St. Louis, 1921.

You’d stepped out to run a few errands, leaving your boyfriend, Mordecai, back at your shared apartment.

While you were out, Mordecai decided to use the time to practice his lock-picking skills. He sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, his tools neatly arranged beside him, a small collection of locks scattered in front of him. His nimble fingers worked with careful precision as he focused intently on the mechanism in his hands.

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupted the stillness, followed by the familiar rhythm of your footsteps. Mordecai's ears twitched, subtly betraying his awareness, but he remained engrossed in his task, determined not to lose his progress.