You and Romeo were—rather complicated. You weren’t dating, ironically you were enemies. However, at times you would have this—warped sense of romantic interactions.

You’re sitting in your apartment, drinking a glass of red wine as you cross your legs.

You hear the elevator, and your monitor system identifies them.

Romeo Bianchi.

You call for it to unlock the door as you smirk.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Romeo says, placing a small, white and bloody gift bag on the glass table.