Nico had seen the apartment once, in bad lighting, through a grainy video call, while the current tenant’s hand shook hard enough to make the kitchen look like it was moving.

Even then, it had seemed manageable.

Manageable was all he could afford.

By the time he dragged his suitcase up the narrow stairs to the third floor, sweat dampened the back of his shirt and a dull ache had settled into his shoulder. The building was older than the listing had made it sound. The hallway smelled faintly like old paint, dust, and somebody’s garlic-heavy dinner. One of the ceiling lights flickered overhead, giving the place the kind of dramatic effect that would have been charming if Nico weren’t already exhausted.

He stopped outside 3B, adjusted his grip on the suitcase handle, and stared at the door for a second longer than necessary.

New city. New apartment. New roommate.

Temporary, he reminded himself.

Everything about this was temporary.

He lifted his hand and knocked.

A few seconds passed. Then the lock turned, and the door opened.

The person standing there was not what Nico had prepared for.

The listing had said one quiet professional seeking same. The messages had been brief, polite, efficient. He’d pictured someone generic. Someone forgettable. Maybe someone who owned exactly one plant and always paid bills three days early.

Instead, the person in front of him looked like they belonged in one of those candid street photos people reposted with captions about effortless style.

“Hi,” they said.

Nico blinked once. “Hi.”

They stepped back and opened the door wider. “You’re Nico.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Jules.”

Their voice was warm, low, and easy. Dark curls had been pulled back carelessly, though a few pieces had already slipped loose around their face. They wore a faded gray T-shirt and black lounge pants, like they had either been cleaning or had given up pretending to look presentable for a stranger moving in. Nico appreciated that. It was human.

He rolled his suitcase inside and tried not to seem as off-balance as he suddenly felt.

The apartment was small, but better than he expected. Narrow living room. Soft natural light from a pair of tall windows. A couch that had clearly been chosen for comfort over looks. Books stacked on the floor beside an overfilled shelf. A framed print leaning against the wall instead of hanging, like Jules had meant to decorate properly and never found the time.

It looked lived in. Not staged. Not sterile.

For reasons Nico didn’t want to examine too closely, that made him relax a little.

“Sorry about the stairs,” Jules said, closing the door. “The elevator’s been broken since before I moved in, which I think legally qualifies this place as a scam.”

Nico glanced back at them, and despite himself, a smile pulled at his mouth. “Good to know I signed up for a charmingly corrupt property.”

“Exactly.” Jules took in his suitcase and duffel bag. “You want help with the rest?”

“There’s only one more bag downstairs.”

“I’ll grab it.”

“That’s okay.”

Jules had already started toward the door. “I live here too. I can carry one bag.”

Before Nico could argue, they slipped back into the hallway.

He stood alone in the apartment for a moment, hand still resting on the suitcase handle.

That was not ideal.

Attraction had never been the problem. Nico knew how to handle attraction. Attraction was simple. Immediate. Chemical. It passed if you ignored it long enough.

Proximity was the problem.

Proximity, routine, and the dangerous little intimacy of seeing someone every day when neither of you was trying.

He exhaled slowly and looked around again, grounding himself in practical details. The kitchen was tucked to the side of the living room, barely separated except for a narrow counter. Clean. Not spotless, but clean in a believable way. A ceramic mug sat by the sink. A dish towel hung crookedly from the oven handle. A bowl of lemons on the counter looked so aggressively intentional that Nico suspected they’d been bought for aesthetic reasons rather than actual use.

His room, he’d been told, was the smaller of the two. That was fine. He didn’t need much.

He just needed somewhere to land.

The door opened again, and Jules came back in with the extra bag slung over one shoulder.

“Thanks,” Nico said.

“No problem.” Jules set it down beside the suitcase. “Do you want the grand tour, or do you want to do that thing where we both pretend apartments are self-explanatory?”

“The second one sounds less embarrassing.”

“Perfect. Love efficiency.”

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

Jules noticed. He could tell because something softened in their expression, quick and subtle.

That, too, felt dangerous.

“So,” Jules said, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “Your room’s down the hall on the left. Bathroom is across from it. Kitchen is kitchen. Living room is living room. If you hear strange radiator noises at night, we pretend it’s the building and not a ghost.”

“I can work with that.”

“Any allergies? Violent hatred of cilantro? Secret drumming hobby?”

“No allergies. Cilantro’s fine. No drums.”

“Great. Then I think we’re compatible enough not to ruin each other’s lives.”

Nico looked at them for a beat. “That’s the goal?”

“It’s my gold standard for roommates.”

There it was again, that easy almost-smile. The kind that made everything sound lighter than it was.

Nico had known people like that before. People who seemed effortless because they hid the effort. People who made room for everyone else because they’d learned not to expect much space for themselves.

He hated that he noticed things like that. He hated even more that he was usually right.

“I should probably get my stuff out of the hallway,” he said.

“Probably. I can stay out of your way while you settle in.”

“That’s okay.”

Jules tilted their head. “You keep saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“That everything’s okay.”

Nico felt heat rise, faint but immediate. “It usually is.”

“Sure.” Jules pushed off the wall. “Well, if it stops being okay, there’s coffee in the cabinet, tea in the tin by the stove, and a landlord who responds best to mild public shaming.”

Then they headed toward the kitchen, leaving Nico with his bags and a strange sense that he had already revealed more than he meant to.

He brought his things down the hall and nudged open the bedroom door.

Small, yes. But bright. One window facing the building across the alley. White walls. A narrow bed frame. A dresser that had seen better years. Enough floor space for his duffel and suitcase if he arranged them right. It would do.

It had to.

He shut the door behind him and stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, eyes closed for just a second.

He had not planned for this move to happen so fast.

Two weeks ago, he’d still been sharing a place with Owen. Two weeks ago, his dishes were still in the same cabinets they’d been in for a year and a half, and his shirts still hung beside someone else’s in a closet that now felt embarrassing to remember. Two weeks ago, he was still trying to salvage something that had clearly been over long before either of them said it aloud.

In the end, it hadn’t even been a dramatic fight.

That was what made it worse.

No betrayal. No explosion. Just a slow, humiliating realization that love could flatten into obligation if you let disappointment sit long enough.

Owen had looked tired when he said, “Maybe we’re just making each other smaller.”

Nico had wanted to be angry. Anger was easier to pack.

Instead, he’d nodded like he understood. Like he was mature enough to appreciate honesty. Like it didn’t feel like somebody had reached into his chest and quietly rearranged the furniture.

Now here he was. In a too-small room in a too-old building, trying to call it a fresh start instead of what it actually was.

A retreat.

He opened his eyes and got to work.

By the time he’d unpacked half his clothes and put his toiletries in the bathroom, the light outside had shifted toward evening. The apartment had grown quieter. He could hear Jules moving around in the kitchen, cabinet doors opening and closing, water running, the muted rhythm of someone doing something ordinary.

Domestic sounds.

The kind that could get under your skin if you weren’t careful.

Nico stepped into the hallway and found Jules standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan.

“You cook on move-in day?” he asked.

Jules glanced over. “I cook on most days. It tricks my life into feeling organized.”

“What is it?”

“Pasta. Nothing impressive.” They paused. “I made enough for two, if you want some.”

Nico’s first instinct was to say no. Reflex. Polite distance. Self-protection disguised as manners.