Enter Player Name: RILEY

If there was a staircase to heaven, this was the staircase from hell.

My feet weighed on me. Every step, heavier than the last. And those damn grey stairs, those fucking destroyers of quads, they elongated — taunting me.

It was a moment of insanity, moving into a 5th-floor apartment. A crime against humanity fabricated by city life, to climb Mount Olympus after hours of work just for a fraction of relief.

After a bone-crushing day, sleep would be my consolation prize. I would turn a blind eye to the dishes that undoubtedly piled up in the sink, the clothes that littered the ground, and the microwave fresh dinner. More accurately, I won't reprimand my brothers; not out of great benevolence, but pure exhaustion. Today, I'll drop the weight of the responsibility of managing not only my own life but also theirs — to be forgotten at my bedroom door.

Today, I'll bask in the emptiness of sleep and momentarily let dreams erase my reality.

I halted in my crusade towards sleep.

A barricade of brown boxes towered in the narrow staircase, block the last flight of steps to my salvation. Rude! I stared, eyebrows furrowed and eyes slit tight. A sad attempt at moving them out of the way. Cruel that I couldn't Carrie my way out of this. What did a girl have to do to get some telekinesis powers, bathe in blood?

"Hey, there, neighbor," echoed a cheerful, husky voice, dribbling down the stairs.

My eyes searched for the source, following the white walls up... Oh, my sweet abs Jesus.

There, leaning on the wooden stair rails without a care in the world, was one of the most handsome men I've seen in a long while.

I needed to go out and smell the roses more often. Such fine specimens prowled in the wild, and all I saw between the four grey walls of my office were receding hairlines and dad bods.

But, what was the point of venturing into the world when all I could do was stare?

If not for my quest to drop dead into bed, I would have admired how handsome he was; how his dark, soft curls, damp with sweat, clung to the sides of his chiseled face, or how his white tank top did nothing to cover up his well-toned body. Maybe, just maybe, I would have traced the line of his abs until it disappeared into his low-hanging sweatpants and let my mind conjure up an image of what lay underneath that impressive —

I plowed a bulldozer over that train of thought. My cheeks burned hot as I patted them once and asked, "Are these boxes yours?"

The question struck unnecessarily bitchy. Then again, this sex on legs was the culprit obstructing my sleep, so he deserved a little bite.

"Yeah, sorry about that." The tall stranger rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his black curls. His eyes wavered between the stacked boxes and the open green door behind him. A ominous cloud loomed over him as his tired eyes counted the endless stack. "I'll move them right away."

He tugged his white shirt up and wiped the sweat off his angular jaw. The inevitable result — a full view of his sculpted abs, tinted pink from all the lifting. He huffed and picked one of the boxes from the floor. One by one, he placed them against the railings.

"My lady." He held out his hand, pointing to the tiny sliver of space between the wall and the tower of cardboard.

I didn't have the will to tell him that I would have to lose half of my butt-cheeks to fit through that narrow space. "Thank you, my lord," I said, playing along.

I scooted, pressed tightly against the wall, past the cardboard avalanche of doom. I sighed in relief when I reached the top. Tragedy avoided.

I turned to my new neighbor.

I was accustomed to dwelling with tall people, as the tall gene had engraved itself into my family's genealogy. Well, I was the exception. That thing got one look at me and took a hard pass on my genetic code. So, as an average-height girl, I was not easily intimidated by the giants that lived with me. However, standing there under the intense stare of his dark-green eyes sent every nerve in my body into overdrive.

"My name's Noah," he said in a husky tone. "I hope my poor choice of where to put my boxes doesn't make you think I'll be a bad neighbor." He offered his right hand.

My hand intertwined with his larger one. "Name's Riley, and I hope my sassiness doesn't make you think I'll be a bad neighbor. It's just... been a long day."

"All is forgiven," he said swiftly, as a gentle smile graced his face.

I locked eyes with him, and it was like I fell into a painting. They were the epitome of a brightly lit forest— full of life and color. But not blinding. It made me wish to lay down in a meadow and take a nap under the blue sky.

Noah's lips twitched into a smirk like he read the thoughts strolling through my mind. His cheek creases deepened as a dimple appeared and his thumb brushed against our interlocked hands.

My cheeks reddened. Heat spread down my neck and past my chest, pooling in my stomach. I looked like a ripe tomato, but Noah did not mind. He gleamed with joy, happy to have his ego stroked.

Trying not to make it more awkward, I pulled away and took a small step back. The space helped calm my flustered heart as silence overtook the distance between us. His green eyes locked on me, waiting for my next move.

Surely, I should bid farewell and good riddance. My apartment was right there, and just a few feet away to the right, somewhere in that cheap New York apartment, was a bed waiting to embrace me.

The strain on Noah's forehead stopped me. "Hey, Noah, do you need help carrying the rest of those boxes?" I asked.

Let it be written into the record that I was not flirting.

