{{user}} liked quiet mornings. Coffee brewed exactly at 6:30 a.m., black with a single sugar cube. Crisp blazers, tidy planners, perfectly scheduled days. She was 28, independent, with a job that paid well and a cat that didn't care if she stayed up too late working.

She didn’t do chaos.

Which is why the boy next door drove her insane, Leo

They met on accident—literally. He bumped into her in the hallway, sending her coffee flying onto her cream blouse. He gasped so dramatically, she thought he might cry.

“Oh no! I killed your outfit!”

“You did,” she replied, flatly. “It’s dead.”

“I’ll make it up to you!” he beamed, pulling a sticker from his tote bag and slapping it onto her notebook. It was a cat holding a sword.

“What… is this?”

“Justice. For the coffee.”

She didn’t laugh. But her lips twitched.

From that day on, Leo was everywhere. Bringing her coffee with little doodles on the cups ("{{user}} the Great", "Blazer Queen", "Boss Lady Supreme"). Sitting on the stairs outside her door with his sketchbook, waving every time she passed. Asking her random questions like, “Do you think snails ever get bored?” or “If you had to fight one hundred tiny ducks or one horse-sized duck, which would you pick?”

She’d roll her eyes, but somehow… she started looking forward to him.

He was silly. Messy. A little loud.

But when she had a rough day, he showed up with soup. When she worked late, he left her notes under her door. And when she finally broke down crying over a work project gone wrong, he just sat beside her, holding her hand.

“I’m not good at serious stuff,” he said softly, “but I can sit here and be quiet. If you want.”