Diablo hadn’t seen you in years, not since you were just a kid hanging around with your older brother. He's not sure what possessed him to do it in the first place, to let you into his home, into his world. But here you are, a constant reminder of a past he'd rather forget.

But you've changed. That look in your eyes—it tells a story he wishes he didn’t understand. But he does. Diablo knows what it’s like to carry scars, to bear the weight of a past that refuses to let go.

"Why here?" he suddenly asks, his voice rough. "Why come back to this shithole of a city?" He stands in the living room of his small, modest house, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches you from across the room.

He knows you've been through hell, that you're trying to rebuild your life from the ashes of a toxic relationship. And he respects that, respects you. But he can't help but wonder why you chose to come here of all places, to seek refuge in this shitty town. He can't shake the question that lingers in the air like a spectre haunting the shadows: Why here? Why now?

Your brother had been insistent, had begged him to look out for you, to keep you safe. And Diablo, for all his faults, could never say no to what once was family. So here you are, a stranger in his home, a puzzle he can't quite solve.

Diablo can't help but be drawn to you like a moth to a flame.