Locked Out: A Neighbor Romance

The thing about being locked out of your apartment at midnight on a Friday is that it forces you to confront exactly how pathetic your life has become.

Alex Chen stood in the hallway of his building, wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt with a hole in the armpit, and flip-flops. He had run down to check the mail. The mail. At midnight. Because he had been hoping for a package that would give him an excuse not to think about the fact that he was spending another Friday night alone.

The door had clicked shut behind him before he remembered his keys were on the counter.

He had tried the super. No answer. He had tried the emergency locksmith number posted in the lobby. One-hour wait minimum, and two hundred dollars he really could not afford. He had tried his sister, who lived thirty minutes away and did not answer her phone because she was probably out living an actual life.

Which left exactly one option.

Apartment 4B.

Alex stared at the door across the hall from his own. He knew who lived there. Had known since the day the guy moved in six months ago, carrying boxes that showed off arms that had clearly never missed a gym day. Had exchanged exactly fourteen words with him across multiple awkward hallway encounters. Had definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not spent any time thinking about the way 4B looked in the morning when he went for his runs, or the way his laugh sounded through the thin walls, or the way he had once smiled at Alex in the elevator and Alex had forgotten how to speak.

His name was Marcus. Alex only knew this because of the mailbox labels.

Alex knocked.

For a long moment, nothing. Then footsteps, the click of a lock, and the door swung open.

Marcus stood there in gray sweatpants and nothing else, his chest bare, his hair slightly mussed like he had been lying down. He looked at Alex with an expression of sleepy confusion that somehow made him even more attractive.

"Hey. You okay?"

"I'm locked out," Alex said, and his voice came out higher than intended. "I went to check my mail and the door closed and my keys are inside and the locksmith is an hour away and I'm really sorry to bother you but I didn't know what else to do."

Marcus blinked, processing this flood of information.

"Come in," he said, stepping back. "It's cold in the hallway."

Alex hesitated for exactly one second before self-preservation won out over social anxiety. He stepped into 4B.

The apartment was the mirror image of his own, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Alex's place was sparse and functional, Marcus's was warm. Art on the walls. Plants in the corners. A couch that looked like you could sink into it and never want to leave. The whole space smelled faintly of coffee and something else, something masculine and clean.

"Sit," Marcus said, gesturing toward the couch. "Want something to drink? I was about to make tea."

"Tea sounds great. Thank you. Really, I'm so sorry about this."

"Stop apologizing." Marcus disappeared into the kitchen. "Stuff happens. I locked myself out twice the first month I lived here."

Alex sat on the edge of the couch, hyper-aware of his terrible outfit and his lack of shoes and the hole in his shirt. He should have grabbed a jacket. He should have put on real pants. He should have done literally anything other than check his mail at midnight like a lonely weirdo.

Marcus returned with two mugs, handing one to Alex before settling into the armchair across from him. Even sitting, even relaxed, he radiated a kind of easy confidence that made Alex feel like a nervous teenager.

"So," Marcus said. "Alex, right? 4A?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Mailbox labels." Marcus smiled. "Also, you're the only other person on this floor."

"Right. Of course."

Silence stretched between them. Alex took a sip of tea to have something to do with his hands.

"I've been meaning to introduce myself properly," Marcus said. "We've been neighbors for six months and I barely know anything about you."

"There's not much to know. I work from home. I don't go out much. I'm pretty boring."

"I doubt that."

"Why?"

Marcus shrugged. "Just a feeling. The boring people I know don't check their mail at midnight."

Alex laughed despite himself. "That's fair. I was waiting for a package."

"What kind of package?"

"A book. It's stupid."

"Books aren't stupid. What book?"

Alex hesitated. "It's a first edition of my favorite novel. I found it online and probably paid too much for it, but I've wanted it forever."

"What novel?"

"You probably haven't heard of it."

"Try me."

Alex told him. Marcus's eyebrows rose.

"I love that book. I read it in college and it changed how I thought about everything."

"Really?"

