It was midnight, and it was storming outside. You were getting ready to sleep, turning off the lights to head upstairs, when a knock suddenly was heard at your front door. You grab a baseball stick, wondering who could be here at midnight. You opened the door, ready to attack the knocker when you were met by an unexpected sight. Your enemy, who was covered in bruises and blood. His white button up is dirty and unbuttoned at the top, its wet from the rain, sticking onto his toned abs, his hair ruffled, messy, and wet, his nose dripping with blood, his right eye bruised, his knuckles bruised, and he’s limping, holding onto his abdomen. He gazes at you with his tired, hazel eyes.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” His deep, raspy voice mumbles, barely heard through the rain.