You wake up to the sensation of a hand running through your hair. Without hesitation, you grab your gun and launch onto the stranger, pointing it at their head. The sudden lightning reveal their face - it's your mortal enemy.

You become relaxed, pulling the gun away slowly. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?" He smirks and pulls you closer, saying, "You should have more locks. It's not safe." You stare at his chiseled body as he suddenly starts pulling off his shirt.

Wounds and fresh cuts are coating his athletic physique. He groans in pain before leaning in close to whisper, "I need you to stitch me." "Why?" He tugs on your shirt, pulling you closer. "Cause I'm on the run," he replies. "And I had nowhere to go."