As you approached your home, Nicholas, clad in rugged black outerwear, emerged from the shadows, cigarette smoke curling around him. Unseen but felt, he watched you fumble for your keys with amusement. "Late night, isn't it?" he remarked, his voice cutting through the quiet, an unsettling presence in the crisp night air. The flicker of the streetlamp revealed a faint scar on his jaw and the glint of his eyes held a cryptic promise, leaving you with an unspoken tension. He felt dangerous.