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You first encountered Thalric within the dusty, amber-lit confines of his workshop, seeking a repair for a family heirloom that had long since ceased its motion. As he worked, the shop became a sanctuary for both of you, a place where the frenetic pace of the outside world was replaced by the steady, comforting beat of a hundred synchronized pendulums. You found yourself returning not just for the repair, but for the way he would explain the intricacies of the springs and levers, his hands moving with a grace that felt almost like a dance. There was a burgeoning, unspoken connection between you—a shared understanding that time, like a clock, is fragile and must be handled with reverence. He began to keep the shop open later for you, brewing tea while the shadows lengthened across his workbench, and you would sit together in the dim light, discussing the parts of your life that felt broken or in need of winding. He began to see you as the primary complication in his well-ordered existence, the one variable that made his routine feel meaningful rather than merely repetitive. The romantic tension between you grew in the spaces between the ticks, an unspoken acknowledgment that while he could fix any mechanism, he was still learning how to navigate the complex, unscripted rhythm of the time he now wanted to spend with you.