I glance toward Leo, who’s now standing with that calm, unreadable posture of his. “Tenant?” I repeat. “He’s not?—”
“Oh good. I’ll mark it as confirmed,” she interrupts. “And don’t worry, dear, I already finalized the paperwork. Temporary placement for one month. Rent adjusted accordingly.”
“One month?” My voice spikes. “Wait, Mrs. Patel—” But she’s already hung up.
I stare at the speaker like it might offer an explanation. My heart does this weird stutter that’s half panic, half resignation.
Behind me, Leo clears his throat. “So… one month?”
I turn, towel still in hand. “Apparently.”
He tries not to smile, but it tugs at the corner of his mouth anyway. “Guess we’re roommates for real." His tone is easy,almost teasing, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—curiosity, or maybe recognition. The silence after hangs heavy, humming with all the questions neither of us is ready to ask.”
I should be angry—furious, even. Instead, I’m hyper-aware of how the morning light glances off the edge of his jaw and how ridiculously calm he looks while my brain combusts.
“One month,” I repeat under my breath, setting down the towel. “I can survive that.”
He lifts his mug again, eyes steady on mine. “We’ll see.”
The air between us hums—equal parts challenge and something I don’t want to name.
Outside, the city thrums awake, oblivious to the deal that just rewired my life.
Chapter 2
Burst Pipe, Broken Routine
Leo
The ceiling cries first.
One fat drop hits the back of my neck while I’m icing my knee, cold against cold. I look up and the recessed light over the kitchen island blinks like a dying star—and then the dam breaks. A sheet of water pours through the fixture, hissing when it hits the still-warm stovetop.
“Kill the main!”
The building engineer yells from the door, already sloshing through my living room in rubber boots. The penthouse turns into a shallow pool in under a minute, dark water racing for the balcony like it knows the way out better than I do.
I’m moving before I think. Towels. Buckets. Useless. The sound is a roar—water in the walls, water in the vents, water chewing through drywall like an animal. I drag my gear bag onto the counter, save the sticks, save the skates, save the only things I know won’t betray me.
Contractors swarm—clipboards, headlamps, voices that all mean trouble, boots splashing through puddles that smell faintlyof drywall and dust. “Catastrophic,” one says, not even trying to soften it. Another squints at the bowed ceiling in the hallway. “You’re looking at multi-week demo at least.”
Multi-week. Demo. The words land like a clean open-ice hit.
My routine is simple. Simple wins: meal prep, film, lift, ice, sleep. Repeat until the math adds up to a season that can’t be argued with. This place is an engine for that routine. It’s quiet. Predictable. Mine.
Now it’s an aquarium.
I stand in it until the water creeps over my toes, then past my arches. When the engineer asks if I have somewhere to go, I nod before my brain catches up. Anywhere but here. Anywhere the lights aren’t spitting water like a breached pipe organ.
Mrs. Patel materializes in the hallway—clipboard, calm eyes, the kind of efficiency that gets people to safety during earthquakes. “Mr. Voss, I can move you to a hotel,” she says. “But I also have a unit with… a tenant willing to take a temporary placement. Close. Quiet.”
Quiet. The word hooks me. “How long?”
“One month to begin,” she says, just optimistic enough to sound like a lie. “We’ll reevaluate.”
I grit my teeth and nod. Control what you can. Accept the rest. Don’t let chaos get in your head.
I grab the bare essentials—training clothes, recovery gear, the containers I prepped this morning—and shove them into my duffel. I take one last look at the warped floorboards, the ruined rug, the water still weeping out of the ceiling seam like it’s sorry for the mess. I sling my bag over my shoulder and follow Mrs. Patel to the elevator. The doors close on the sound of dehumidifiers waking up like engines and the steady drip-drip-drip that will haunt me through film study if I let it.