"Really. Why are you so surprised?"

"I don't know. You just don't seem like..." Alex trailed off, realizing he was about to say something potentially insulting.

"Like what?"

"Like the type to sit around reading literary fiction. You seem more like the type to be out doing things. Having a life."

Marcus laughed, that same laugh Alex had heard through the walls. It was even better up close.

"I do plenty of sitting around reading. I also do other things. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"I guess I assumed. Based on..." Alex gestured vaguely at Marcus's physique.

"Based on the fact that I work out? I'm a physical therapist. Staying in shape is kind of part of the job. But that doesn't mean I don't have other interests."

"A physical therapist. That's interesting."

"It's rewarding. I help people recover from injuries, get their mobility back. There's something satisfying about watching someone go from barely able to walk to running again."

Alex nodded, finding himself genuinely curious. "How did you get into that?"

"I hurt my back in college. Football. Thought my life was over. The PT who worked with me basically saved my ability to function. I decided I wanted to do that for other people."

"That's... actually really nice."

"Don't sound so surprised." But Marcus was smiling. "What about you? What do you do that lets you work from home?"

"I'm a software developer. Mostly freelance stuff. Apps, websites, whatever people need."

"That sounds complicated."

"It's not, really. It's just problem-solving with code. Like puzzles."

"I've never been good at puzzles."

"Everyone's good at something. Puzzles are just my something."

Marcus studied him over the rim of his mug. "You know, you're different than I expected."

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Every time I've seen you in the hall, you've seemed so closed off. Like you couldn't wait to get away from me. I figured you either didn't like me or didn't like people in general."

Alex felt his face heat. "I don't not like you. I just... I'm not great with people. Especially..."

"Especially?"

"Especially attractive people."

The words were out before Alex could stop them. He stared at his tea, wishing the couch would swallow him whole.

"You think I'm attractive?"

"I have eyes." Alex's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's not a secret that you're... you know. But I didn't mean to make it weird. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." Marcus's voice was gentle. "And for what it's worth, the feeling is mutual."

Alex looked up. "What?"

"I think you're attractive too. Have since you held the door for me when I was carrying those boxes and looked at me with those big brown eyes. I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you for months."

"You have?"

"Why do you think I always happen to be getting my mail when you do? Or leaving for my run when you're coming back from the coffee shop? I was manufacturing excuses to see you."

Alex's brain was having trouble processing this information. "But you're... and I'm..."

"I'm what? You're what?"

"You're you. You're confident and put-together and you look like that." Alex gestured at Marcus's bare chest, then immediately regretted drawing attention to it. "And I'm a mess who checks his mail at midnight and owns exactly one pair of jeans."

Marcus set down his mug and leaned forward. "Alex. Can I tell you something?"

"Okay."

"I've been out of a relationship for about a year. Before that, I spent five years with someone who seemed 'put-together.' He was polished and charming and knew all the right things to say. And he was also controlling and critical and made me feel like I wasn't good enough no matter what I did."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It taught me something. The packaging doesn't matter. What matters is who someone is underneath. And from what I've seen, you're kind. You always hold the door. You always say good morning even when you look like you'd rather disappear. You care about books and puzzles and probably a hundred other things I don't know about yet."

"Yet?"

"If you're interested in me knowing."

Alex set down his own mug. His hands were shaking slightly. "I'm interested. I just don't... I haven't done this in a while. The dating thing. Or whatever this is."

"What have you been doing?"

"Hiding, mostly. Working. Trying not to think about how alone I am."

"You're not alone. You have a neighbor who's been looking for an excuse to talk to you for six months."

"Getting locked out of my apartment in my pajamas wasn't exactly the meet-cute I would have chosen."

Marcus laughed. "It's memorable. That's what matters."

They talked for another hour. Then two. The locksmith called to say he was delayed further, and Alex found he did not mind. He learned that Marcus had grown up in Atlanta, had two sisters who texted him constantly, had a secret weakness for terrible action movies and an unironic love of musicals. He shared things he had not told anyone in years: his anxiety, his loneliness, the way he had convinced himself that relationships were not worth the risk of getting hurt.

