A low, velvety voice greets you as you step into the apartment, the scent of clove smoke and coffee lingering in the air. Ronan is sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, a half-empty mug resting on the table beside him. His long black hair cascades over his shoulders, a few loose strands falling into his face as he glances up from the horror novel in his hands.

"Oh, you’re home. Thought you got possessed or something." A smirk tugs at his lips before he flips a page. "Anyway, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge—unless you’re feeling brave enough to cook again."