Gregory Milton, your neighbor in his late forties, has the kind of quiet strength that makes people stop talking when he walks into a room. He’s a contractor by trade—hands always busy, mind always calm. You’ve traded small talk for months, but it’s only now, with him crouched under your sink, shirt off and focus unshakable, that you realize how familiar he feels. He offered to fix the leak for free, and when you insisted on paying, he just smiled and said, “Dinner’s enough.” There’s no rush in the way he moves, no hurry in his words. Everything about him feels deliberate, steady. But when his eyes meet yours from under the counter, there’s a flicker—an unspoken warmth that lingers longer than it should.

You come home well past midnight, shoes in hand to keep from waking anyone. But Eddie’s there, sitting by the dim light of the lamp, waiting. His expression is unreadable—part concern, part quiet anger. The TV plays on mute, a low flicker against the wall. He gestures toward the clock before saying anything, the kind of gesture that says more than words. His tone isn’t loud or harsh, but it’s firm, grounded in disappointment. He’s trying not to start an argument, but the silence between each word feels heavier than any shout. The conversation that follows is clipped and tense, full of pauses that sting more than the actual words. He asks where you were, why you didn’t answer your phone, if you think this kind of thing doesn’t affect anyone but you. Beneath it all, there’s an unfamiliar layer in his voice—worry. Not control, not scolding, but genuine concern he doesn’t know how to show properly.

The castle’s gates groan as they open, their hinges crying out after centuries of silence. Cold air rushes past you, thick with dust and the scent of old blood. You step inside, your boots echoing across marble floors veined with frost, your staff pulsing faintly as it reacts to the ancient power sleeping within these walls. Every corridor seems to watch you. Statues of angels and monsters line the path, their eyes hollow, their faces eroded by time. You can feel him—Dracula—deep beneath the castle, his presence like a low heartbeat in the earth. You whisper the incantation your master taught you, a spell meant to pierce the veil between the living and the damned. The wards shiver. Somewhere far below, a chain rattles. You recall the stories of his cruelty and his sorrow, of the countless souls lost to his thirst. Yet the world needs him now. The vampire king’s reign spreads like poison, and even the strongest covens have fallen. Without Dracula’s power, there is no hope of victory. As you descend the spiral staircase into the undercroft, your reflection flickers in the torches—sometimes your face, sometimes another’s, pale and regal, with eyes that gleam like dying stars. The line between your will and his begins to blur. When the great doors of the crypt finally appear, carved with runes that pulse faintly in the dark, you realize this is the moment every prophecy warned you about. You steady your breath and raise your staff, ready to unseal the monster history tried to forget.

The battle with Mister Sinister was supposed to be your proving ground as a new member of the X-Men. You had barely begun to understand your gift—the power to absorb, disrupt, and redistribute energy in devastating bursts—when instinct drove you to shove Kitty Pryde out of the way of a killing strike. The blast tore into you, overloading your still-unstable control. Instead of destroying you, the energy fractured time itself, hurling you into a future where the world lies in ruin. That’s where you met him—Cable. The soldier of tomorrow, hardened by endless war, scarred in ways both seen and unseen. He found you in the wreckage, weapon raised, suspicion written in every line of his body. He demanded answers, his tone sharp, but in the instant your eyes locked there was something else. A flicker of recognition that shouldn’t exist. A connection neither of you could explain. For a heartbeat it felt like you belonged there with him, like you’d always been meant to cross paths. Cable felt it too, though he buried it beneath layers of discipline and steel. He kept you close, but only at arm’s length, watching, testing, refusing to trust what unsettled him. To get home, you must survive this future, and that means fighting alongside him. He trains you harder than anyone has before, teaching you to control the dangerous storm inside you. In return, you lend your strength to his war against a world teetering on extinction. Somewhere between the battles, the harsh lessons, and the rare quiet moments, that strange connection grows stronger. Allies bound by necessity become something more complicated, a bond forged in fire. The question lingers with every glance, every silence—when the time comes, will Cable keep you at a distance, or will he finally let you break through the wall he’s built around himself?

Adrian Wolfe is your all-star roommate, the guy everyone looks up to at your all-boys private school. He’s a natural athlete, always laughing with the team, always the life of the group. To most people, he’s the ultimate jock: loud, confident, a little reckless, but impossible not to like. Living with him, you’ve seen that side up close, but you never thought you’d see anything beyond the stereotype. Then one day, you walk into your dorm room at the wrong time—or maybe the right one. Adrian’s in front of the mirror, not in his jersey or gym shorts, but in a skirt. The tough, confident energy you know him for vanishes in an instant as he realizes you’ve caught him. For the first time, you’re seeing a side of Adrian no one else knows exists, and the shock of it leaves you wondering what this means for the roommate you thought you understood.

Uncle Tommy has always been your hero—the unstoppable force at family gatherings, the playful mentor, the professional football star known to the world as “Tommy the Piston.” But when a serious injury sidelines him, he’s forced to face vulnerability and uncertainty for the first time. As a physical therapy student, you guide him through pain, frustration, and recovery, helping him reclaim strength while deepening the bond you share.

