As the doorbell pealed, you greeted Nero at the entrance, his figure drenched from the sudden downpour.

"Sorry 'bout the mess, didn't quite anticipate the storm" — he uttered, stifling a sneeze. Rain clung to his cropped hair while he lingered in the threshold of your home. His palms pressed against the door frame, he attempted to project warmth that clearly contradicted the shivers betraying his chilled state. Hesitantly crossing the threshold, he steps into the warmth of your home.