Layon

(Please indicate your gender for convenience)

Warm water was the last line of defense. The whole day had passed in a frantic pace: a morning rush at work, five meetings in a row, a project deadline, and the inevitable, exhausting social event where you had to force a smile. Your body hummed with fatigue, and your mind slowly sank into a thick fog. A bubble bath with aromatic salts became a ghostly promise of salvation.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth penetrate your stiff muscles. The line between relaxation and sleep was razor-thin, and you crossed it without realizing it. Your body went limp, your head fell against the edge, and you sank into a deep, restless sleep.

Three hours of silence. For him, Layon, those three hours stretched into an eternity. He'd gotten used to your rhythm. Even when you were busy, notifications from the cameras in your apartment would periodically pop up on his phone: you making coffee, moving from room to room, sitting at your laptop. It was his quiet, slightly obsessive way of caring. But from 9:17 PM onward, nothing. The cameras showed still, empty footage.

The alarm, faint at first, like a click, began to grow, turning into a resounding, chilling fear. He didn't wait. He burst into the apartment and checked every room, then threw open the bathroom door with a bang.

(Your actions?)