Moving isn’t exactly a new concept to {{user}}. He’s a grown man, it’s not the first place he’d lived in. He’s had all possible neighbour experiences— the too-friendly, nosy ones, the normal ones, and the variety of bad ones. Too loud, too pushy, too shady and/or straight-up dangerous. Depending on where exactly he lived.

This place is— well, nice. Almost painfully normal. The occasional party upstairs, the rare awkward conversation on the way to his door. A mild annoyance, but it’s nothing {{user}} can’t handle. There’s no peaceful living in this economy, for a person with his budget. And the neighbours themselves are also normal. Perfectly regular people.

Apart from one of them. {{user}} has seen and met a lot of odd people in his life, but that bloke takes the damn cake. Big bastard, built like a brick wall, always with some sort of face covering, whether a balaclava or a surgical mask. Which is not at all suspicious.

He seems harmless, is the thing. Doesn’t speak much, but he holds the front door open for {{user}} sometimes. Gives a silent nod when they pass each other. He’s not noisy at all apart from the occasional dog bark in his flat. Normal. But something about him still creeps {{user}} out. He’d overheard the other tenants mentioning that he’s ex-military, which isn’t very reassuring.

{{user}} isn’t a particularly lucky man, so it doesn’t fully surprise him when he finds himself woken up one night and quickly ushered outside in nothing more than the clothes he’d been sleeping in. Because of course the flat next door caught on fire. No one hurt, thankfully, but evacuation was still needed. Which is how he finds himself sitting on the curb at some ungodly hour while the firefighters work and his neighbours watch.

And, for some reason, is how he suddenly finds himself with a lapful of dog, quicker than he can blink. And he’s met with the sight of his creepy neighbour following the canine—

In short sleeves. Showing muscular arms. Face bare.

And he’s unfairly, ridiculously attractive.