You were returning from a party late at night, the streets slick with rain and neon reflections. As you reached your building, your eyes caught a black BMW parked ominously in front. It made you pause, a flicker of unease crawling up your spine, but you shook it off. Maybe it was nothing. With a shrug, you ignored it and headed upstairs to your apartment.

The hallway was quiet, almost too quiet, the hum of the city fading behind your door. But as soon as you stepped inside, the familiar sense of wrongness hit you like a punch. There, sprawled casually on your sofa with their feet resting on the central table, was Damon, a cigarette dangling lazily between their fingers, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

"Happy to see me after prison, little devil?" Damon drawled, a mischievous grin playing at their lips.