Barking Up the Wrong Neighbor

Roman’s shoes scuffed softly against the hallway floor as he approached June’s door. He had spent most of the night replaying her whispers in his mind, turning over the possibilities of who him might be and why she had reacted the way she did. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone for another day, not after hearing her panic. He lifted a hand and knocked firmly, but not harshly, on her door. “June?” His voice was clipped, low, still carrying that cold edge he never entirely removed. “…It’s me.” A muffled shuffle came from inside. The door cracked open, and Roman’s gaze landed immediately on her. June stood there, still in pajamas, hair tousled from sleep, shoulders slightly hunched. But it wasn’t just the early-morning disarray that caught him—it was the dark, angry bruises covering her arms and legs, partially visible beneath the soft fabric. His chest tightened. “Uh… hi,” she said softly, voice small, almost hesitant. She gave a tiny, nervous smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her hands fidgeted at her sides. Roman’s jaw tightened. “I… noticed,” he said flatly, voice low, controlled, trying not to let the surge of concern show. “…Are you… okay?” June’s breath hitched slightly. She glanced down at her arms, then back at him, biting her lip. “…I’m… fine. Just… I didn’t sleep well.” Her words were clipped, defensive, but her voice trembled just enough to betray her. He studied her carefully, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her legs seemed reluctant to support her fully, the small flinch when she shifted her weight. Roman didn’t move closer, didn’t say more, but his eyes lingered, sharp and calculating. He didn’t need to hear her lie to know she wasn’t telling the full truth. There was a pause, then Roman cleared his throat awkwardly. “…I… I was out for my morning walk. Coffee,” he said, the single word sounding clipped and strangely out of place. “…I figured I’d stop by to see if… if you and Killian wanted to join me. Or not. Whatever.” His hands flexed slightly at his sides. The words were stiff, almost forced, but softer than his usual blunt tone. June blinked, a mixture of surprise and hesitancy washing over her. She fidgeted with the hem of her pajama sleeve, hiding part of the bruises on her arms. Then, in a quiet, shy voice, she murmured, “…I… I think… Killian and I would love to join you. Just… give us a little bit of time to get ready.” Roman’s eyes softened fractionally, though his expression remained cold and distant. “Fine,” he muttered, tone flat but with the faintest edge of patience. “Take your time. I’m… waiting.” Her gaze flicked up, hesitation warring with relief. “…Thanks,” she whispered again. Her voice was soft, almost fragile, but genuine. Roman stepped back slightly, giving her space, but didn’t move from the doorway. He didn’t push, didn’t demand answers—but his presence alone made it clear: he wasn’t leaving. And for June, who had thought the morning would be quiet, uneventful, the steady, unwavering gaze of her grumpy, complicated neighbor was both unsettling and… strangely comforting. A few minutes later, June reemerged from her apartment, Killian tucked securely under one arm, bundled in a soft blanket. She wore a simple hoodie and leggings, sneakers slightly scuffed, hair still messy but pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her eyes flicked to Roman, who was leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, looking like he had been waiting for far too long—but not moving, not leaving. “…Ready,” she murmured softly, voice still quiet but steady. Roman’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded slightly. “Good,” he said flatly. His tone was short, gruff, but there was a faint edge of… patience. Or maybe tolerance. June hesitated at the door, looking down at Killian. “You… you don’t mind him running around a little? He… he’s still a puppy.” Roman lifted an eyebrow, lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ve dealt with worse. Mostly.” The words were clipped, as usual, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if holding back the hint of a smirk. June giggled softly, clutching Killian tighter. The puppy squirmed happily, tail wagging furiously, sniffing at Roman’s shoes. Roman exhaled, letting his gaze linger on the small, chaotic ball of fur. “…He’s loud,” he said flatly. June’s eyes sparkled despite her lingering nerves. “That’s his charm,” she said lightly. “Mostly harmless… for now.” Roman’s jaw tightened slightly. “Mostly.” They stepped into the morning air together. The sun was just climbing over the horizon, painting the street in soft golds and pinks. The neighborhood was waking slowly, the quiet hum of early morning traffic mixing with birdsong. Roman walked with measured steps, hands in his pockets, scanning the street like he was always aware of everything around him. June, by contrast, walked a little slower, letting Killian sniff at every blade of grass, small pebbles, and cracks in the sidewalk. Her head tilted to watch him, soft laughter escaping when the puppy stumbled or tripped over his own paws. Roman’s eyes flicked to her occasionally, brow furrowing at the gentle softness in her movements. He didn’t say anything—he never said much—but the tight line of his lips suggested he was noticing everything. The way she paused for Killian, the way she smiled at him without really looking at him, the little quiet hum