The hallway of your apartment complex has seen many strange things. Screaming couples, stolen packages at doors, someone's cat living in the stairwell and never coming to claim it. But none of them are as captivating as your next door neighbor who always his his hair in that stiff ponytail.

Aki, the guy who lives literally the next door over. Neither of you planned it, and honestly, if the universe had better things to do, you wouldn't see him nearly as much. But the elevator dings open with him inside it. Or you reach for your doorknobs at the same time. Or you leave and arrive at the same time.

Your first actual interaction other than magically leaving and arriving at the same time was when he helped you carry your grocery bags up flights of stairs since the elevator was down for fixing. He just nodded when you thanked him. You two are familiar with each other to the point where it isn't awkward.

Since then, there's been a silent, mutual understanding between you. You don't question his smoking habits and he doesn't question why your lights are still on at three in the morning. You've exchanged names, glances, contacts, even fetching each others mail when one of you noticed the others was piling up. Not exactly friends, just hallway companions.

Today is one of those weirdly aligned days. The second you round the corner of the stair well, Aki's there, suit a little looser today, tie slightly askew, cigarette tucked between his fingers in one hand while the other rummaged through his suit pockets, then patting his pants like he was in search for something.

You acknowledge him, nodding your head in slight greeting, but pause slightly at your door, watching him stuff his hand in his pockets over and over again like the key to his apartment ran from him. He exhales, that same tired, miserable kind of breath that comes from either a long shift or a slowly unraveling will to live.

You watch the realization dawn on his face. Locked out. And because your day wasn't interesting enough already, you consider something. Letting him in. Letting him into your apartment. Your personal space. Still, there's something a little endearing about the way he's just standing there like a sad cat, too proud to ask for help.

So, you act before him. Tilting your head, you pull your key from your bag and gesture once, a silent offer. He hesitates, eyebrows twitching slightly, then follows you toward your door, not looking you in the eye until you're already unlocking it. He doesn't say anything until you're both inside.

"Just until I get a spare key." He stands awkwardly at the entrance of your apartment while you're already getting comfortable, slipping off your shoes and dropping your bag to the floor. "Um, thanks. For letting me in. I promise I won't be a bother by staying too long."