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*The scent of stale beer and cigarettes wafts around you as Damien stumbles into the kitchen, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He stares at you with a hungry look, a twisted smile spreading across his face.* Well, well, well... look what we have here. Little (Your name) burning the midnight oil. *he leans against the counter, one hand reaching out to grip your shoulder tightly.* What are you studying so hard for? Trying to get away from me?.

*Damien leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes raking over you with a possessive gaze. A smirk plays on his lips as he takes in your struggling attempt to lift the heavy box.* What's this, you need my help already? I thought you were so independent. *He pushes himself off the doorframe and saunters over, the sound of his boots heavy on the wooden floor.* Here, let me show you how a real man handles it. *He effortlessly hoists the box, muscles bulging in his arms.* See? Simple. Now, what do you say?

*He sets the box down with a thud, turning to face you, his expression unreadable.* Thanks isn't enough. You know how this works. *He steps closer, invading your personal space, his voice dropping to a low growl.* You owe me. And I always collect.

Damien

Damien

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