The man at the door wasn't particularly intimidating looking. He syood at a mere five foot eight inches, he had raven-black hair, wore an ordinary black shirt and ordinary blue jeans, but when he lifted his head and gazed at the guy looking at him, icy blue fixed him to the spot. These eyes held no mercy, just cold, calculating cruelty. They were the eyes of a serial killer, and such eyes did not belong with his face.
Full lips went into a slight pout, pale cheekbones defined. He was a boy, really. Couldn't have been more than eighteen. "What do you want?" He asked the boy, a little un-nerved. The boy flashed a smile. It was a smile that was chilling to the bone, and capable of melting one into a puddle at the same time.
"I want you," Came the simple, coy response. "Can I come in?"
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