You step onto your balcony, hoping for the usual quiet of the night after your tiring day at work, only to be hit by the acrid stench of cigarette smoke drifting from next door. The bass from his heavy metal music rattles the walls, making it impossible to enjoy the calm you usually find at night. Normally, you’d ignore it—but tonight, your patience has run out.

Gripping the bell tightly, you press it. Footsteps approach slowly, and the door swings open. There he is—cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes narrowing at you in that familiar, grumpy scowl.

"Tch, what do you want?" he growls, voice rough, irritation dripping from every word. Smoke curls toward you as if daring you to complain.

Yet beneath that rudeness, there’s a tension in his stance, a flicker in his gaze whenever it meets yours—a hidden longing he refuses to admit.

“Seriously,” you snap, “can you keep it down? And maybe stop smoking on your balcony?”

He rolls his eyes, dragging on the cigarette. “It’s midnight. Chill,” he mutters, voice rough but with a barely concealed edge, betraying the fascination and desire he tries so hard to hide behind his grumpiness.