. “Are you sure?”
He nodded vigorously. “Yeah! I’m just fine, okay?”
“...alright.” You figured you’d throw him a bone and change the subject. “How did you do on that paper?”
He smiled. “Way better than I would’ve if I didn’t have you proof-read it. I got a B+! Which is great, considering that was a really vicious assignment. If only I could have you proof-read all my papers.”
“Hey, why not?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you. They can get pretty long, and a lot of them are a bit dense.”
You gave him a look. “I know that. And I can handle it, Steven. Whatever it is. I like reading your work. It can be dense, yes, but once I actually get what you’re talking about, and I get through the typos and grammar issues, it can be fascinating.”
He looked down. “Thanks a lot, but… I don’t know… I guess I’m just not used to having someone to rant to, who enjoys reading the things I write and listening to what I have to say.”
The waitress came back and handed you your plates of food. He picked up his fork and started eating. You could tell he was not enjoying it very much.
You wanted to say something, but you didn’t feel it was your place, at least not on the first date.
Steven ate a few bites of the salad. You could tell he did not like the texture of the salad at all, but he was pretending to enjoy it.
He noticed you weren’t eating, and he set down his fork to speak. In doing so, the fork screeched against the plate, making a disgusting noise that caused him to wince. He went to grab the fork again, but in his distress with the noise, he did not realize he had set his fork down so it was laying in the salad, with the fork touching the dressing. When he picked the fork up, his fingers touched the dressing on the fork. He immediately dropped the fork, causing it to make a clank as it came into contact with the plate. At the texture of the dressing on his bare hands, Steven almost started hyperventilating.
“Steven?” You asked.
He stopped and looked at you. He had gotten a napkin and started rubbing his hand, where it had touched the dressing. You knew he had gotten the dressing off his hand, but he was still trying to get rid of the sensation the dressing had caused by continuing to scrub his hand. “Yes?”
The table right behind you burst out laughing at some joke, increasing the noise around him. He put his hands over his ears to block out the noise, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked miserable.
You wanted to reach out and touch his hand or his shoulder to comfort him, to hopefully ground him and bring him back to the present, but you were worried that adding more sensation could make whatever he was going through worse. “Hey, Steven, take a deep breath with me, okay?”
He slowly opened his eyes to look at you. You modeled taking a deep breath, and he followed suit.
“Steven, go outside where it’s not as noisy and take a second to collect yourself. I’ll ask the waitress for the check and get boxes for these.” You motioned to both of your plates.
He looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t. He stood up and walked outside.
A bit later, you walked out of the restaurant, with two boxes. Steven was sitting on a bench outside, trying not to cry.
He looked up at you, then away. “I’m so sorry, (y/n).” You could hear the embarrassment in his voice.
“Please, don’t apologize.” You said reassuringly. “I’m not mad at all, I just want to know what’s wrong.”
“I guess, I just… I’m not used to eating in a restaurant. Every time I went to one of these places as a kid I hated it. I stopped going as soon as I could make the decision to. You have to talk to the waiter, and everyone’s all around you, and you can hear them talking, and they can hear you, and the music’s loud…”
“Steven…” You took his hand in yours. “I wouldn’t have suggested going to a restaurant if I knew you didn’t like them.”
He recoiled, folding his arms. “Well, I should like them, (y/n)! I’ve got no reason not to. I’m just… sensitive! And it’s so dumb. And I wanted to give you the first date you should have gotten, if I wasn’t so…”
Your eyes widened, your face softened with concern. “Is that what this is about?”
Steven’s eyes started watering. “You deserve someone who will go out to eat with you, and who’ll dress nice, and do his hair, and doesn’t get some big, bulky entree, and who doesn’t start crying in front of a restaurant on our first date.”
“Is that why you didn’t wear your gloves?”
Steven looked away, still tearing up. “Nobody wears big gloves like that to their first date.”
“You could.” You said plainly.
He looked down, blinking repeatedly.
“Steven, look. I don’t want to go on a date with the guy you think you need to be so I’ll like you. I want to go on a date with you. I didn’t want to go on a date with you in spite of your love for food, or your gloves, or anything. I wanted to go on a date with you because of them. Those things you do make you you. I don’t care what other people say you should or shouldn’t do on a first date. As long as it makes you more comfortable, that’s what I want you to, okay?”
He laughed, tears still collecting in his eyes. “I’m an idiot.”
You shook your head. “Never call yourself an idiot.” You said. “You’re the smartest man I know.
You offered your hand for him to hold. He brought you into an embrace.
“Thank you.” He said.
“Always.” You replied.
He sniffled a bit in your arms, before pulling away.
“How about we do something else?” You asked. “I think the library might still be open.”
“What would we do at the library?” He asked you.