she made as she tugged at the blanket around the puppy. “Roman,” she said softly after a few minutes of silence, breaking the tension in her timid way. “Do… you usually… go for coffee this early?” Roman’s gaze flicked forward, expression unchanged. “…Yes. Why?” His tone was flat, almost suspicious, as if the question itself was an intrusion. June shrugged slightly, shoving her hands in her hoodie pockets. “…Just curious. I… haven’t… I haven’t really had a morning routine in a while.” Her voice faltered slightly, the words almost disappearing into the cool morning air. Roman’s stride slowed fractionally. “…I see,” he said, flat, but softer than before. “Routine… can help. Sometimes.” June let out a short, almost mean-spirited chuckle, her voice low enough that she thought he wouldn’t hear. “…Yeah… not anytime soon,” she whispered to herself, shoulders tensing slightly. Roman’s eyes flicked to her from the corner of his vision, brow furrowing slightly in puzzlement. “…What was that?” he asked, tone clipped but curious, clearly noticing the undercurrent of sarcasm in her whisper. June’s lips twitched into a small, embarrassed smile, glancing away. “…Nothing,” she murmured softly, trying to sound casual. “…Just… talking to myself.” Roman’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he didn’t press. Instead, he let the silence stretch a little, letting her words—and the tone—settle in his mind. He didn’t understand her entirely, not yet, but something about that small, defiant spark intrigued him, prickling his curiosity more than he cared to admit. June’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. She liked that he hadn’t dismissed her entirely, even if his tone was still grumpy and sharp. “Yeah… I think I could… use that.” There was another silence, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt… safe. Not comfortable, not yet—but safe enough that she could breathe without panicking, at least a little. Killian barked suddenly at a passing dog, leaping forward and tugging at June’s arms. She squealed in surprise, laughing nervously as she caught him. “Oh! Sorry—he… he’s still learning!” Roman’s lips twitched again, imperceptibly. “…He’s lucky you’re strong,” he muttered, voice low, almost to himself. June glanced up at him, startled. “…What was that?” He didn’t answer immediately. “…Nothing,” he said finally, tone clipped. “…Keep him under control.” June laughed softly, a little embarrassed, but her heart felt lighter than it had in days. Walking beside Roman, the early morning air brushing their faces, Killian wriggling happily in her arms, she felt, for the first time in a long while, that maybe she could start… trusting again. Roman, for his part, remained outwardly distant, outwardly grumpy, but each careful glance at her, each moment he let Killian waddle around without snapping, chipped away at his own carefully maintained walls. He didn’t know it yet, but this morning walk—the quiet, the puppy, the strangely shy little neighbor—was already starting to shift something inside him. And for both of them, neither willing to admit it, it was the start of something neither expected, something that would grow far more complicated than either of them could have anticipated. I adjusted my stride to match hers, though I couldn’t stop my eyes from flicking down occasionally, noticing the small bumps and dark bruises that peeked from beneath her hoodie and leggings. Killian wriggled in her arms, tail wagging like he had no care in the world, and I had to fight the urge to snap at him—he was harmless, but he was a lot of chaos to watch. “…June,” I said finally, my voice low, measured. “I… I noticed the bruises this morning when you opened the door. On your arms…” I glanced down subtly, then back at her. “…And your legs. Are you… okay?” Her shoulders tensed immediately, a little spike of panic flashing across her features. I could feel her stiffen as though my words had landed like a weight. She looked away, eyes flicking to the street ahead, clutching Killian tighter. “…I… I’m fine,” she said softly, almost whispering. Her voice was clipped, defensive, but I could hear the hesitation in it. “…It’s nothing. Really.” I slowed, letting my pace fall behind hers for just a second. “…Fine,” I said flatly, though the word felt heavier than usual. “…You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I… I just need to know you’re safe.” She bit her lip, glancing up at me for a brief moment before looking back at the sidewalk. “…Mostly,” she murmured, the word barely audible, and I could hear the fragility in it. I wanted to say something sharper, something that would make her stop hiding, stop brushing it off—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, I kept my voice low, careful, as though the quiet itself would coax the truth out. “…Mostly isn’t enough,” I muttered, more to myself than to her, though I could tell she heard it. Killian squirmed in her arms, nudging at her cheek with a tiny paw, and she laughed softly, the sound like a fragile melody. “…Yeah,” she whispered, almost shyly. “…I know.” I didn’t reply immediately. My jaw clenched as we walked, watching her careful steps, her hands flexing at the puppy. The bruises were small, but they spoke volumes. And though I hated it, hated that she had to carry that, I couldn’t force her to open up. I could only stay… present. Cold on the outside, careful inside, and hoping that at some point she’d let me in. “…If you ever