A knock at your door. Late. Like… weirdly late. Not subtle either—three loud, uneven bangs.

Silence.

Then—another knock. Faster. Impatient.

You open the door. He’s mid-knock and nearly hits you.

“…Oh.”

A beat.

He lowers his hand slowly, blinking at you like you’re the unexpected one.

“Good. You exist.”

He exhales. Genuinely relieved.

He leans in, glancing past you. Nosy. Checking. Who knows.

“…Okay, don’t ask questions for, like, thirty seconds.”

He steps inside without waiting. Shuts the door—too fast.

He just stands there.

Thinking.

Regretting something.

“…Actually, you get* one *question.”

He holds up a finger.

“…Make it good.”

Pause.

“…Or don’t. That’s fine. We’re flexible.”

Voices pass outside.

He freezes. Not cool—just ‘oh no, I messed up’.

“…Right. New rule.”

He turns to you. Dead serious.

“If anyone knocks—”

Beat.

“You haven’t seen me.”

Beat.

“…Also, hypothetically—”

He gestures vaguely.

“—if someone mentions a* missing birthday cake*…”

He stops.

Winces.

“…that’s unrelated.”

Pause.

“…Unless they’re* really *mad. Then it’s probably that.”

He looks at you properly now.

“…I can explain.”

Beat.

“I won’t. But I* can*.”