“You could talk to me about your next big project you’re working on for your internship.”
He smiled slightly. “You want to hear me rant about that? Really? I could go on about that for hours.”
You smiled at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Of course I would.”
Steven started blushing profusely. His brain was malfunctioning, in a weirdly good way. He tried to think of something to say. “Uhh, I, uhh, I… Library!” He said suddenly, jumping up from the bench. He held out his hand and helped you off of the bench, before you both walked back to his car.
__
You walked into the apartment, taking off your coat and shoes, and putting your car keys into a bowl next to the door.
“Hey honey! Welcome home! I’m making chicken parmesan!” You heard Steven shout from the kitchen.
Even from the entryway, the chicken and the marinara sauce smelled amazing. You walked into the kitchen and put your hand on his shoulder. Steven looked over his shoulder at you and smiled sweetly. He leaned down and kissed you sweetly on the forehead.
“How was your day at work?” You said, looking up at him.
“It was alright.” Steven said. “I’m still trying to get by in that institution when I’m, like, the youngest one there by a long shot. And, in one of my lectures, I spent, like, thirty minutes trying to find my blue dry erase marker. Do you want to guess where it was?”
You smiled. “In your other ha--”
“In my other hand!” Steven shouted, both annoyed and amused at himself. “And my whole class was watching me, too! It was so vexatious.”
You chuckled. “Vexatious, dear?”
“Vexatious!” Steven said jokingly, folding his arms and standing his ground.
You kissed him gently. “How come you know what the word ‘vexatious’ means, but I once saw you try to spell the word giant ‘g-a-i-n-t’?”
He blushed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, (y/n).”
Steven yelped slightly and turned around, turning his attention back to the stove. He grabbed the tongs and flipped the pieces of chicken to their other side. On one of the pieces of chicken, there was a small burn. He looked at you, then down.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” Steven said, exasperated.
“Don’t apologize, darling. Your other thirty thousand flawless dishes you’ve cooked for me will certainly make up for this piece of chicken being a little burnt this one time. I was the one who distracted you, anyways.”
Steven rolled his eyes and smiled. “You give me too much credit.”
“No, I really don’t, Steven.” You said, stepping back and shaking your head. “You keep saying things that insinuate that you’re some fraud. You’re an amazing partner. You’re an amazing chef. You’re an amazing professor. You got that degree somehow, didn’t you?”
Steven sighed, stirring the noodles. “None of my professors forgot their dry erase marker in their other hand.”
“No, not the marker specifically. But they’ve also done stupid shit! What about that thing you told me about Dr. Johnson? He once tried to substitute Potassium-whatever with something-Chloride and made a baking soda geyser instead of a baking soda volcano.”
He grinned. “Aw, man, I remember that. I was sitting in the front row, in the splash zone. I think I can still taste the sodium acetate.”
“And the time your professor confidently wrote 3+1=5 on the board?”
“In his defense, he was teaching high level physics, and on one of those tests I saw them round pi to 5.” He joked.
“Exactly!” You said. “You’re no less of a fraud than everyone else there.”
“You’re right!” He said reassuringly. “That’s a way better way to put it. I bet every professor has done something stupid like that!”
“And those that haven’t are the ones that take themselves way too seriously.” You seconded.
Steven plated the pasta and brought it over to the couch, handing you a fork and sitting next to you, starting to eat his pasta.
“God, it’s been such a long day. Do you want to watch the Princess’s Bride while we eat?” He said.
“Yeah, of course!” You replied.
Over the course of the night, you ended up watching three movies. Once you were finished with your food, you both assumed a cuddling position on the couch, and you laid there for hours, just enjoying each other's company. By the time the third movie ended, you both had fallen asleep on the couch, still in each other’s arms. You got probably the best night’s sleep you’d had… ever.
Your alarm clock is in your bedroom, so you were almost late to your job the next morning. It was worth it.
__
You held your cell phone up to your ear and let it ring. You were speed walking through the building, going up each stair as quickly as you could, your face stoic as the phone continued to buzz. Once you were sent to voicemail, you hung up and put your phone back in your pocket.
It had been a day since you saw Steven. He left like normal for work, and he never came home. He hadn’t been returning any of your calls. You’d been worried sick.
You walked up to the door to his lab. It had been left unlocked.
Oh god, this was bad.
You took a deep breath, and you opened the door.
The first thing you noticed was that the bathroom light was still on, illuminating a shattered mirror. The shards were scattered around the bathroom area. Blood splattered on the objects nearest the place the mirror used to hang on the wall. No care had been dedicated to trying to clean up the shards nor the blood. Steven wasn’t much of a neat freak, but you remembered him going on a small rant about how blood is considered a biohazard for OSHA purposes. This really was not like him at all.
