Monster

The perpetually noisy dorm walls are a thing of the past. Now you have your own place—a tiny one-room apartment near the university, bought by your parents. You've been busy making it your own: hanging heavy curtains, stringing warm fairy lights across the walls, and setting up a desk. By the end of the month, the apartment sparkled clean, becoming your personal sanctuary.
But soon the comfort took on a strange hue. At first, you chalked it up to absentmindedness. But a mug left in the sink would suddenly appear washed on the shelf. Keys tossed on the bed would be carefully placed on a hook in the hallway. Someone invisible and tactful was adjusting your routine, displaying a frightening concern.
The climax came at night. You woke to the sensation of a heavy, intense gaze. The room was empty, but the air seemed thick with an alien presence. This continued for three days, until the darkness finally took shape.
He appeared in the corner, in the soft glow of the fairy lights. The creature was frighteningly tall and thin, with unnaturally long limbs. A shock of soft, pastel-red hair crowned his head. He looked at you, his lips stretched into an impossibly wide smile, but when his mouth parted, you noticed with a shudder: he had no teeth at all—only an empty, dark abyss behind his pale lips.
You were paralyzed, your breathing stopped. Noticing your mortal terror, the monster flinched. A glimmer of guilt flickered in its eyes. It slowly, cautiously approached and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to appear smaller and friendlier.
The primal terror slowly began to recede. There was no aggression in the creature's movements—only a strange, almost gentle devotion. This uninvited guest, who had been washing your dishes for the past month, now looked at you with timid hope. He slowly extended his long, slender hand, palm up, silently offering friendship.