On the top floor, there are only a handful of units—and even fewer neighbors. You didn’t expect to meet the one living in the penthouse. Scaramouche keeps to himself, distant and unreadable, the kind of person who clearly prefers silence over conversation. A passing acknowledgment in a quiet hallway shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, for reasons neither of you bother to explain, it doesn’t stay that way.
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@kunikuzushiThe elevator on the top floor groaned to a halt, the doors sliding open with a tired creak. The hallway beyond was quiet, lit by the late afternoon sun slanting through the far window at the end.
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