Looking further into the room, you saw blueprints in tatters. Among them, you saw plans for a machine that was supposed to create the ‘perfect cup of coffee’. You can remember him telling you all about it, all the plans he had for it. How it filtered through the grounds. Exactly how much heat the water needed to be exposed to at each step of the brewing process. He had everything labeled and precise. That single sheet must’ve taken him hours of work. It was in several pieces, torn up and discarded on the floor.
“Steven?” You called out. No response. You headed further in.
There were claw marks on the walls that cracked the brickwork. His favorite mug was on the floor, shattered, the liquid inside it pooling in a circle around the ceramic remains. You saw a large beaten-up metallic helmet, thrown across the room and dented in several areas.
You saw a cage for a mouse, laying open and on its side.
Jesus Christ, Steven. What had you gotten yourself into?
There was one thing you were sure of, that became more evident the more you searched though. Whatever he was going through, it was terrible. That meant you had to help.
__
It had been a week. You called his mom, his dad, his sister, his niece. All of them were just as confused as you. They had given you no leads. That was okay, you reassured yourself. They were just giving you more work to do.
You decided to go take a walk in the park, to take your mind off of things. Until you saw him.
His hair had turned white. His eyes were red and bloodshot. He had whiskers growing out of his face. And on the side of his head, there was a--
Wait, what the fuck was that?
Yeah, his experiment had gone wrong, alright. He’d vented to you about experiments, about failed attempts at solving things. He was always so frustrated, but he stayed strong until he came up with an answer, with a solution. Nothing had ever gone quite as bad as this.
“Steven!”
He turned his head to look at you. His face was riddled with grief and pain.
You wanted to keep the conversation light. “So I see you were finally able to grow facial hair?” You joked.
He turned away from you, walking away. “I’m not Steven, (y/n). Steven is gone. You need to leave.”
You scoffed, following him. “Come back here. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to know how to help.”
He stopped and turned so you could see his face. There was conflict in his eyes. “Honey…” He started, “I don’t think you can help me with this one.”
“Of course I can, darling. I’ve helped you with everything else.”
“This is different.” He stated plainly, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. “...I don’t think I recover from this.”
You stared at him, wordless. Why was he rolling over and taking this?
“...I think it’d be best if you forgot about me. You deserve someone better. Someone who can give you what you deserve. You can’t keep making me your project.”
You crossed your arms. “I’m as messed up as you are, and you know that. I’ve never made you my project. I’ve helped you get through things, just like you help me. I’ve helped you get through everything else. I’ll help you get through this, too.”
“This is different.” He repeated.
You looked into his eyes, trying to find the punchline. Waiting for him to say ‘just kidding!’ and for you to admonish him for taking the joke this far. “You expect me to roll over and just accept this? Just let you leave me?”
He was doing his best to hide that he was on the verge of tears. He was doing a terrible job.
“Just come back to the apartment, dear. I’ll get one of your friends from the university. We can get through this. You know that.”
He looked away. “...Goodbye, (y/n).” He backed away. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
You wanted to chase after him, to scream, to yell at him about how this isn’t fair, but instead you just watched him walk away.
Please. He knew better than to assume that you would give up so easily.
__
You knocked on his door, holding the blueprint close to your chest. You were met with an “I’ll get it” and a pause, before the door opened.
He fixed his eyes on you, and immediately you could tell his demeanor shift. His stoic face became a mix of angry, saddened, and afraid. “What do you--”
“I have a way to fix it.” You said, inviting yourself into his home.
He paused, his eyes widened as he started to process the situation. “I can’t be fixed.”
“That’s what you think.” You said, moving further into the warehouse. “I’ve got a ton of ideas from--”
“Professor Tubing.” He finished for you. “I’ve seen them. They don’t work.”
“Well,” You started again, “You’ve never seen this one befo--”
“Yes.” He said. “I have.”
You stood there in silence, as the man you knew walked up to you. With every step, his eyes got crazier.
“What are those blueprints for, honey? A separator? A DNA-un-splicer? A fucking rodent killer?” He paced, blinking away tears. “I’ve tried them all.” His bloodshot eyes settled on you. “Do you think I like being like this? That I’ve just been biding my time while a rodent destroys my reputation, my life’s work?”
You backed away from him, summoning all the courage you could muster. “Your life’s work? That’s what you care about? That’s your take away from all this? Did you ever once think about saying goodbye? Did you ever once think about calling your mother?”
“Do you think I just don’t care? That I haven’t exhausted every possible option?” He took the blueprint from you, then he smiled. He laughed, barely noticeable at first, then more boisterous, until his expression was twisted into a malevolent giddiness. “Professor Tubing mailed this machine to me last week, (y/n). The week before that, I designed it myself.” His expression dropped. “It did nothing.”
You backed against the wall. Fear worked its way into your system, but you were still persistent.
