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The Magpie At The Reception Desk — Egor Pankratov
You came to see whether the gym was any good and found a two-metre professional fighter behind the reception desk, losing a bet about a bin.
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48.2K
Wrong Chat Window — Iker Alcaraz
The quiet one in the third row sent a shirtless mirror photo to the wrong chat, and now he has to survive Thursday's seminar.
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51.3K
Rain, Then Headlights — Bode Mulcahy
You are soaked to the bone on an unlit road when a whole row of motorcycles stops, and the one who cuts his engine still has your car. The seat behind him, the cab of the truck, or a cab he pays for: he hands you the choice and does not move until you take one.
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Who Was That — Jarvis Keal
Your boyfriend since March: jealous, honest about it, and holding the car door open while he asks who that was. You get to say drop it. The car is his. Getting in is yours.
AAIGC-大K
23.5K
Wrong Door, Right Night — Tavita Fonua
You opened the wrong door in a building you were never supposed to be in, and the man behind it is still in his hand wraps. He gives you the way out twice and does not follow you, asks before his hand goes anywhere, and says the true thing out loud instead of the clever one. The rest of the night is yours, and he is not going to pretend otherwise.
铁铁柱 AIGC21.1K
Two Metres of Corridor — Niall Regan
Your father hired a team and the quietest man on it read your file, drove over, and has not given you one order.
BBrant
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Spare Key, No Questions — Miro Kadlec
The man across the hall fixes your taps, your locks and your engine, and insists every time that it is only practical.
AAI小熊猫王60.3K
Dumped and At Your Door — Jethro Baxendale
Your roommate is at your door at eleven with his phone in his hand, because his ex has not answered and he does not know where else to put it. Jethro Baxendale is twenty-one, a quarterback on a scholarship one bad semester from gone, and he is the size of a door and about as subtle. Violante ended it three weeks ago, cleanly, to his face, and he is not over it. Tonight he is going to sit on your floor and be lonely out loud, unless you tell him different.
BBrantttt44.3K
Your Name in Her Ledger — Beatrix Vespasia
On paper you are the woman she hired, and the wages sit in a drawer you could empty any morning you liked. Beatrix Vespasia runs the accounts of a house that is poorer than it looks, and she runs them at night, by candle, with you warm in her lap and an hour still to go. She is six foot three of aristocracy and she has never once ordered you to stay. What she wants is for you to ask her something true while she is still holding a pen, because she has an answer ready and it has been ready for a year.
小小草55K
Your Rival Lost Tonight — Kurtis Drakeford
He lost the game, turned down every woman in the bar, and made his best friend phone you. Kurtis Drakeford is twenty-one, quarterback and captain, six foot four of bad temper in a jersey he has not taken off. You are the rival whose project he re-did behind your back in freshman year, and the only person he has mentioned since eight o'clock. Isko called you from the bar. Nobody sent you, the door is behind you, and the whole team is watching to see whether you sit down.
今今天四娘翻牌了吗
86K
Nobody Charges You Here — Lorin Brindle
He has been the loudest thing in your life since you were fifteen. Lorin Brindle, twenty-five, is the son who never left his father's workshop: oil to the elbow, black ink up his forearm, a wrench he points at you when he is losing an argument. Your friend is seeing his friend, so Friday nights are a shared sentence now. He wants you and has said so once. What he has not said is why the side door is always unlocked.
刚刚满十八
55.7K
He Doesn't Name a Price — Seweryn Ulbricht
Your car dies at two in the morning, and the only man who stops asks nothing of you. Seweryn Ulbricht, thirty-six, owns the cold chain out of the third basin and has spent seventeen years being the man people call when something has to be true by morning. He looks at your engine for four seconds, makes one phone call, and tells you a car is coming in twenty minutes. No explanation. No discussion. You do not know that he knew your name before he opened the bonnet, or that the tow has already been paid for and is not going to be a thing you owe him.
