---
The knock came again, louder this time, pulling me out of the fragile sleep I'd just slipped into.
I pushed my eyes open, depriving them of rest.
Who the hell could be at my door at this hour? Could Sandy be back? Or did Sam forget something?
Pissed and half-asleep, I dragged myself out of bed.
As I walked past the living area, the clock on the wall read 11 p.m. I sighed, cleared my throat, and tried to compose myself for whoever was on the other side of the door. My hand wrapped around the knob, and I swung it open—my forehead creased with irritation.
"Hi! I'm sorry for disturbing you this late. Hope you weren't sleeping?" a guy said, his head slightly bowed before he slowly looked up at me.
"Oh my God! Are you okay? What happened?" he asked the moment our eyes met. Without warning, he reached out and held my face between his hands.
Who is this guy, and what's his problem?
I pulled away from his touch and took a step back. He was staring at me now, studying my face like it was some kind of puzzle.
"I'm fine. Who are you, and what do you want?" My voice came out sharp and louder than I intended.
"Honey, you're not fine. It's obvious you've been crying," he said gently. "Your eyes are swollen, and you've got lines of dry tears on your face." He brushed a few strands of golden hair off his forehead as he spoke.
I froze for a second. Right... I didn't wash my face after crying.
"Who upset you?" His tone softened, full of concern.
I gave him a deadly glare, one hand on my waist and the other gripping the doorframe.
"Do you need something, or did you just come here to interrogate me?" I hissed. He was stirring up emotions I'd just managed to silence.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," he said quickly, placing a hand over his mouth. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Brandon. I live in 3D—your neighbor, the apartment next to yours on the left." He smiled so wide it nearly reached his ears.
"Okay, Brandon. What do you need? You woke me up, and I'd really like to go back to sleep," I said bluntly, my exhaustion showing through.
"I came to borrow some salt. We were cooking and realized we didn't have any. I figured it'd be easier to borrow from you instead of going out at this—"
"Brandon! Hurry up, it's almost ready!" a voice called from down the hall.
"Just a minute!" Brandon shouted back.
I turned and walked toward the kitchen, leaving the door open.
"Your place looks amazing," he said as I heard his footsteps behind me. "You've got great taste."
I opened one drawer after another before realizing Sandy had arranged all the spices on the counter. Spotting the salt, I grabbed it and handed it to him.
"Thanks," I muttered.
"I'll bring it back tomorrow," he said.
"No need. Just keep it," I replied, turning back toward the kitchen.
"If you're up for it, you can join us for dinner," he offered, still lingering in the living area.
"I'm good. I already ate."
My stomach growled right then, betraying me. I prayed he didn't hear it.
He grinned. "He's my boyfriend. And honey, I'm not leaving you here to starve." He walked closer, patting my shoulder. "Come on, your stomach's begging for food. Wash your face and join us. Don't be shy."
Part of me wanted to say no. I didn't have the energy to pretend I was okay. But my stomach—and maybe something else—said otherwise.
Before I could respond, he added, "You've got five minutes. If you're not there by then, I'll come and drag you myself."
And just like that, he was gone, closing the door behind him.
Who does he think he is, threatening me in my own house?
The boy was definitely a handful. Who borrows salt and ends up inviting the neighbor to dinner uninvited? And he'd even walked into my apartment like it was nothing. What if I was a psychotic maniac who killed people for fun?
My stomach growled again, reminding me it didn't care about any of that.
With a loud sigh, I headed to the bathroom. I had to go—partly because I was hungry, and partly because Brandon seemed crazy enough to make good on his threat.
Instead of just washing my face, I decided to take a quick shower. A few minutes later, I stepped out, towel in hand, drying myself. I grabbed a pair of black sweatpants and a black hoodie from the floor and slipped into them. I didn't bother with lotion; I hated the sticky feeling before bed.
My phone sat on the coffee table. For a moment, I thought about taking it with me—but decided against it. I didn't want any unwanted notifications popping up in front of strangers.
Just as I reached the door—
Knock, knock, knock.
I opened it to find Brandon again, that same wide smile plastered across his face like a kid expecting candy on Halloween.
"I was about to drag you out. Lucky you," he said, grabbing my hand.
I yanked it away, hard enough to make him turn.
"So, you're one of those who hate physical touch?" he asked as I locked my door.
"Yeah," I said flatly.
He chuckled. "Then you're in trouble, 'cause I'm the opposite. You better run when you see me coming, honey, 'cause my hands will be all over you."
He laughed, and I just rolled my eyes, following him down the hall.
I must be crazy too, I thought. I was following a stranger—his boyfriend waiting inside—for dinner. What if they were both psychos? Could I still make an excuse and run back?
Before I could think of one, the door swung open, and Brandon ushered me in.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
If Brandon was a handful, I could only imagine what his boyfriend would be like.