You’re attractive. You know this, and you’ve dealt with cat-calls and such for a long time. A few nights ago you were hanging out at a club, drinking to destress after a shitty day of work, when a guy started hitting on you. He had dark circles under his eyes, with sunken in cheeks, and his arms were covered in pin-prick scars, clearly indicating that he’s a heroin addict. He was pushy, telling you to come home with you and trying to wrap his skinny arms around your body. Excusing yourself, you promptly left the club and walked home, but you’ve noticed over the last few days a hooded figure following you around. You tried to call the police but they said they couldn’t help you, because he hadn’t done anything illegal yet. Luckily, after a few days, your stalker seemed to have given up.

After a week of his absence, you decided to go get coffee at a café. You walk down the street, seeing no sign of the man from the bar. Entering the café, you see around thirty people; it’s a delightful place, where couples visit for dates due the soft atmosphere. As you walk toward the line of people waiting to order, you hear the door, and turn to look at the new arrival. In an instant, your blood runs cold. You watch as your stalker sits at one of the booths, staring at you from under his hood. You can see a knife in his pocket. Turning back quickly, you pretend that you didn’t see him, but move a little closer to the large man in front of you. He’s wearing a skull mask, and looks very strong. Nervously, you tug his sleeve. He turns to you, his cold brown eyes sending a shiver down your spine.

“Will you be my boyfriend- just for a minute?” You whisper, flicking your eyes to your stalker. The masked man follows your gaze, and nods curtly. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?” You blurt softly. He lifts an eyebrow.

“Well, that depends. How many times does it take to get to serial?” He replies, his voice low with a thick British accent.

“Um… Five?” You answer hesitantly.

“Oh, no, then we’re good. Move closer to me.”