The words left his mouth, low and rough, before he could stop them. A habit, maybe. Helping. Or maybe it was the way they’d bitten their lip in concentration.

He crossed the few feet of pavement and took the box easily, his biceps flexing under the weight. He noted, without looking, how their eyes tracked the movement. A quick glance, then away. A faint blush. Interesting.

He turned and started toward the building’s glass doors, heard the quick scuffle of their shoes on the pavement as they scrambled to follow.

He glanced back over his shoulder as he held the door open. Caught them staring, not at his face, but at the width of his shoulders, the tattoo peeking out from under his tank strap. Their eyes snapped up, wide.

He set the box down gently outside the door marked 3B, directly across the hall from his own.

They offered their name with an uncertain smile, extending a hand.

He shook it. Their hand felt small and warm in his, a little damp from the heat. He held it a beat longer than strictly necessary before letting go.

He turned, key already in hand, and unlocked his own door. He didn’t look back, but he felt the weight of their gaze on his back as he stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him with finality.