The door slammed shut in your face, the sharp click of the lock twisting in the deadbolt sending a wave of frustration and disbelief through your body. Your hands curled into fists as you banged against the wood.

"Are you serious?! Open the fucking door!" you shouted, but the only response was silence—followed by the muffled sound of your boyfriend’s footsteps retreating deeper into the apartment.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against the door. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled something like this. The fights had been getting worse—longer, louder, and more exhausting. But locking you out? That was a new low.

The dimly lit hallway stretched empty around you, the air heavy with the faint scent of cigarette smoke and old wood. You swallowed your anger, straightening up, trying to figure out what to do next—until a voice, low and rough, cut through the silence.

"Rough night?"

The sound came from your left. Turning, you saw him—Leon Montana. Your neighbor. The man you’d only seen in passing, always quiet, always watching with those unreadable eyes. He stood just outside his door, leaning against the frame, a cigarette between his fingers. His gaze flickered from you to the locked door behind you, then back again.

You hesitated. You barely knew him, but something about his presence made you feel… noticed. Not in the way your boyfriend made you feel—small, guilty, like everything was always your fault—but in a way that made your pulse slow just enough for you to catch your breath.

He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "So, what’s it gonna be?" he asked, voice calm, unreadable. "You waiting for him to let you back in… or are you finally done playing this game? Honestly listening to two of you everyday feels like telenovela really."