“Failed attempt after failed attempt after failed attempt.” He spat. “Fusing the brains is easy. Separating them without killing both is impossible.”
“Impossible.” You scoffed, your gaze hardening. “What happened to the man I knew who said that nothing was impossible?”
The doctor rolled his eyes. “That idiot got a mouse brain stuck to the side of his head.”
“Don’t you dare call yourself an idiot. You’re one of the smartest people I know.” Your eyes darted between his eyes, searching for something he was trying desperately to hide. “Together, we can get you out of this.”
His face softened. “The man you loved is dead. Accept that.”
You glared at him. “You’ve known me for years. Do you think a simple ‘accept that’ will work? I will never stop. As long as I know you’re in there and you’re hurting. I. Will. Never. Stop.”
He considered you for a while. After a moment, he sighed and looked away from you.
“Fine.” He said simply.
He took a remote out of his lab coat and pressed a button. A chair swept you off of your feet, and metal straps attached you to the chair, holding you in place. He turned to a large, metallic ray, about thirty feet away from him.
“You know how much I like making those complex machines, don’t you?” He reached up to pat the ray. “This one right here erases people’s memory.”
You looked down the nozzle. You recognized the rings around the tip of the ray, the part that shot the blast. Those rings amplified the ray so it could have the desired effect. You knew that because you pitched the idea. Your face hardened as you tried to call his bluff. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Steven wouldn’t. But I would. This whole romantic subplot has really gotten in the way of what’s important. Cheese, that is.” He smirked mockingly at you, and as his lips parted, they revealed sharp, pointed teeth. “After this is done, you won’t remember Steven anymore, and you’ll go back to your normal life. No more regrets about how we used to be. You’ll be back to normal.”
He turned away, and his demeanor dropped. “Maybe you’ll be happier that way.”
Your eyes widened. “Steven, please. You don’t want to do this.”
Steven turned to face you. “No,” He said, stifling a sob. “I don’t.”
“We can survive this, Steven, you know we can, right?”
His eyes were wide with fear, with regrets for actions he hadn’t made yet. “I’m so sorry, (y/n). I love you.”
“I love you too.” You said.
“Goodbye.” His hand hovered over the switch, his face twisted into a grimace.
“No, no, no, please, Steven, you can fight it Steven, PLEASE--”
There was a flash of light, and everything was silent.
__
He watched you come back to life in the chair. He watched you squirm in your seat, bracing against the restraints. He watched you lift your face to see him. Watched you recoil in fear.
He tried his best to be intimidating, but he was aware he’d only be able to keep up appearances for so long.
“What am I doing here?” He saw you squirm, glance at the restraints, and then glare back up at him.
He continued to eye you carefully. He’d never seen you look at him like this, with open hostility and a panic you were trying to hide. “You don’t remember?” He heard himself say.
There was no response. He looked away, to keep his emotions from bubbling to the surface, to lessen the chances, however small, of you seeing something in him and triggering a memory. “...Good.” He was fighting a lump in his throat. How unprofessional.
He reached into his lab coat and took out a remote control. He pressed the button, focusing on the sound of the button clicking, of the restraints loosening, of you getting up. Of the garage door across the room creaking open.
“Leave.”
It was all he could muster without risking you hear his voice waver. He hated that he wouldn’t be able to drive you back to your apartment, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He waited there, perfectly still, waiting for you.
God, you were taking forever. He had better things to do. Far more important things to think about. This was such a pointless distraction. He had already wasted more than enough time.
“What are you waiting for, an invitation? Go!” He snapped. There was a part of him that just wanted you gone so he could resume his projects. There was another part of him that wanted you out of his sight so he could resume the rest of his miserable life like this never happened. So he wouldn’t have to worry about you getting caught in this storm of his anymore.
He heard your footsteps echo against the floor of the warehouse. As the footsteps got more and more distant, he looked up to see you exit, running down the street to where he knew your apartment would be.
Somehow, watching you disappear from sight like that was what made it real. The best part of his life for the past who-knows-how long, and it was all over just like that.
None of it ever happened.
He started sobbing where he stood. He tried to blink away the tears and get his breathing back to normal as soon as possible, but it was no use.
The time you had spent studying, the fun he had ranting to you, your first date, moving in together, every inside joke, every kiss you had shared, all of it was gone. Everything he had used to be was gone. He stood there and sobbed. He sobbed for the life he wanted back. He sobbed for never being able to think on his own again. But most of all, he sobbed for you. For how confused and sad you would be. For what he had taken from you.
He stood there, his arms crossed, sobbing and sniffling, for what felt like a lifetime. Eventually, he lifted his head and dried his eyes, soiling his gloves with tears and snot.
Finished acting like a child? Good. Come now, we have a job to do.