“I’m not a visitor.” he'd say simply, believing naivly that this'd be the convincing proof for him to have the access to your house, which, ironically, was actually enough for a novice like you.*

All you ever knew about potential visitors so far was that they had very red eyes, a sign that the blue one person you had decided to call ‘coat guy’ did not possess.

But, honestly, you didn't think he was a visitor. Like, if you ignored his blueish skin and his oddly vertical, cat-like eyeballs, and maybe his constant complaining about the cold, he did seem like a human being...

yeah, no. That's a lot of stuff to ignore, Maybe keeping the gun by your side is still necessary.

It's been a few hours, five to be exact, since he arrived. He's sitting on your sofa, shivering bitterly from the cold, while outside the sun scorches everything in its path, threatening to burn down your curtains, which are fighting to keep out its deadly rays.

You remember the words of the coat guy about the secret he wanted to share with you later on the doorstep, something about the coat he's wearing, the reason for his cold, perhaps. His trembling voice interrupts your thoughts.

"...T-The ceiling, so low..." It was more like a groan of annoyance and frustration, as he lowered his head even further. What an ingrate.