SSunnyAya
21.6K
You Asked Him Who He Was — Cajetan Moreau
You ask the man in the doorway who he is, and he says: finally. Eliska Novakoff has been your best friend since you were nine, and this is her family's white house above the bay. The brother who used to carry your chairs down to the terrace is twenty-seven now, brown from the boat shed and the survey stakes, and he has decided he is not going to be the one who waits again. You know he never wrote. He knows the two pages are still in the drawer of your room. Inside the house, Irena is asking Alois to get the ice.
BBeebo
27.7K
Your Student's Older Brother — Ignacy Ostrowski
He is the reason you are standing in a corridor holding your own notes, and he is being decent about it in the most annoying way available. Ignacy Ostrowski is twenty-two, second year, fourth on the college duel list, and a black-furred demi-human who has decided that the corridor did not happen. His brother is fourteen and hiding in a cupboard; the department pays you to teach him; the man with the towel is not your employer and keeps proving it. You know he does not like you. You do not know about the four books, or the small gym on Tuesdays.
胡胡须侦探社
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Your Roommate’s Best Friend — Teppo Fjeld
His couch is on the other side of your wall, and at two in the morning he is over you, waiting for one word. Teppo Fjeld fixes motorcycles and sleeps in your flat because your roommate said yes before asking you. Snorre is his friend and has never been anything else, which is the only reason the two of you are possible at all. The door he came through is one you left open. He has not touched you, and he will not, until you say it out loud.
小小桃42.7K
The Major at the Next Table — Bård Haugland
He walks into rooms other people are running out of, and he cannot look away from you — the one woman in that pub who would never need him to. Bård Haugland is thirty-two, commands six men who would follow him anywhere, and has spent the whole evening telling himself he is not going to touch his sergeant's girlfriend's best friend. You run a lock shop and come out at two in the morning when people lock themselves out. You have a temper. His protective streak is a hobby, and the shoulder it hangs on is the one thing in here that needs looking after.
小小米粒
79.9K
Your Hands Only — Pyotr Vlasov
You sew up the men who cannot go to a hospital, and at three in the morning the worst of them clears your waiting room with two words. Pyotr Vlasov has been coming to your table for two years, and half of those visits had nothing to stitch. He lets nobody else touch him. The clinic is yours and so are the rules; he has never once pretended otherwise, and the one thing he keeps asking you for is a yes. He puts his life down on the steel every few weeks. He would like to know what it is worth to you.
MmonoRen
62.9K
Whichever One Colder — Rashad Boatwright
You emptied a cup of iced water down the front of a professional athlete at thirty thousand feet, in front of a full first-class cabin, and he made a joke about your aim. Rashad Boatwright is six foot six, tattooed, and entirely unbothered by the worst thing you have done all year. He is also the quietest famous man on the plane. He is not going to make you pay for it. He is going to ask whether you are all right, and then he is going to keep asking.
小小达Dada
28.8K
He Asks Who You Are — Niilo Koivula
Aino spent the whole week getting you to a party at the hockey house. Then she vanished, and the loudest man in the building looked up from kissing somebody else and headed straight for you. Niilo Koivula hosts these things. He does not normally leave a conversation halfway through, and he does not normally ask a stranger who she is in the middle of his own kitchen. He would like one honest answer and he is prepared to be told no.
玩玩家2333
33.6K
You Put a Scratch in His Bike — Raik Rehberg
You reversed into a black sports bike in a courtyard at four in the afternoon, and the man who owns it is laughing at you from his own doorway. Raik Rehberg is thirty-one, one of the two owners of a motorcycle workshop, and the neighbour nobody in this building has spoken to in three weeks. You came upstairs with your insurance number and an apology you had rehearsed six times. He wants neither of those from you, and he says so before you have finished the sentence. What he does want: an invoice you can actually pay, one coffee, and a straight answer about whether you knocked because you owe him or because you wanted to.
BBen