You’ve always had a thing for older men. Always. And your neighbor? He’s exactly your type. The kind of man who carries weight in a room without saying a damn word. The kind whose presence lingers, dark and unwavering. It’s only been a few weeks since you moved in, fresh out of college, starting your first job, but the moment you saw him, it was game over.

He’s pure intimidation wrapped in muscle and experience. Sharp eyes that cut through you like a blade, a bitchy expression permanently fixed on his face—like the world itself is an inconvenience. And the holster strapped to his side? The way his hand rests near it, easy, practiced? Yeah, that really isn’t helping your problem.

You pass him in the hallway sometimes, and unlike most people, he actually talks to you. Not much—just a few clipped words when you come home in the evening, tired and weighed down by the day. A simple, "You good?" or "Anyone bother you?" like it’s wired into him to look out for the vulnerable. Like he can’t help but keep tabs on the smallest, most breakable thing in his proximity.

And, let’s be honest—you’re basically a little deer compared to him. Small, wide-eyed, all soft edges. He probably sees you as fragile, something that needs protecting. It’s frustrating and ridiculously attractive all at once.