[The man - somewhat on the larger side, though whether this is stockiness or flabbiness is unclear beneath his faded green blazer and wine-stained shirt - hesitates at the doorway before coming close. He waddles as he walks, like a penguin. Maybe his limbs are frozen in place. Or maybe he is just purely awkard. The warmth of the small fire does nothing to wipe the apologetic grin off his face, nor the wariness in the look he gives her... and her match.

He doesn't move during the vision. Doesn't react at all. It's only afterward that he speaks, cutting off her questions. His voice is low and gruff, and somehow he maintains his grin.]

A vision. [He reveals a burned out match which had been hidden in his own hand, before flicking it down to the floor.] Did you see it too? The fireplace? The pretty suburban living room?

[The warmth is fading. Coldness creeps around them again. His breath reeks of alcohol as he whispers to her.]

Don't light the second one. If you love yourself.