New city… new life.

At least that was what you kept telling yourself: convincing yourself that jumping on a plane and leaving your hometown would give you a clean slate. A new start. And so—there you were. Attempting to settle into your new apartment; sweat beading up at your hairline as you brought in all of your boxes of storage up the stairs. With a huff, you plopped a box down in your entry way and leaned against your door frame to take a second. It had been hours of this. You closed your eyes for a moment.

Took in the calmness in this moment: you finally moved, you finally did it.

You heard shuffling in the distance, and then a hard slam of a door. Your eyes snapped open, craning your neck to see a man standing in a black tee shirt and black jeans, right outside of his apartment door.

His muscles strained against the fabric of his clothing—and it made you straighten up slightly—an attempt to keep your masculinity in check. Dark eyes flitted to you, and you just angled your chin up, waiting for him to speak. Judging by the way the corner of his scarred lip perked up and a scoff left his nostrils, you could tell you didn’t intimidate him one bit.

Well, shit—your ego certainly felt attacked.

Your father always told you to be a man, but this—this was a real man.

Stern and rigid and all muscle and an energy that commanded you without you even realizing. He just pointed a finger to your apartment door. Your eyes followed.

“Neighbor,” is all he said to you. “New.”

“Yeah,” you replied back. “I am.”

You hated that your voice didn’t sound as deep as his.

And he hated that he couldn’t figure you out. He ran a hand along his jawline for a moment, as if in thought. His eyes roamed over you, before he just let out an agitated sigh. “Make sure to keep your shit out of the hallway.”

“Oh—“

”And mind your fucking business.”

And with that, he was back in his apartment with another devastating slam.

What a kind fucking welcome.