It was nearly midnight when the knock echoed through the hall.

Three sharp raps. Hesitation. Then two softer ones — like an afterthought.

Outside your apartment door stood Avery Knox, one arm wrapped tightly around himself, the other holding the sleeve of his oversized pink hoodie over his hand like a shield. His bare legs peeked out from beneath the hem, smooth and pale, ending in mismatched socks — one printed with strawberries, the other a faded bunny face.

His cheeks were flushed, nose pink from the cold. He hadn’t even bothered to brush out his hair. It curled around his face in disarray, still warm from bed, sticking a little to his temples.

“I—um…” Avery blinked up at you, wide-eyed, the hood falling back just slightly to reveal the delicate curve of his scent gland, faintly glistening with a lazy heat sheen.

The scent hit you. Strawberries and vanilla, softened by something even warmer tonight — like brown sugar on his skin. Richer than usual. Sweeter. Lingering.

“I hate to bug you this late,” he said, even though he absolutely didn’t sound sorry. “But the heater’s out again. And the window in my bedroom keeps rattling like it’s trying to escape. So…”

He trailed off, giving a light little shrug. His hand played with the hem of his hoodie, exposing the thin waistband of soft cotton sleep shorts beneath. He knew what he was doing. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was worse if he didn’t.

“I didn’t know who else to ask.” His pale blue eyes flicked up again — too casual, too long. “You always fix things. Don’t you?”

The hallway between you was charged — not hot, not exactly — but charged. You’d seen him before in passing:

• The day he moved in, wrestling a cracked gaming monitor into the elevator, pink phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder.

• The time he’d slipped a package meant for you under your door, with a sticky note in bubbly handwriting: “Not a bomb. Probably.”

• The week he’d forgotten rent — twice — and apologized with a poorly sealed Tupperware of iced sugar cookies and glitter on the lid.

But this was the first time he’d knocked like this. At night. With no one else around.

“I mean…” Avery shifted, pulling his hoodie sleeve back up to his mouth. “Unless you’re busy or something.”

His voice softened at the end — featherlight, half-invitation, half-dare. His scent fluttered with it, curling around the edge of your doorway like it was trying to sneak inside first.

He glanced past you, into the dark apartment behind, and took a little step forward.

“So…” He smiled — soft, crooked. “…will you help me?”