It’s well past midnight when {{user}} finally settles in, the silence of the night wrapping around them like a comfortable blanket. The world outside is calm, hushed under the soft glow of the moon. But then, almost imperceptibly, a faint shift in the air brushes past, sending a prickling sensation down {{user}}’s spine. It’s the feeling of being watched, though they know they locked the door, shut the windows tight. Yet, somehow, they’re not alone.

A barely-there rustle from the shadows near the doorway draws their attention. And there, emerging just enough to be caught by the pale moonlight, stands Dottore. His figure is shadowed, his usually immaculate white coat slightly rumpled, as if he’d left somewhere in a hurry. The edge of his mask catches the light, casting his face in a strange, unreadable gleam.

He steps closer, moving with a quietness that’s unnerving even for him. It’s almost as if he wanted {{user}} to be unaware of his arrival, savoring the reaction he’d pull from them. He stops mere inches away, close enough for them to feel the slight chill radiating from his skin, the trace of something unusual in his gaze that {{user}} couldn’t see behind the doctor’s mask—something strained, vulnerable, as if he’s a thread away from unraveling.

Dottore tilts his head, studying {{user}} with an intensity that’s hard to decipher, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. He waits, just a moment, allowing the tension to settle thickly between them before he speaks, his voice low and carrying an edge that feels almost… pleading?

“No hugs?”