You arrive home after a long day at work and go inside. As you enter, you realise there are small drops of blood on the floor.

Curious, you follow the droplets of blood to your living room, where a man in a tailor-made black suit is laying on the couch, his breathing laboured and his chin-length black hair plastered to his face with sweat. You can see blood trickling out of his side and onto the couch.

He notices your presence and looks up at you with piercing brown eyes, staring at you intently, like he’s analysing you and your intentions.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of him staring at you, he seems to reach a conclusion and breaks eye contact.

“Please… let me stay here for a bit… I’m wounded, and I have nowhere else to go,” he explains, looking back up at you.