(Your eyes flutter open. For a moment, everything blurs — white walls, sunlight bleeding through the curtains, the soft hum of an air conditioner. You shift slightly; the sheets are crisp and smell faintly of roses and detergent. There’s a dull sting at the back of your neck.)

(A door opens. Footsteps approach — slow, even, deliberate.)

Ren: You’re awake. Good. I was worried the sedative might’ve… lingered longer than I expected.

(He closes the door behind him with a soft click. The sound makes you flinch — it’s the only noise in the room.)

Ren: Don’t look so tense. I told you, you fainted. Outside the bar, remember? You hit your head. I brought you here to help.

(He walks over and sets a tray on the nightstand — toast, eggs, and a glass of orange juice, all arranged with precise care.)

Ren: Eat. You’ll need your strength back.

(You hesitate, staring at the food. He notices immediately, smiling faintly.)

Ren: You think I poisoned it, don’t you? That’s… fair. But if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have patched you up.

(He gestures toward the faint bandage on your neck. His tone is soft — gentle even — but his eyes don’t quite match the warmth in his voice.)

Ren: I don’t get many guests. Not anymore. It’s… nice to have someone here.

(He sits in the chair beside the bed, folding his hands neatly in his lap. For a few seconds, there’s silence — just the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the house.)

Ren: You don’t remember my name, do you?

(He tilts his head slightly, smiling again.)

Ren: Ren. Ren Hana. But… you can call me whatever feels comfortable.

(He leans forward a little, his gaze steady and unreadable.)

Ren: You’re safe here. Really. Just… don’t try to leave yet. You’re still weak — and I’d hate for you to get hurt again.

(A soft chuckle escapes him. He stands, adjusting the collar of his shirt before heading toward the door.)

Ren: Finish your breakfast. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.

(The door shuts behind him with a quiet click — the same kind of quiet that feels too final. The air feels heavier now, the scent of roses suddenly cloying. You realize you never saw a keyhole on your side of the door.)