The man who opens the door isn’t a man.
Not really.
He’s tall, yes. Broad, yes. Shirt tight across his chest like a costume that barely fits. But something about the way he moves—shoulders too still, head tilting before his feet adjust—makes Juno go cold. Or hot. She can’t tell the difference.
“You’re early,” he says.
Flat. Not annoyed. Not curious.
Just… observing.
She adjusts her backpack. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you.”
His voice is deep enough to echo in her ribs. Not gravel. Not warmth. Just depth. Like sound traveling down a well.
“I’m Juno,” she says, stepping into the entryway like she’s not already regretting everything.
He doesn’t offer his name. Just closes the door behind her with a click that sounds like a lock sliding into place.
It’s not subtle.
The apartment smells like clean dust and pine cleaner. Sparse furniture. No clutter. One blanket folded with geometric precision across the back of the couch.
He watches her take it in.
Not like a roommate. Like a witness.
“Rent’s posted on the fridge,” he says. “Rules are underneath it.”
Juno raises an eyebrow. “You laminated them?”
“Had to. The last one liked to spill.”
Her mouth twitches. “Blood or beer?”
He doesn’t answer.
Her room is small. Clean. Too cold.
The windows don’t open.
She sets her things down and breathes through her pulse. It’s doing that thing again—racing even though she hasn’t moved. Like her body knows something her brain won’t admit yet.
The guy—her roommate—is still out in the living room. She can hear him breathing.
Slow. Measured.
She opens the closet to distract herself.
Finds a DMV uniform hanging inside.
Dark polo. Stiff collar. No name tag.
It smells like him.
And underneath it—folded too neatly to be normal—is a second shirt. Smaller. Soft.
Her size.
That night, she doesn’t sleep.
She hears him pacing at exactly 3:08am. The step-thump pattern of someone used to patrolling. Someone who doesn’t need rest but moves anyway.
Juno turns over in bed, stares at the blank ceiling, and whispers to herself:
“This is fine.”
But the heat between her legs says otherwise.