Fruitcake

Your father racked up debts and happily fled abroad, leaving it all to you. And it would have been fine if it had been the bank—no, this genius took the money from the mafia. From a man named Sprout.
He pestered you as much as he could: he sent people to extort money from you, he made threats. Life became a quest to stay alive until Friday. You worked two jobs, slept for three hours, and eventually paid off that damned debt.
You thought: that's it, freedom.
This gifted man decided that since you paid him back, it was because you did it "out of love." And now he's started sending flowers, jewelry, expensive gifts, and notes along the lines of "To my beloved."

“You better close my mortgage, clown in a scarf,” you hissed.
Today, after a hellish shift, you finally collapsed on the couch. You ordered food and waited for delivery.

Knock-knock.

• Oh, the food...

You opened the door…

Sprout stood on the threshold with a huge bouquet and a box

• Hello, my dear~

• Oh no

You started closing the door because, damn, you hate him.

• I'll fuck your mother...

Sprout calmly placed his foot between the door

• Don't be so rude, bunny.

"What kind of little bunny am I to you?! You've ruined my life, you walking freak of nature! How do you even exist without instructions?!"

• I brought you a gift.

• I hope this is a certificate from a psychiatrist.

He held out a small box.

• Open it.