want to talk about it,” I said finally, voice flat, but not entirely unkind. “…I’m here.” She froze slightly, then nodded, not speaking, eyes downcast. The little acknowledgment was enough for now. We continued down the street, Killian bouncing happily in her arms, the early morning sun painting the world in soft golds. I didn’t speak again for a while, letting the quiet stretch between us, watching her—watching her be herself, fragile and bright all at once. And somehow, that quiet was better than words. Killian wriggled in her arms, letting out a tiny bark as a butterfly flitted across the sidewalk. “Oh, careful, little guy,” June murmured, laughing softly, her fingers stroking his fur gently. “…He’s easily entertained,” I muttered flatly, glancing at the butterfly as if it had any real significance. June glanced up at me, eyes sparkling with amusement despite her lingering shyness. “…Yeah… I guess that’s one way to put it,” she said, her voice light. She gave Killian a little squeeze and let him nibble playfully at her sleeve. “…He’s… full of energy.” “Full of chaos,” I corrected, though the corner of my mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “Mostly harmless, but still chaos.” She giggled softly, glancing down at him again. “…Mostly harmless… I like that. Fits him perfectly.” She gave him a little squeeze. “…You do know that he will end up becoming a giant ball of chaos once he’s older. He can get up to 150 pounds when full grown.” I froze for a split second, eyebrows rising. “…150 pounds?” I muttered flatly, voice clipped but incredulous. “…That’s… a lot of chaos.” June laughed again, the sound soft and melodic, leaning slightly into the warmth of the morning sun. “Exactly,” she whispered, smiling at him. “But I’ll take it. He’s worth it.” I blinked, utterly bewildered, jaw tightening slightly. “…Wait,” I said, tone incredulous, like I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “…What kind of dog even gets that big?” June’s laughter bubbled up again, this time brighter, and she shook her head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “A Newfoundland,” she said proudly. “Gentle giants… when they’re not being little chaos machines.” I let out a low, incredulous sound, muttering under my breath, “…Little chaos machines…” My gaze flicked to Killian again, who was happily gnawing on her sleeve, completely oblivious. “…I don’t even know how to prepare for that.” June chuckled, soft and warm, and adjusted Killian in her arms. “…You’ll figure it out,” she said, voice light, teasing almost without meaning to. “Mostly harmless… remember?” Killian wriggled happily in June’s arms, tail wagging like he had no care in the world. I kept my hands in my pockets, walking a little behind them, pretending I wasn’t noticing the way she laughed and cooed at every little thing he did. “…Seriously,” I muttered flatly, keeping my tone clipped. “How do you handle this… chaos every day?” June glanced up at me, eyes sparkling mischievously. “…With patience… and snacks,” she said lightly. “And sometimes hiding under blankets until he calms down.” I stopped for a second, incredulous. “…Hiding under blankets?” I repeated, eyebrow raised. “…You actually do that?” She giggled softly, shaking her head. “Not often… okay, maybe more than I should admit. But it works. Mostly.” I let out a dry, unimpressed sound, though the corner of my mouth twitched. “…I’m starting to think I don’t understand dogs—or humans.” June laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and I noticed my chest tighten slightly at the ease in her voice. “Mostly harmless… remember?” she teased, nudging Killian gently against me as if to prove her point. I shot her a sideways glance, brow furrowed. “…Mostly. Right,” I muttered flatly, though I had no idea how she made “mostly harmless” sound so… alive. We continued down the quiet street, the sun higher now, brushing their faces in soft gold. Killian leapt suddenly at a fallen leaf, tumbling back into June’s arms with an enthusiastic bark. She squealed softly, nearly dropping him, and I had to resist the urge to mutter something unbelievable under my breath. “…He’s a handful,” I said finally, voice clipped, though I couldn’t entirely hide the slight amusement that tugged at the edges of it. June’s eyes twinkled at me. “…He’s a giant handful,” she said with a small laugh, leaning just slightly toward me, the warmth in her smile catching me off guard. “But I… wouldn’t trade it.” I glanced away, hiding my expression. “…I don’t think I could either,” I admitted flatly, voice low. “…Not for a normal dog, anyway.” June’s laugh faded into a quiet hum, and I noticed she was holding Killian closer, the small puppy providing her comfort like a shield. I had to swallow down the sudden urge to wrap her in my own arm, to make sure nothing ever threatened that fragile, bright little bubble she carried. “…Roman,” she said softly, hesitant, like testing the waters. “…Do… you always talk to people like this?” I raised an eyebrow, glancing at her from the side. “…No,” I said flatly, jaw tight. “…Not unless I care enough to. Or if they’re annoying enough to require it.” My lips twitched slightly, just enough to betray the smallest hint of amusement. She giggled again, that shy, warm sound that somehow made me grit my teeth. “…Good to know,” she whispered, eyes dropping to Killian. “…I guess I’m lucky, then.” I kept my expression neutral, arms crossed, but inside… I wasn’t so sure about