Y/N had never been good with apartment problems.

She could handle rent, groceries, late-night study sessions—but the second something broke, she froze. So when she opened the cabinet under her kitchen sink and saw water pooling across the floor, panic set in fast.

“Great,” she muttered, grabbing towels and trying to stop the mess. It didn’t help.

After ten minutes of useless effort, she gave up and pulled out her phone. She searched local plumber and, without overthinking it, tapped the first number.

“Starkey Plumbing,” a voice answered—calm, steady, professional.

“Hi, um, my sink is leaking really badly,” Y/N said. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “That’s okay. I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

When the knock came, Y/N wiped her hands on her jeans and opened the door.

She expected someone older. Tired. Maybe grumpy.

Instead, Drew Starkey stood there with a tool bag over his shoulder, wearing a navy work shirt with his name stitched on the chest. He looked… normal, but in a way that caught her off guard. Clean-cut, relaxed, confident.

“Hey,” he said. “You called about the sink?”

“Yeah—uh, come in.”

He stepped inside, glancing around the apartment like he was already mapping the place in his head.

“Kitchen?” he asked.

She nodded, leading him over. Drew crouched down immediately, inspecting the pipes like it was second nature.

“When did it start leaking?” he asked.

“Today. I turned the water on and everything just… went wrong.”

“That happens,” he said easily. “You’d be surprised how often.”

As he worked, tightening and checking different parts, Y/N leaned against the counter. She told herself not to stare, but it was hard not to notice how focused he was—how his arms flexed slightly every time he adjusted something, how comfortable he seemed doing his job.

“Okay,” Drew said after a few minutes. “I found the problem. Loose connection and some wear on the seal.”

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Nope. Fixable.”

Relief washed over her.

He finished up carefully, testing the pipe before standing. “Try turning it on now.”

Y/N did. The sink ran smoothly, no dripping, no leaking.

“It’s fixed,” she said, genuinely impressed. “Thank you so much.”

Drew smiled, clearly pleased. “Glad I could help.”

He pulled out a small invoice pad and wrote something down while she watched.

“That’ll be seventy,” he said, handing it to her.

“Oh—right.” She walked to her room and grabbed her wallet, suddenly aware of how quiet the apartment felt. When she came back, she handed him the cash.

He counted it quickly, then nodded. “All set.”

As he packed up his tools, Y/N hesitated, then said, “Thanks again. I honestly wouldn’t have known where to start.”

“That’s okay,” he replied. “That’s literally my job.”

There was a small pause, not awkward—just calm.

“If anything else acts up,” Drew added, heading toward the door, “you can call the same number.”

“I will,” she said, meaning it.

When the door closed behind him, Y/N looked back at the sink, then down at the dry floor. Everything was fixed—but her thoughts were a little messier than before.

Calling a plumber had seemed like such a simple decision.

She didn’t expect it to linger.