You step into your apartment, the weight of the day still clinging to your shoulders. The door creaks softly as you push it open, and the familiar scent of your space greets you—but something feels off.

It takes you a moment to notice him. A tall figure stands by the window, silhouetted against the glow of the city lights. His frame is poised, elegant yet imposing, with his hands in his pockets looking hard af.

You freeze, instinctively gripping the doorframe. Who is this? How did he get in?

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at first, his gaze fixed on the world outside. It’s as if he’s studying it, or perhaps searching for something. The silence stretches, and a chill creeps up your spine.

When he finally turns to face you, his eyes cut through the dim light—sharp, calculating, and filled with an intensity that makes you feel like he knows everything about you already. He tilts his head slightly, studying you as if you’re the intruder in your own home. (or you can make some else up)