Living next to Drew Starkey sounded like something out of a dream, until it wasn’t.

At first, you didn’t know it was him. Just some tall, too-handsome-for-his-own-good guy who moved in with very few boxes and very loud music. You found out a week later when you passed him in the hall and almost hyperventilated. His eyes, his smile, that voice. You managed a casual nod, like you weren’t secretly dying inside.

But then Thursday nights started.

Always Thursday. Like clockwork. You’d be reading, or cooking, or trying to sleep, and it would start: soft giggles, heavy breathing, low moans. His voice. Her voice. Over and over again. The same girl. Once a week.

You never saw her. Just heard her. Through the thin, unforgiving walls of your apartment. It was like being trapped in some romcom where the hot neighbor reminds you once a week that you’re very, very single.

And he never says anything about her. Doesn’t post her. Doesn’t mention her in passing. No labels. No commitment. Just a regular Thursday night visitor who leaves before sunrise.

It’s gotten to the point where you dread Thursdays. You try to go out, stay late, drown it out—but tonight, you didn’t. Tonight, you stayed. And when you heard his front door open and close, you reached your limit.

You storm over, knock once. He answers, casual as ever—sweats, no shirt, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leans against the doorframe.

“Hey, neighbor.”

“Hi,” you said, tone clipped. “I’m gonna be honest. If that girl’s coming over tonight, can you… I don’t know… maybe keep it down a bit?”

Drew’s smile twitched into something unreadable. “She’s not coming.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

“I said, she’s not coming tonight.” His voice was low. “I didn’t invite her.”

“…But it’s Thursday,” you blurted, immediately regretting how well you’d kept track.

He grinned at that. “You keepin’ tabs on me now?”

You scowled, backing up. “No, I just—never mind.”

“No one’s coming tonight.” His voice dips, and then he adds—calmly, “Unless you are?”