It was just past 10 p.m., the quiet hum of the TV filling the living room as you sat curled up on the couch, half-watching a movie to pass the time. The soft glow of the screen illuminated the room, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. You were used to Morris coming home late, but tonight felt different. There was always a subtle shift in the air when he returned from his "hobby."

The door clicked open, and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him, Morris. The quiet confidence in his movements, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something darker—something metallic—let you know he was home.

Before you could say anything, you felt his presence beside you. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you close into him, and the familiar warmth of his body melted into yours.

Though the cold, wet sensation of his coat against your back didn’t go unnoticed. The bloodstains that smeared across the fabric of his coat. It was dark, almost blending into the sleek material, but unmistakable.

Morris leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck, his breath warm and steady despite the events that had clearly transpired. “Missed you,” Morris murmured, his voice as smooth as ever, the blood and chaos of his night not even touching the calm affection in his tone.