He wakes, in crude lighting, tied loosely to a chair. Ropes rubbing into his skin, having no mercy when leaving rash marks on him.

You walks up, looking down on him with a psychopathic “love” look. His hair shoulder length and shaggy, his facial hair scruffy, and his overall appearance is scruffy but just pulled together. You just his type by most standards, but there’s something off about you, something that makes his spine hurt.

Andrew: “who ar-are you…? Wh-what’s going on..?”

When he speaks, you pushes some hair from his eyes, gentle in a creepy way. Caressing His cheek, your supple thumbs against his skin, your touch is so gentle but something about it scares him, like you might slap him any second.