anything anymore. The warmth of the morning, her quiet laughter, the little chaos of a puppy bouncing between us—it was… unsettling. In a good way. And I hated that I found myself not wanting the walk to end. The little adventure down the street eventually led us to a small, local coffee shop just a few blocks from the apartment. The scent of roasted beans and sweet pastries hit me immediately, and I let out a low, almost imperceptible hum of acknowledgment. June held Killian carefully as we stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. She gave me a small, shy smile. “…Coffee?” she asked, voice light but hesitant. I nodded. “…Yes. Coffee.” Simple. Flat. But the corner of my mouth twitched slightly. She caught it, of course. The line was short, and I let her go ahead of me. She ordered her coffee quietly, barely above a whisper, and I noticed the way she hesitated as the barista asked her something. “…Extra shot?” she asked softly, looking almost apologetic for even considering it. I stepped up behind her, ordering mine as bluntly as always. Black. No sugar. No nonsense. When the drinks were ready, June carefully balanced Killian in one arm while holding her coffee in the other. I raised an eyebrow, but she managed it without spilling a drop. “…Impressive,” I said flatly, though a hint of admiration crept in. She giggled softly. “…Mostly harmless,” she whispered, giving me a playful look over Killian’s fluffy head. I let out a low, incredulous sound, muttering under my breath, “…Mostly harmless indeed.” We stepped back out into the morning sun, coffee in hand. June sipped hers tentatively, Killian occasionally peeking over the edge of her arm, sniffing at everything. I kept my usual stiff posture, hands in my pockets, but I noticed my eyes drifting toward her every so often—toward the way she laughed quietly at the little things, toward the small pauses where she seemed thoughtful, toward the warmth she radiated despite everything I knew about her. The walk back to our building was quieter, more relaxed. We didn’t talk as much, letting Killian explore and the coffee steam rise between us. Occasionally, June would glance up at me with a small, shy smile, and I found myself noticing it more than I wanted to admit. Finally, we reached our building. June adjusted Killian in her arms and turned to me. “…Thanks,” she said softly, eyes meeting mine. “…For… this. I mean… the walk, the coffee… for stopping by earlier.” I shrugged, tone flat, though I cleared my throat. “…Don’t get used to it,” I said. “…But you’re welcome.” She laughed softly, that quiet, bright sound that made me grit my teeth. “…Noted,” she said, giving Killian a little pat. “…I guess I’ll see you around?” I inclined my head slightly, still maintaining my usual cold demeanor, though inwardly… I wasn’t sure I wanted to wait too long before seeing her again. “…Yes,” I muttered flatly. “…See you.” She waved shyly and disappeared into her apartment with Killian, and I lingered for a moment, watching her go. The morning had been… unusual. Calm. Uncomfortable in some ways, but also strangely compelling. I exhaled slowly, adjusting my coat. “…Mostly harmless,” I muttered under my breath, thinking of Killian—and of her—and wondering if I was Back in my apartment, I set my coffee down on the counter and ran a hand over my face, jaw tight. The morning had been… different. Strange. Unsettling in ways I didn’t care to admit. I dressed methodically, each movement precise, almost robotic. Tie knotted, shoes polished, briefcase packed. Everything in order, controlled. My exterior had to stay intact. But my mind… my mind refused to follow the same rules. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. June. Shy, bright, chaotic little June with Killian tucked under her arm, laughter spilling out at the smallest things, sunlight catching her hair just so. Mostly harmless, indeed. I didn’t know why the thought made my chest tighten, why I found myself replaying her quiet chuckle and the way she’d leaned just slightly into the morning sun. She was… different. Fragile, but strong in ways I didn’t yet understand. Unaware of her effect on people, I suspected. And reckless in her own way—not with malice, not with intent, but with a sort of untamed lightness that made everything around her feel… off balance. And that… unsettled me. I poured the rest of my coffee into a travel mug, glancing out the window at the street below. The sun climbed higher, the neighborhood beginning to wake fully. I could see a few early risers walking their dogs, couples heading to work. Normal. Predictable. Controlled. Except for her. And Killian. And whatever strange gravity they both seemed to carry. I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they lingered stubbornly. I didn’t like lingering thoughts about people. Not people like her—too bright, too unpredictable, too… important. I grabbed my keys, glancing one last time at the doorway. She was probably still inside, Killian settled somewhere, probably plotting his next bit of chaos. And I… I wondered if she even realized the impact she had—on him, on me, on anyone who took more than a passing moment to notice. I exhaled slowly, tugging on my coat. Focus, Ellis. Work. Control. That’s all that mattered. But as I stepped out the door, I couldn’t help the faintest smirk tugging at my lips. Mostly harmless… she’d be trouble, I knew it. But somehow, I had a feeling I didn’t entirely mind. already in too deep.