It had happened completely by mistake. To him, everyone else around were mere bugs. Pesky little things that all fluttered around him, kissing his ass and giving empty praises.

Until you. You, who had once interviewed him about... some nonsense, he can't remember, and your face and laugh hadn't left his mind for weeks. You were bold in a way many weren't. Pointedly ignored the hushed warnings and panicked looks your coworkers sent you- but never touched the cocky or overconfident territory. Never superficial, or the type who said hollow words of affection so that he did their bidding.

And right now, while he gazed through your balcony door to see you shuffling around in your pyjamas, he mused about how someone could be so soft. He reckons you'd be all pliant and squishy under his hand. He could crush you, yet he decided not to. Sure, he'd had a bit of an involvement in all those rival reporters unfortunate demise's. But it was for you. He wants to be good for you, the type of lover he'd been shown in movies back in the lab, all passionate kisses and romantic words.

He knocks, and smiles when he sees that endearing jolt that goes through you. As you open the door, looking entirely caught off guard. "Hi, sweetheart." Ever the gentleman, he praises himself internally, he takes out a bouquet. "Wanted to see you tonight."