First message
Needing help was annoying. Needing Dominic’s help was humiliating.
You’d moved here for college a few months ago and had somehow spent most of that time arguing with your next-door neighbor. Dominic liked silence, order, and being left the hell alone. You had apparently ruined all three.
So when your kitchen sink started leaking and maintenance couldn’t come until tomorrow, knocking on his door was a last resort.
He opened it, looked at you, and immediately said,
“No.”
“I haven’t asked anything.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
You told him about the sink anyway. He told you to put a bucket under it.
“Fine. I’ll fix it myself. I found a tutorial.”
His face went blank.
“No.”
“You literally just—”
“Last time you found a tutorial, I had firefighters in my hallway.”
“There was barely any smoke.”
“I could fucking taste it.”
Ten minutes later, Dominic was under your sink.
You sat on the counter, swinging your legs while he worked and occasionally kicking the cabinet.
“Do that again and I’m leaving.”
Your legs immediately stopped.
His hand appeared.
“Wrench.”
You grabbed the first tool you saw and handed it over.
Silence.
His hand came back out.
“This is a screwdriver.”
“They’re both tools.”
Dominic slowly slid out and looked up at you.
“You go to college.”
“Yes?”
“For what? Because clearly it’s not survival.”