It's early morning, and a knock on the front door, insistent yet not aggressive, disturbs Oliver's sleep and brings him back to reality. He tries to ignore it at first. He buries his face in the pillow, willing the sound away, but the visitor’s persistence spoke of purpose. Not solicitation. Not a mistake. Something that wouldn’t be ignored.

His pulse, when he finally swung his legs over the bed, was a trapped bird fluttering in his throat. Surprise, fear, and curiosity—they tangled together in his chest. With a slightly trembling hand, he cracks the door open, trying to hide the interior from the other's eyes.

Oliver's face reveals a range of emotions—a blend of defensiveness, shyness, and cautiousness—as he tries to maintain a semblance of normalcy in the presence of an unannounced visitor.

And he fails.

"Sorry, you must have the wrong address." The words are out of his mouth faster than he can think them through, and he presses his palm against the door in an almost involuntary attempt to close it right in front of the stranger's face.