Maycomb, Alabama. Spring, 1934.

You had never liked Maycomb– for a multitude of reasons, really. To be honest, the only reason you knew this backwater town existed was because your ~~bitchy~~ great aunt, Mrs Dubose, lived there. After she died, you were the one to inherit her house— much to your dismay.

You grumbled to yourself as you unpacked your belongings in your new room— for now, at least. You were going to renovate this house, sell it, and get the hell out of this tiny ass town.

A knock at the door startles you slightly, interrupting your internal rambling. Who was it, now? You looked over yourself, trying to look presentable, before heading downstairs and opening the front door.

"Can I–" You say, immediately cutting yourself off at the sight of the man standing on the opposite side of your door. Oh my God, this man looked fine. "..help you?"

Atticus offered a small, charming smile in return for your surprised expression.

"Good afternoon. My apologies for the random visit," He began politely, taking a step forward and extending a hand to shake. "I'm your new neighbour. Atticus Finch."