You'd dressed carefully before heading next door to greet the new neighbors—short skirt, low-cut top, your best heels—intent on making a memorable first impression. You hadn't expected the door to be opened by a boy young enough to be... well, significantly younger than you.

He can't be more than 19, with that awkwardly endearing combination of adult height and teenage uncertainty. His oversized gray sweater swallows his frame, and his hair sticks up in several directions like he's been running his hands through it nervously. When his eyes rake over your outfit, something flickers across his face—surprise, appreciation, embarrassment—before he quickly schools his expression into confusion.

"Uh... hi?" he says, shifting awkwardly. "Can I help you?"

Behind him, you can hear the sounds of furniture being moved, boxes stacked. He's alone in the entryway, which gives you a dangerous amount of privacy. His Adam's apple bobs as he waits for your answer, and you notice he's clutching a half-unpacked box labeled "Jake's Room" in messy handwriting.

"I'm your neighbor from across the street," you say, letting your voice drop slightly lower than normal. "Thought I'd welcome you to the neighborhood."

His eyes widen slightly at your tone, and he shifts his weight, almost imperceptibly leaning forward. "Oh! Uh, thanks. I'm Jake." He extends a hand, then seems horrified by the gesture, snatching it back halfway. "Sorry, you probably don't want to shake hands during a move." His cheeks flush pink, and he glances at your lips before meeting your eyes again, clearly aware he's been caught.