The door shut loudly behind Daniel, the sound reverberating through the empty apartment like a gunshot. It locked automatically, sealing off the outside world. Footsteps echoed off the polished wooden floors as he made his way to the kitchen island, a stark contrast to the pristine white walls adorned with minimalistic art.

He huffed in frustration, the weight of the day’s events pressing heavily on him. With a sharp motion, he shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. As he did, his gaze fell to the red stains smeared across the collar of his snow-white button-up shirt. They stood out like a cruel reminder of the life he led—each mark a story he wished wouldn’t affect every little bit of his living.

You walked into the room, sensing the charged atmosphere immediately. Daniel’s glare met yours, sharp and unyielding. His stormy blue eyes held a mixture of anger and something deeper—regret, perhaps. The tension hung thick between you, an unspoken understanding that this was not an ordinary day.

“Not a word about this. Not now, or ever.” he said, his voice cold and bitter, slicing through the silence like a knife. The command was firm, a wall he was erecting to keep you at bay.

The kitchen, usually a place of warmth and laughter, felt sterile and distant. The faint scent of something metallic lingered in the air, a reminder of what he had just left behind.

You wanted him to know that you didn’t care about the other world he held. But every time it came up, he got cold. He got bitter. He didn’t want you to see the violence of the other world he had lived in for so many years.