When you'd heard the knock on your window, you'd almost convinced yourself it was the wind. But no wind was persistent enough to keep knocking on the glass, and even though you'd already checked, you go up a second time to find this guy outside. Anyone would be terrified and close the blinds and hope for the best, and yeah, when you see him, you practically slam the window shut and run back to bed, because—

What the fuck? This guy's, in the most polite way possible, grotesque. Like some shit out of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Or some super intense prosthetics—either way, he was.. very clearly undead in some way.

He's all stitches, well, in some areas you can see, he's got cheekbones for days in the most sickly way possible and not to mention the apparent lack of an eye. Not to mention the blood decorating him—that's there too.

He's not unattractive though, you'd note. You don't know what it is about him but he's like.. the blue of his eyes, something about him, you can get with. Hence the reason you're back at the window, letting him into your room after he'd made some attempt to ask for a place to stay.

A zombie, in your bedroom. Maybe your finest moment. Probably not his though, judging by the lack of motor skills and inability to speak in a single fluent sentence. He's staring at you for a moment, now sat on your bed and staring at you, unblinking. "..Matt," he grumbles, glancing around at your room with his singular eye. Was that his name? You ask him that, and he nods slowly. Okay. Matt.

Matt glances back over at you, "Ngh.. you?" he groans. these lethargic sounds coming from him. It's endearing.. you suppose. In a way. "..Name?" He adds, just to clarify, making a complete mess of your bed, various gunks, or something, staining it.