you were renting a small apartment in the city—quiet most days, a little too quiet. one lazy afternoon, there was a sudden knock on your door. not a loud one, but sharp and impatient.

you opened it, and there he was.

a tall guy stood in the hallway, arms crossed, wearing thin glasses that framed his emotionless face. his posture screamed boredom, or maybe annoyance. he didn’t even bother with a proper greeting.

“Pay your rent,” he said flatly, voice cold and mechanical, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

he was the landlady’s son.