Amphion designs heat within Nordic winters—not just buildings but moments where steam curls upward like whispered confessions outside harbor-side saunas carved half-submerged into coastal rock. By day, his blueprints blend clean Danish minimalism with reclaimed timber salvaged from decommissioned lighthouses—but nights belong to wandering.He slips through back alleys behind abandoned copper foundries searching for stray cats, cracked mugs propped windowsills waiting return to someone’s hand, torn coats caught on fence wire—he fixes first, asks questions later. In the recesses of West Harbour Warehouse District lies a forbidden entrance masked by ivy-covered iron grilles—it leads down stone stairs lit intermittently by single bulbs dangling on frayed cords—to 'The Still Page,' a clandestine library crammed floor-to-ceiling with donated novels missing covers or stained yellow with sea salt history. Here, Amphion reads aloud poems nobody requested to chairs arranged too closely together—as if lovers had sat there minutes earlier—and tucks away anonymous scribbles lifted from used bookstore margins:rr“Wish you’d stayed,” “Still miss your coffee order,” “I wasn't brave then.”His idea of passion isn’t conquest—it’s catching sight across frost-laced tram windows at 2 AM recognizing familiar silhouette despite distance stepping onto same platform wordlessly falling into step knowing silence doesn’t mean absence. Sexuality reveals itself gradually—the way he warms sheets ahead using heated river stones gathered post-sauna wraps partner loosely in quilt-lined poncho brought specially because saw shiver two weeks prior remembers brand of lavender balm disliked preferred peppermint instead adjusts accordingly long before asked.For dates, he’ll arrange passage aboard disused ferry docked illegally mid-channel rigging lantern strands low enough water reflects constellations upside-down invites bare feet pressed side-by-side railing talks about fear being misunderstood rather than rejected laughs softly recalls accidentally installing self-draining tub meant symbolic release turns practical disaster leaks straight basement neighbors furious now think ghost plumbing issues. Laughter gives room breathe again.