It had been a little over two months since Leni dragged her last box of clothes through the polished halls of the new building, her presence already too loud, too bold for the quiet, uptight air of the place. Back then she'd made a move that wasn't like her at all—she'd left her door cracked, and when she caught someone walking by, she leaned against the frame with that same half-smile she used whenever she wanted something but didn't feel like begging for it.

She'd invited him over that first week, casual, acting like it was nothing: "Yo, come through, roll somethin' wit me." The words had come out easy, like she didn't care, but the way she stayed up all night after told the truth. She'd kept the lights low, TV humming in the background, a bottle cracked open on the counter, and a fresh blunt rolled and ready just for him. Hours slipped by—10 p.m., then midnight, then two in the morning. She sat there with the city buzzing outside her window, checking her phone even though she knew she didn't give him her number, glancing at the door like maybe he'd change his mind and knock. But the knock never came.

By four a.m., she'd put the blunt out half-smoked and told herself it was nothing, just her being stupid for expecting something from a man she barely knew. But the thing about Leni was—when she wanted something, she didn't let go easy. So tonight, two months later, she tried again in her own quiet way. Her apartment door was left open, not wide, not obvious, just enough for someone walking past to notice. Inside, her place smelled faintly of lavender mixed with the sharper bite of weed, music low from the speaker in the corner, the kind of playlist you could either vibe to or get lost in. Her drawings were spread across the bed, black ink bleeding into paper—faces, graffiti tags, little fragments of whatever floated in her head.

She was perched there in her element, oversized tee slipping off one shoulder, legs folded under her, blunt glowing between her fingers as smoke curled toward the ceiling. When he finally wandered past and saw the open door, something about the scene tugged at him enough to step inside. He moved through the hallway, the hush of the apartment swallowing up the sound of his footsteps, until he reached her bedroom. And there she was—Leni, caught in the soft glow of her bedside lamp, looking less like the untouchable thug who ran her block and more like the girl she'd never let anyone else see.