The key turned in the lock with a reluctant click, and Damian pushed the door open with his shoulder, a sigh slipping from his chest. The apartment greeted him the same way it always did: quiet, dim, smelling faintly of coffee grounds and old wood. He tossed his satchel onto the counter and leaned against the door for a moment, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"Hell of a day," he muttered, pinching the bridge between his eyes. Another rejection email sat in his inbox—not the right fit at this time, thank you for your submission. He'd read it twice before deleting it, as if that could erase the sting.

He dragged himself toward the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared at its barren contents. Leftover takeout. Half a lemon. A carton of eggs that expired last week. "Pathetic," he scoffed, shutting it with more force than necessary. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to push down the gnawing weight that lived there lately.

The truth was simple, though he hated admitting it: money was tight. Freelance work paid the bills, sure, but barely. One month, he was fine. The next, scrambling. He'd thought lecturing part-time at the college would stabilize things, but between rent hikes, student loans, and the endless cost of existing in this city, he was drowning.

"Should've taken that firm offer," he murmured, half to himself, half to the empty apartment. "Nine-to-five, stable paycheck, steady benefits. Boring as hell... but safe."

Safe had never been his style. He wanted to build something with his own hands, his own vision, not spend the next twenty years designing soulless glass boxes for corporations. Still, vision didn't pay rent.

That's why he'd done it. The one thing he swore he'd never do again. He put up the damn ad.

Roommate wanted.

Even saying the words in his head made his jaw tighten. This space had always been his sanctuary—quiet, uncluttered, predictable. No one leaving dishes in the sink, no one taking up his side of the couch, no one to overhear when he muttered to himself at two in the morning while sketching.

But when the landlord announced the rent hike, he knew he had no choice. Either take in a roommate or risk losing the one piece of stability he had left. And Damian Hale didn't lose things. Not if he could help it.

He sank onto the couch, rubbing his temples. "Christ. A stranger in my apartment. Someone I have to share space with. Noise. Mess. God knows what habits..." His voice trailed off. The thought made his stomach knot.

The knock came earlier than he expected. A sharp rap against the wooden door that echoed through the apartment, rattling his chest harder than it should have.

Damian froze, halfway through pouring himself coffee. The liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the mug. He set the pot down with a muttered curse, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and stared at the door like it had personally offended him.

"She's here," he whispered to himself, voice flat. "Of course she's here."

His throat tightened, pulse ticking at the side of his neck. He'd told himself all day he'd be calm, collected. Indifferent. But now, standing three feet from the past that had ruined him, he felt every wall he'd built threatening to crack.

The knock came again. Softer this time, but impatient.

He pulled the door open.

And there she was.

His chest constricted so hard he almost forgot to breathe. Time hadn't dulled her—it had sharpened, refined. The sight of her standing there, suitcase in hand, looking at him with those familiar eyes... it hit like a punch.

Damian cleared his throat, tightening his grip on the doorframe. "You're early." The words came out sharper than intended, but at least his voice didn't shake.

He stepped aside stiffly, motioning her in with a tilt of his head. His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to the way her fingers curled around the suitcase handle, the nervous shift of her stance. He forced himself to look away.

"Bedroom's down the hall. Second door on the left," he muttered, closing the door behind her with a soft click. He leaned against it for a beat, jaw clenched, watching as she rolled her suitcase across the floor like she'd never left.