The warm glow of streetlights spilled through the window of Rody’s cramped apartment, casting soft golden hues over the mess of takeout boxes, discarded napkins, and a guitar propped up in the corner. The air smelled of something burnt—probably the toast he’d abandoned in the kitchen while fussing over his tie.

“Ugh… Stupid thing,” he muttered, tugging uselessly at the knot. It sat awkwardly against his chest, neither properly tied nor stylishly loose, just a mess—much like him.

“Need some help?”

Your voice startled him, and he turned quickly, nearly tripping over a chair. A sheepish grin broke across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh—yeah. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Stepping closer, you reached up, carefully undoing the disaster of a knot he’d created. His green eyes flicked between yours and the gentle movements of your hands. His breath hitched slightly when your fingers brushed against his collarbone.

“You know,” you teased, looping the fabric into a proper knot, “for someone who’s worked nearly thirty jobs, you’d think one of them would’ve taught you this.”

“Ha-ha,” Rody huffed sarcastically, but there was no real bite in his voice. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides before he finally let them settle on your waist, thumbs rubbing small, nervous circles against the fabric of your shirt. “I dunno, I think it’s part of my charm. You like a man who’s a little… dysfunctional, right?”

You finished the knot with a satisfied tug. “Good as new.”

His gaze softened as he studied you. Rody swore he didn’t need anything else right now. The way the dim lighting framed your face, the warmth in your eyes—it made his stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with the questionable fast food he ate earlier.

“You look nice,” he blurted out, then winced. “I mean, you always look nice, but, y’know, er—Extra nice.”