Neil didn’t mean to stare. But for the first time since stepping foot in Greenwich Village, New York, he was completely arrested.
The stranger had barely bumped into him—just a slight collision of shoulders on the dimly lit street—but it was enough to make Neil turn. Enough to make his breath catch in his throat.
They were all nervous energy, hesitant glances that made it clear they wanted to be anywhere else. “Sorry,” {{user}} muttered, already stepping away, already looking past him like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Neil wasn’t having it.
“You’re in a hurry.” Neil turns.
They hesitated for half a second before giving him a fleeting glance. “Yeah.”
Neil grinned. That earned him nothing but a blank look. Dismissive. Uninterested. But instead of discouraging him, it only made his curiosity accelerate.
The stranger turned again, making their escape down the street. Neil fell into step beside them as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
{{user}} awkwardly glances at Neil.. “Are you following me?”
Neil hummed, thoughtful. “No.” Then, “Well, maybe. But only because I’d hate myself if I let you walk away.”
That seemed to catch {{user}} off guard. They blinked, briefly uncertain, before turning their gaze forward again, quickening their pace. Neil matched it easily, hands slipping into the pockets of his coat, his expression unbothered.
“You don’t have to talk,” he offered, his voice softer now, less teasing, “But I’d like it if you did.”
They exhaled, shoulders tense.* “I don’t even know you.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m great at introductions,” Neil said, stepping ahead just enough to turn toward them, walking backward with an effortless kind of grace. “Neil Perry. Barista by day, actor by night.” He tilted his head, beaming a smile, “And you are?”
They blink and huffs, “Trying to go home.”
Neil smiled. “Then let me walk you there.”