I was acting neighborly — a good person like my parents taught me. They would be disappointed otherwise. Absolutely. I was one thousand percent, irrefutable, doing this out of the goodness of my heart.

"I don't want to inconvenience you, and some of these are quite heavy," he answered. His chest puffed like a lion roaring from a high cliff.

I never understood why men felt the need to show off their strength. My theory: remnants of the caveman mentality that once ruled male psychology. However, looking at him now, shoulders squared, a cocky smile on his face, and that alluring and teasing gaze...

Well, I almost found it endearing.

" I can handle a lot more than you think I can," I said.

Noah's right eyebrow merged with his hairline at my tone.

Uggh. I mentally slapped myself for how it sounded out of context. "I meant like, strength-wise. You know," — I am dying — "like, I can handle your heavy boxes."

Noah's smile widened. My fingers itched to pinch his cheek and wipe that smirk off his handsome face.

"My lady," — the word lingered in his tongue as he leaned in closer — "if you think so, who am I to deny you." His tone trod a line between flirting and teasing.

I bit my tongue, resisting the need to find out which one.

I walked down the stairs to the closest box and holstered it in my arms. My fingers clamped around the edges. FUCK, this is heavy. My arms stretched as far as I could reach, barely able to encompass the container. With every step I took, it slipped just a little bit.

"WAIT! Not that one!!!" Noah screamed.

My heart skipped a beat, and I lost track of my feet.

Gravity yanked on my back. My fingers clenched at the box, nails puncturing the cardboard. Everything else happened in a blur. One minute I was plummeting. The next, Noah's arms seized my waist, pressing me tight against his broad chest.

Noah stared in horror. His face flinched, contorting in pain. The sound of metal and broken glass permeated through the air, wrecking into him, wave after shattering wave.

"No, no, noooo!'' Noah screamed. His green eyes looked around aimlessly, wide open, like magically, a fairy would appear and reverse time.

The box remained, tattered and crushed amid a sea of spilled books, wires, clothes, and bent cardboard.

Noah stood frozen in time. Terror lined his face like a murder witnessed. His rigid form gave out and he collapsed in front of me. He sat on the very top step — a broken man. Face buried into his palms, he mumbled like a madman, "No, no, no."

I edged closer. "Noah?"

There was no response.

"Noah?"

I tapped his right shoulder, and his muscles tightened under my touch. Noah's face tilted up, finally acknowledging my existence. His pupils focused on me — green eyes dulled, lacking the lively shine from before.

"You're a murderer," he grumbled. His head collapsed, this time against my legs.

A shiver pricked my skin as it rushed up my legs and neck. I fidgeted, unsure if I should comfort him or shove him away. Would patting him like a dog be inappropriate?

"Hey, sis?"

My attention shifted to my brother.

Jay stood by our door frame, concern written in his brown eyes. His right eyebrow rose, and his jaw tensed as he stared down at the stranger resting on my legs.

"What's going on? And what was that sound?" Jay interrogated, trying to fill the doorframe like he was my dad. And although he had my dad's black hair and almost midnight eyes, I had a couple of years hanging over his 17-year old self.

"Ummm."

I struggled with how to describe this clusterfuck accurately. 'Hey, bro, I just broke something important to our new handsome neighbor, and I think that fractured his mind.'

Noah's head shifted slowly, twisting towards my brother. His neck cranked like the motion of a badly oiled gear.

"Do you know this woman?" Noah growled. His voice, dark and deep, struck an ominous tone.

Jay's lips thinned. "She's my sister," he answered.

The statement came out more like a question than an answer. A maneuver to not implicate himself in whatever crime I committed against this man — that little bugger.

"Then take her away," Noah ordered or pleaded; it was hard to tell.

Noah stood. He pushed past me and walked down the stairs to the trashed box. He jabbed his finger into it once... then twice... and another three times, like a kid checking to see if his pet turtle was alive. He aggressively ruffled his curls, causing his dark strands to drape over his eyes.

"What's wrong with him, sis?" Jay asked from next to me.

My heart jumped into my throat. When did he get so close?

I ignored the question, mostly because I didn't want to address it.

Sighing in tragic resignation, Noah wrapped his arms around the box and carried it up the stairs. The hair on the back of my neck stood as he approached looking like the ring girl, minus the twisting limbs. Every step was followed by the clang of broken glass and metal crashing into each other. He stopped at the top of the stairs and gave us the exact look I gave the boxes when I first saw them.

I stumbled out of the way, dragging Jay with me.

Noah walked by, heading for the other open door. I rushed after him and slammed my hand against the doorframe.

"Hey, Noah, don't you want to talk about it? What's in the box? Is it something I can replace? I will pay for it." I fired question after question. There had to be something I could do to mend the situation.

He turned around, a blank look present on his face. Devoid of any tone, he said, "I need" — his voice wavered — "to mourn."

With one last tortured look, the door was kicked shut on my face.