"Everyone gets hurt eventually," Marcus said. "That's part of being human. The question is whether the good parts are worth the bad ones."

"Are they?"

"I think so. I hope so." Marcus caught Alex's eye. "I'd like to find out. With you."

Alex's heart was pounding. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we see where this goes. Start with dinner. Maybe a movie. See if we drive each other crazy in a good way or a bad way."

"Like dating."

"Exactly like dating."

"I haven't been on a date in three years."

"Then you're due."

Alex smiled despite himself. "I must look insane right now. Sitting in your living room in my terrible clothes at two in the morning agreeing to date you."

"You look perfect to me."

Before Alex could respond, Marcus's phone buzzed. He checked it and grimaced.

"Locksmith's here."

"Oh." Alex felt an unexpected surge of disappointment. "I should go let him in."

"Probably." But neither of them moved. "Rain check on that dinner?"

"Yes. Definitely yes."

They stood. Marcus walked him to the door, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Alex became acutely aware of how close they were standing, of the warmth radiating from Marcus's bare skin, of the way Marcus was looking at his mouth.

"Can I kiss you?" Marcus asked.

"Please."

The kiss was soft. Tentative. Marcus's hand came up to cup Alex's jaw, tilting his head slightly, and Alex felt something unlock inside him that he had not even known was closed. He made a small sound, embarrassing and needy, and Marcus deepened the kiss in response.

When they broke apart, Alex was breathless.

"Wow," he managed.

"Yeah." Marcus was smiling. "That was worth the wait."

"Six months of awkward hallway encounters."

"Totally worth it."

Alex laughed, giddy in a way he had not felt in years. "I should go. The locksmith."

"Right. The locksmith." Marcus opened the door. "Dinner tomorrow? I'll cook."

"You cook?"

"I'm an excellent cook. Prepare to be impressed."

"I'm already impressed."

Alex meant it to sound casual, flirty. It came out sincere instead. Marcus's expression softened.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

Alex walked across the hall to find the locksmith waiting, a grumpy man who charged him two hundred dollars and said approximately four words. He didn't care. He was thinking about Marcus's mouth, Marcus's hands, the way Marcus had looked at him like he was something worth looking at.

He slept better that night than he had in months.

Their first date was in Marcus's apartment, exactly as promised. Marcus made pasta from scratch while Alex sat at the counter and watched, occasionally being handed things to chop or stir. The conversation flowed easily, picking up where they had left off the night before.

"You're really good at this," Alex said, watching Marcus toss pasta with sauce like it was nothing.

"Years of practice. My grandmother taught me. She said the way to anyone's heart was through their stomach."

"She might have been onto something."

They ate at Marcus's small dining table, knees occasionally brushing underneath. Alex kept catching Marcus looking at him, and every time their eyes met, something electric passed between them.

After dinner, they migrated to the couch. Marcus put on a movie neither of them watched. They were too busy talking, touching, learning the geography of each other.

"Tell me something no one knows about you," Marcus said, his arm around Alex's shoulders.

"I write poetry. Terrible poetry. I've never shown anyone."

"I'd read it."

"It's really bad."

"I don't care. I want to know all the parts of you, even the bad poetry parts."

Alex turned to look at him. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me want to kiss you."

"That seems like a good reason to say it."

Alex kissed him. This kiss was different from the first one. Less tentative. More certain. Marcus pulled him closer, and Alex went willingly, ending up half in Marcus's lap with his hands in Marcus's hair and Marcus's hands on his waist under his shirt.

"We should slow down," Marcus murmured against his mouth.

"Probably."

"I don't want to rush this."

"Neither do I."

They did not slow down. Not significantly. By the time Alex left Marcus's apartment that night, his lips were swollen, his shirt was on inside out, and he had a date for the next night.

And the night after that. And the one after that.

Three weeks later, Alex woke up in Marcus's bed for the first time.

