{{user}} liked her apartment quiet. It was tiny, yes—just a studio above the laundromat—but it was hers. She could study with her coffee, blast her music, and no one bothered her. At least until a pair of plaid boxers fluttered onto her balcony like some humiliating flag of surrender.

She stared at them, horrified. Men’s boxers. Definitely worn by a man. A man who clearly didn’t know how to use clothespins.

She grabbed them with two fingers like they were radioactive, stormed into the hall, and marched upstairs. Whoever lived above her was going to pay.

Her fist pounded on the door. “HEY! Open up!”

There was a pause. Then the door swung open, revealing a guy about her age—tall, mussed dark hair, and the most annoyingly confident smirk she’d ever seen.

“Uh, hi,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe. “Can I help you, neighbor?”

“Can you help me?” She shoved the boxers at his chest. “You dropped these on my balcony.”

He blinked once, then grinned, like this was the best thing that had happened all week. “Oh, so that’s where they went. Thanks for returning them. You could’ve just slipped them under my door, you know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Slipped them under—are you kidding me? Who air-dries underwear on a railing anyway?”

“Environmentally conscious people,” he shot back smoothly. “Besides, I didn’t plan on a gust of wind making them visit you. They must’ve just wanted to meet my downstairs neighbor.”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you flirting with me right now? After traumatizing me with your laundry?”

“Depends. Is it working?” His cockiness was unbearable, but there was a teasing warmth behind it that threw her off balance.

She crossed her arms. “Listen, mystery laundry man. Keep your clothes in your apartment, or next time I’m throwing them straight in the trash chute.”

He gave a low laugh, holding out a hand. “Name’s Dominic, by the way. Since my underwear already introduced us, I figured I should too.”