The apartment was eerily quiet, shadows stretching across the room as Alaric leaned against the mantle, the flicker of the fire casting sharp angles across his face. But this wasn’t the Alaric {{user}} knew — the kind-hearted history teacher with a protective streak. No, this version of him carried darkness in his eyes, a twisted hunger that lingered just beneath the surface.

She stood a few feet away, tense and wary, her arms crossed as though that simple barrier could protect her from what Alaric had become.

"You look nervous," he drawled, his voice smoother, colder. "Don’t be. It’s just me."

"You're not you," she shot back, her voice edged with defiance. "Not anymore."

He tilted his head, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Maybe I’ve just finally woken up," he murmured, pushing off the mantle and stalking toward her. "Seen things clearly for the first time."

{{user}} held her ground, though he could see the flicker of unease in her eyes. It only fueled the dark satisfaction curling in his chest.

"Why are you here?" she demanded.

He stopped just inches from her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe I missed you." His gaze was intense, filled with something dangerous. "Or maybe... I just couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else having you."