They had built to it gradually. More touching. More staying late. More nights that ended with Alex reluctantly walking across the hall to his own cold apartment. Until finally, one night, Marcus had asked if he wanted to stay, and Alex had said yes.

The sex had been awkward and fumbling and absolutely perfect. Alex had not been with anyone in years, and his body remembered things his mind had forgotten. Marcus was patient, checking in constantly, stopping whenever Alex tensed up.

"We can slow down," Marcus kept saying. "We can stop."

"I don't want to stop. I just need a minute."

Marcus gave him as many minutes as he needed. And when they finally found their rhythm together, when Alex finally let go of the anxiety and the overthinking and just felt, it was like nothing he had experienced before.

Now, in the morning light, Marcus was asleep beside him, one arm thrown across Alex's chest. Alex watched him breathe, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it. This person, in this bed, choosing to be here with him.

Marcus stirred. Opened his eyes. Smiled.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"You're watching me sleep. That's creepy."

"You're beautiful when you sleep. That's not creepy."

Marcus laughed and pulled him closer. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Really good."

"No regrets?"

"About last night? Zero. About everything that came before last night? Way too many to count."

Marcus kissed his forehead. "Tell me."

"I wasted so much time being scared. I could have knocked on your door months ago. I could have introduced myself instead of running away every time I saw you."

"But then we wouldn't have the locked-out story."

"The locked-out story is embarrassing."

"The locked-out story is how we got here. I wouldn't change it."

Alex considered this. "I guess I wouldn't either."

"Good." Marcus sat up, stretching in a way that made Alex's mouth go dry. "Breakfast?"

"You're going to cook for me again?"

"I'm going to cook for you every day if you let me."

"Every day?"

Marcus turned to look at him. "Alex. I know we've only been doing this for three weeks. But I need you to understand something. I'm not casual about this. I'm not dating you to pass the time. I'm dating you because I think you might be someone I could build something with."

Alex's heart clenched. "Something like what?"

"Something real. Something lasting. Something where I wake up next to you and it's not a surprise."

"Marcus..."

"You don't have to respond. I just wanted you to know where I stand."

Alex sat up too, taking Marcus's face in his hands. "I want that. I want that more than I've wanted anything in years. I'm just scared."

"Of what?"

"Of messing it up. Of not being enough. Of you realizing I'm exactly as boring as I said I was."

"You're not boring. You're complicated and anxious and surprisingly funny and you make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time." Marcus covered Alex's hands with his own. "We're both scared. That's okay. We can be scared together."

"Together sounds good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Marcus kissed him, soft and sweet and full of promise. "Now. Breakfast. And then maybe round two."

"Round two?"

"You didn't think I was done with you, did you?"

Alex laughed, surprised by his own joy. "I was hoping not."

Six months later, Alex gave up his lease.

The apartment across the hall sat empty now. Alex's things had migrated to Marcus's place piece by piece until there was nothing left to move. His toothbrush lived in Marcus's bathroom. His books filled Marcus's shelves. His coffee mug sat in Marcus's cabinet next to Marcus's.

"You know what I was thinking about today?" Marcus asked one evening, as they sat on the couch that Alex now considered theirs.

"What?"

"That night you knocked on my door. How terrified you looked."

"I was terrified."

"And now?"

Alex looked around the apartment. At the art they had picked out together. At the plants Alex had somehow managed not to kill. At the life they were building, brick by brick.

"Now I'm grateful," he said. "Grateful that I ran out of milk and had to check my mail at midnight. Grateful that I forgot my keys. Grateful that you opened the door."

"I'll always open the door for you."

"I know. That's what makes this work."

Marcus pulled him close, and Alex went easily, fitting into the space that had somehow become his. They had figured it out, the two of them. The awkward neighbor from across the hall and the man he had been too scared to talk to.

All because of a lockout, a cup of tea, and the courage to finally knock.

Some mistakes, Alex had learned, were actually beginnings in disguise.

This one had been the best mistake of his life.