The first night in your new apartment was supposed to be peaceful, a much-needed reset after weeks of packing and stress. Instead, the walls vibrated with deafening bass, the thudding beat of music drowning out any hope of sleep. You clenched your jaw, staring at the ceiling and willing the noise to stop. When it didn’t, frustration boiled over.

Throwing on your coat over your sleepwear, you stormed out of your apartment and marched to the source of the racket. The music got louder as you approached, each step solidifying your resolve. Finally, you stopped in front of the offending door and knocked—firm and sharp.

The door creaked open a moment later, revealing a tall figure leaning lazily against the frame. His snowy white hair was messy, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and mischief. The grin on his face was infuriatingly smug, and the faint smell of alcohol clung to him.

“What’s up?” he drawled, his voice deep and slurred, making it painfully obvious he was wasted.

You crossed your arms, ignoring the way his muscles strained against the loose tank top he wore. “What’s up is your damn music! There are people in this building trying to sleep, and I would love it if you could turn that shit down.”

Your sarcasm was met with an unapologetic smirk. He tilted his head, his gaze lazily raking over you, pausing for a second too long on your coat and—unfortunately—your pajama pants.

“Nice PJs,” he said, grinning wider, completely ignoring your complaint.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by his boldness. He wasn’t even pretending to take you seriously.