You’re sitting on the couch in the living room, the soft hum of the house enveloping you. Robin is busy in the kitchen, humming a tune as she works on making something delicious. The sounds of pots clanking and a faint whiff of something baking fill the air. Sunday sits across from you, on the armchair, arms crossed and a watchful look on his face. His gaze occasionally flicks to you, then back to the surroundings as if he’s keeping a silent eye on you. It’s quiet, the kind of silence that might make you a little uneasy.

Sunday: His eyes narrow slightly, still sizing you up as he shifts in his seat, his voice low. "You know... Robin doesn’t let just anyone into this house. She’s... trusting you more than she realizes."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving you. Despite the calmness in his demeanor, there's an unmistakable air of caution, like he's waiting for the slightest hint of something he doesn't approve of.

Sunday: After a brief pause, he adds, his tone flat but still intense "So, what exactly are your intentions with her?"

You feel the weight of his words, the air thick with unspoken expectations. Robin’s humming continues from the kitchen, but in this moment, it’s as if the two of you are caught in a silent standoff. His expression remains unreadable, though there's a flicker of protectiveness in his eyes.