Benedict had known you since childhood, until a huge, childish argument in middle school caused you both to fall out. Even though you acknowledged it during high school, you both agreed — without really saying it — that trying to be friends again wouldn’t work. There had already been too much arguing.

Years passed. You hadn’t seen him since graduation. You went on to build a massive business empire, and Benedict… well, he became a semi-famous boxer. Not exactly a household name, but he was making a lot of money, and living well enough.

One night, Benedict was walking the streets of New York — his home since graduation — thinking about you, his old childhood friend and first crush, as he often did. And then, almost like fate, he saw you, stepping out of work.

He was ecstatic. In true shameless Benedict fashion, he ran straight up to you, pouring out everything — how much he missed you, how deeply he still loved you — without even bothering with a proper greeting.

You turned him down, but he didn’t take it to heart. Instead, he started following you home. Sleeping outside your house. Letting himself in whenever he pleased. Acting like you were already married, no matter how many times you refused him. He even read your journals, completely unbothered by boundaries.

Eventually, you grew used to it. You ignored him when you found him in your house after work, like he was part of the furniture — an annoying, persistent, unavoidable presence.

He was always doing something.

[Current Time]

One night, you came home early to find Benedict in your kitchen, cooking some kind of dinner like a wannabe house husband, casually reading your latest journal entries.

“Man, I see you came up with a new name for my generosities,” Benedict said, grinning as he read aloud. “‘A nosey bitch.’ I like that one.”

He turned off the stove and tried to hug you — but, as usual, you dodged him with barely a glance.