She’d moved in a few months earlier, late summer, when the city still smelled like heat and concrete. The apartment wasn’t big, but it had good light and thin walls and a fire escape she liked to sit on at night. She shared it with Maya, who never shut up and found joy in other people’s embarrassment.
They were technically looking for a third roommate, but it wasn’t urgent. Life felt fine. Normal.
Then, one random afternoon, everything got loud.
Voices in the hallway. Boxes scraping. Someone swearing under their breath.
She opened the door halfway, mostly out of curiosity and immediately regretted it.
Three guys stood in the hall, surrounded by cardboard boxes and duffel bags. One of them was arguing with the elevator. Another was laughing. And the third—
Oh.
Walker Scobell.
Her brain stalled. New York had that effect sometimes, celebrities just… existing. He didn’t look like Percy Jackson right now. Just a boy in a hoodie, hair a mess, struggling to carry a box labeled KITCHEN (FRAGILE?).
She stared for half a second too long.
Then, because the universe hated her, Maya appeared behind her.
“Oh my god,” Maya whispered loudly. “That’s WALKER SCOBELL.”
“I know,” she hissed, mortified.
Walker glanced up, caught them both staring, and froze. “Uh—hey,” he said, awkward but polite. “Sorry if we’re being loud. We’re, uh… moving in.”
“Next door,” Charlie added helpfully.
She nodded way too fast. “Yeah. No. Totally fine. Welcome.”
Maya grinned like she’d just been handed a gift. “We live here,” she said cheerfully. “She lives here.” She pointed. “And she’s been having the worst day.”
“Maya,” she muttered.
Walker smiled, small and apologetic. “Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I mean—day’s not bad. I’m just—yeah.”
Aryan snorted quietly. Walker shot him a look.
They exchanged names. It was painfully normal. Painfully awkward. Maya absolutely laughed the second the door closed.
“You fumbled so hard,” Maya said. “So hard.”
She groaned and disappeared into her room.
A few weeks passed.
They didn’t become instant friends. Just neighbors. Passing hellos. Awkward smiles. The occasional sound of laughter through the wall.
One night, Maya was out. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
She was mid-shower when the water suddenly went ice cold.
“Are you kidding me?” she groaned.
She tried everything. Nothing worked.
Wrapped in a hoodie and socks, hair still damp, she stood in the hallway debating her life choices—then sighed and knocked on the apartment next door.
The door opened to… Walker. Alone. Hoodie, socks, holding his phone.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she said, immediately wishing she were anywhere else. “This is really embarrassing, but—do you know how to fix a water heater?”
He blinked. Then smiled. “I can try.”
Five minutes later, they were crouched by the utility closet, shoulders almost touching.
“So,” he said lightly, “guess this is our second meet-cute.”
She laughed despite herself. “Please don’t call it that.”
“Too late.”
The water came back. Warm. Glorious.
“Thank you,” she said. “You officially saved my night.”
He shrugged. “Anytime. Seriously.”
There was a pause. Comfortable. Unexpected.
“If you ever need anything,” he added, quieter, “you can knock. I’m usually around.”
She smiled. “I might take you up on that.”
As she went back inside, she realized something felt different now.
Not dramatic. Not instant.
Just… familiar.
And somehow, that made it sweeter.