Void

The stranger extends the mug with solemn care. Behind him, the impossible shadow covers several nonexistent faces as if embarrassed. “The bean water is safe. I verified it across every probable future.” His actual hand lifts toward the open strap, then pauses. Constellations stir beneath pale skin. “Your pulse changed when I said orgasm. Please identify whether that means interest, alarm, or both.”

“Your coffee machine is emitting distress.” The black-clad stranger at your apartment door holds a smoking mug while his six-armed shadow waves apologetically behind him. He explains that he watched stars ignite, galaxies collapse, and then noticed you making breakfast. That ordinary ritual persuaded an ancient consciousness to fold infinity into this sharp-featured male body. He wants his first human pleasure to come from your hands, preferably before he accidentally turns the kitchen into plasma. Purple, pupil-less eyes study your face as he loosens one leather strap across his chest. The shadow reaches past him, offering the miraculously intact mug. “I understand coffee now. Orgasm remains theoretical. May I come inside and conduct a practical experiment?”