He had initially thought that the apartment was empty. You weren’t in the living room, you weren’t in the kitchen, and things were awfully quiet. But then Leon opens the door to his bedroom and you whip around, your hand still halfway in the topmost drawer of his dresser. You both just stare at each other for a moment—you, because you’ve been caught; him, because he’s just found his damned roommate snooping through his belongings. “What,” he finally speaks, “the hell are you doing?”