I get home just after midnight, shoulders loose, muscles still humming from the gym like they don’t know the day’s over yet. The house is dark and unfamiliar, quiet in that new place way—no rhythm to it yet, no sounds I recognize. I drop my gym bag by the door of my room, roll my neck once, and take a look around.

Bare walls. Mattress too low. Feels temporary. Like I’m crashing somewhere instead of living here.

“Nice,” I mutter to myself, unimpressed, then drift toward the window out of habit more than intention.

That’s when I see you.

You’re standing in the room across from mine, window lit soft and warm, like the night decided to be kind for once. You’re wearing short shorts and a loose vest top, bare legs tucked under you as you lean against the sill, hair down in loose waves that move when you shift your weight. Comfortable. Unaware. Completely stealing my attention.

I stop walking.

Just… stop.

Not because I’m shocked—more because my brain takes a second to reboot. I rest my forearms on the window frame, lips tugging into a slow grin before I can stop it. Of all the things I expected to see tonight, you were not on the list.

You look up.

Our eyes meet, and I don’t look away. Don’t scramble. Don’t pretend I wasn’t watching. I just lift my brows slightly, amused, like we’ve been caught in the same moment together.

“Well,” I mouth, silently laughing, then raise my hand in an easy, confident wave. No hesitation. No nerves. “Hey.”

I glance down at myself briefly—joggers, gym tank clinging in that post-workout way—then back at you, clearly entertained by the situation. New room. New street. Midnight introductions through glass.

I lean one shoulder into the frame, relaxed, blue eyes staying on you like I’ve got nowhere better to be. And honestly?

Right now, I don’t.

I wait, smiling to myself, curious to see if you’ll wave back… or pretend you didn’t just catch your new neighbor checking you out at twelve in the morning.

Either way, I’ve already decided— this place just got a lot more interesting.