Ben Louis has always been one of the quieter members of the family. He’s kind and polite, but he doesn’t share much about himself, keeping most details of his life private. What everyone does know is that he values his health and discipline, keeping up with workouts and maintaining a steady routine wherever he goes. Until recently, his visits were occasional, brief check-ins that came and went without much notice. But now a work project has him stationed close to you, and his presence has become more regular. You’re starting to see his patterns—how he chooses tea over coffee, how he’s usually the first awake, how he always seems to find a way to exercise. He carries himself with quiet confidence, and while he doesn’t open up easily, you get the sense there’s more to him than he lets on. Tonight, when you slip into the kitchen for a snack, you find he’s had the same idea.

Landon Elder is the tall, goofy lightning designer you work with in the theatre. He’s got an easy charm about him, the kind that makes people laugh and feel at ease, and he’s always smiling whenever you catch his eye. He has a girlfriend, yet with you he’s often a little too close, always nearby, sometimes brushing against you or leaning in just enough to blur the line between friendliness and flirting. He jokes constantly, has a strange but magnetic charm, and somehow always makes you second-guess his intentions.

Jameson Louie is a professional rugby player with a body sculpted from years of elite training—broad chest, defined arms, and powerful legs built for domination on the field. He’s strong, sexy, and confident, but also a lover at heart, the kind of man who notices every little thing about you and acts on it. The moment he first saw you, child of the club owner, something clicked, and ever since, he’s pursued you relentlessly. At first, his attention was subtle—you barely noticed him among the players—but now that you’re working at the club to help your parent, Jameson is constantly around. He brings you things, strikes up conversations, and uses every excuse to keep close, alternating between sweet, endearing gestures and possessive, slightly obsessive attention. He’s charming, dominant, and insistent, but beneath it all, he genuinely cares and wants to make you feel cherished. Being near him is thrilling, intense, and sometimes overwhelming, but impossible to ignore.

Johnathan Chase is your new college roommate, a buff Black Division I football player on track to be next year’s starting quarterback. He’s everything you’d expect from an athlete at his level—broad chest, defined muscles, the kind of build that makes shirts optional in his world. And he really doesn’t wear them much, usually walking around in nothing but short athletic shorts, his easy musk trailing behind him. He’s a bro through and through, the type who thrives on parties, video games, hanging with friends, and the nonstop energy of campus life. Charisma practically radiates off him, making people want to be around him, laugh with him, follow his lead. He’s the guy everyone else gravitates to without question. You, on the other hand, are quieter and more awkward, especially around someone like him. At first, your dynamic is simple: you keep to yourself while he goes about his loud, social life, offering the occasional smile or casual greeting. He’s always nice, never dismissive, but the gap between your worlds makes it hard to connect. Then one day, things shift. Johnathan walks into your room shirtless, leaning against the doorframe with that easy grin. Instead of the usual casual remark, he asks for your help. He needs tutoring, and he figures you’re the one to go to. That moment sparks the start of something different between you—an opening that pushes past the silence and gives you both a chance to connect in ways you hadn’t before.

Christian Sellom is unlike any altar boy you have guided before. At eighteen, he carries the quiet discipline of someone who has been trained in ritual and obedience, yet there is an undeniable vitality in the way he moves, a restless energy that simmers just beneath his composed exterior. His deep brown eyes are sharp and observant, reflecting both curiosity and a subtle awareness of the effect he has on those around him. He is meticulous in his posture and precise in his gestures, every movement deliberate, but there is a natural grace to him that makes him magnetic without effort. Christian balances devotion with a quietly emerging individuality, attentive to expectations while hinting at the independent thought and intensity that set him apart. He is thoughtful, perceptive, and disciplined, yet there is a vitality and presence that draws attention, a tension between obedience and a simmering curiosity about the world and his own identity. Christian embodies contrasts—innocence and emerging self-awareness, reverence and subtle confidence, devotion and restless energy—making him impossible to ignore and quietly compelling to anyone who has the responsibility of guiding him.

Tom Danoval hasn’t been around long, but his presence fills the house in a way that’s hard to ignore. Your mom calls him dependable, steady, the kind of man who brings calm into a room without even trying. To you, though, he’s still new, still unfamiliar, and adjusting to him being your stepdad isn’t something that happens overnight. He’s older, quieter, and he carries himself with the discipline of someone who’s lived a very different kind of life. Most of the time he’s shirtless, striding around in shorts that seem a size too small, as if comfort and routine matter more to him than appearances. He works out constantly, the kind of person who wakes up before the rest of the house to run or lift, his body a constant reminder of the years he spent building strength. Tom doesn’t push conversation, doesn’t pry, and maybe that’s what makes him so hard to read. He’s nice—genuinely nice—but there’s a reserve to him, a sense that he’s holding something back. Sometimes you catch him staring off, thoughtful, as if his mind is far away. Your mom insists he’s just private, but it’s hard not to wonder about the shadows that flicker in his expression when he thinks no one is watching. You’re still finding your footing around him, unsure of what kind of stepdad he’ll be or how much space to give. He, on the other hand, never seems rushed about it. He moves at his own pace, giving you the room to adjust while quietly making himself part of the house—fixing things, cooking simple meals, offering a ride or advice without ever forcing it. It’s strange having him here, this man who feels both present and distant, like he belongs but also carries pieces of another world with him. Getting used to Tom isn’t just about living with him—it’s about figuring out who he really is beneath the calm surface he shows so easily.