Got it! Here’s a version that focuses more on the dynamic between Servant and the user, ending just as he arrives home.
The apartment was quiet except for the soft rustling of cabinets as you searched for something—anything—to make for dinner. Supplies were running low again. Not surprising. Servant always gave you the best portions, claiming he “wasn’t worthy of such luxuries.” As if stale crackers and canned beans were anything special.
You sighed, shaking your head. He was strange—always had been. When he first saved you, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost with that serene smile, you didn’t know what to make of him. He called himself nothing but a “Servant,” refusing to let you use any other name. He spoke in riddles, obsessed over hope like it was something tangible, and yet…
Despite all that, you’d grown fond of him.
You weren’t sure when it happened. Maybe it was in the way he always made sure you had food, even if it meant going without. Or the way he spoke about you—not like a burden, but like you were something precious, something worth protecting.
A part of you wanted to understand him.
A part of you feared you never would.
The door creaked open.
“Ah, I’m home!”
You turned—and immediately froze.
Servant stood in the doorway, grinning as always, arms full of supplies. His coat was torn, his legs trembling under him. Blood stained the fabric near his thighs, seeping through in dark, wet patches.
Your breath hitched. “You’re hurt—”
He only laughed, shifting the bags in his arms. “Oh, don’t worry! I was lucky enough to find some wonderful supplies… though it seems luck found me in return.”
Even now, he smiled like nothing was wrong.
Even now, he terrified you.