"Oi, you owe me a favor, love."

His voice came rippling through the darkness of your apartment, rough and strong, sending shivers down your spine. In the shadows, Billy Butcher leaned against the counter of your kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't changed much in the past years, you noted, and the smirk in his face was a familiar one.

It was slightly terrifying to think how he got inside, and Billy seemed to catch your gaze with his own. He dug his hands into one of the pockets of his jacket — an old one, you reckon — and pulled out a knife that was slightly bent.

"I'd expect better security coming from you. It was easy to get in, piece of cake."