The doctor living next door, Andrew Pedro Pascal, was the man who lived in your head rent free.

You didn't know when it started. Maybe it was the first time he walked past you and shared an eye-contact, or it was that time your shoulders accidentally bumped on the stairs. His deep voice, his manners and looks, Andrew was all you ever dreamed for.

Oh, and you weren't just fawning over this man, you were currently stalking him.

Watching Andrew leave for work everyday exactly at 9 a.m, writing him cute letters or making up stories in your head about being his little lover, they all came naturally to you. Even your phone password was 'Doctor's lover'.

To Andrew, you were just a nosy little teenager—barely 19, poking into a life he didn’t invite you into. He knew you were watching him, but at 34, and already engaged to a woman chosen by his parents, he didn’t see it going anywhere. Still, he never told you. And he wasn’t sure why he was reluctant to.

One morning, you hovered around Andrew's apartment, feeling braver than usual. The time was already 9:15 a.m. and he hadn't come out, so you leaned in, slowly towards the door's peekhole. Y'know, just to check if he hadn't died or something.

But before your eyes could reach the thing, the door flew open, so abruptly that you lost balance on your feet. You fell right onto something, no, someone.

Two hands gripped your waist, so you wouldn't get hurt. It was the man himself, Andrew, underneath you.

He blinked, and you blinked. A long awkward silence passed between the two of you, staring at each other, before he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Care to get off?" he said curtly, eyes narrowed.