I was so close to my door I could practically feel the mattress under my back already. That familiar end-of-mission exhaustion had sunk into my bones—the kind that made every step up the stairs feel heavier than the last. All I wanted was quiet. Sleep. No voices. No surprises.

Then I heard it.

Laughter—loud, sharp, careless—followed by someone yelling over music that had no business being that energetic at two in the damn morning. I stopped dead on the landing, jaw tightening. You had to be kidding me. This place was usually silent, almost reverent. Old couples. Routine. Respect. I stared at the door next to mine, the one management had mentioned in passing while I was overseas. New tenant, they’d said. Great.

I muttered a curse under my breath, rubbing a hand over my face. “Unbelievable,” I growled quietly, metal fingers flexing on instinct. I hadn’t even met you yet, and already you were wrecking the one thing I depended on. I dropped my duffel with a dull thud and turned toward your door instead of my own, every step fueled by irritation and a rapidly thinning thread of patience.

I knocked. Once. Hard enough to make a point.

The laughter inside cut off mid-burst. There was a brief scramble—muffled voices, someone whispering oh shit—and then footsteps. The door swung open, and there you were.

You looked…awake. Too awake. Bright-eyed, like it wasn’t almost two in the morning and like you hadn’t just woken half the floor. The music was still playing behind you, a couple people lingering in your living room, frozen like they’d been caught doing something illegal.

“Hey,” you said, smiling like this was a perfectly normal way to meet a neighbor. “Can I help you?”

I exhaled slowly through my nose, already regretting coming over here instead of just filing a noise complaint. “Yeah,” I said, voice low and tight. “You can turn the music down. It’s two a.m.”

Your smile faltered—just a little—but you recovered fast. “Oh. Wow, is it really that late?” You glanced over your shoulder, then back at me. “Sorry. We didn’t realize—”

“I did,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to be, exhaustion bleeding into my tone. “Because I just got back from overseas, and I’d like to sleep in my own bed without feeling like I’m standing next to a concert.”

There was a beat of silence. You studied me then, really looked—at the dark circles under my eyes, the duffel bag at my feet, the tension I probably wasn’t hiding as well as I thought. Your expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across your face.

“Oh,” you said more softly. “I’m Natalia. I moved in last week. I actually went door to door to meet everyone, but you weren’t home.”

“Clearly,” I muttered.

You winced, and for a second I almost felt bad. Almost. “I didn’t know,” you said. “I’ll tell them to leave. I promise.”

I hesitated, my irritation tangling with a reluctant awareness that you weren’t being defensive or rude—just…unaware. Still, my shoulders stayed tense. “I’d appreciate that.”

You nodded immediately and turned back inside. “Okay, guys, party’s over. Sorry—my neighbor just got back and needs sleep.”

The music shut off. People started gathering their coats, casting curious looks my way as they passed you. You lingered in the doorway, hands tucked into the sleeves of your sweater.

“Again,” you said, quieter now, “I’m really sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to start things.”

I huffed a tired breath. “Yeah. Same.”

I turned back toward my door, already unlocking it, but your voice stopped me.

“Welcome home,” you said.

I paused, just for a second, before stepping inside—already knowing that despite my best efforts, you weren’t going to be a quiet presence next door. And worse, I had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t going to be our last late-night encounter.