Elliot gritted his teeth, the box in his arms biting into his forearms as he climbed the seemingly endless staircase. The building's elevator was "under maintenance," a detail he hadn't noticed during the apartment tour, and now his slim but toned dancer's frame was put to the test. Beads of sweat trickled down his back, but he kept moving. Just a few more flights.
Heavy footsteps echoed behind him, followed by low voices. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted two guys about his age ascending the stairs. They were tall and broad-shouldered, their resemblance striking—same blue eyes, same strong jawline—but their expressions couldn't have been more different.

"Hey, need a hand with that?" one of them called out, a friendly grin lighting up his face. He quickened his pace, reaching Elliot in a few long strides.

Elliot hesitated, his grip tightening on the box. "Oh, no, I'm good, but thanks," he said quickly. Then, realizing he sounded dismissive, he added, "I mean, I've got it. I should've done some stairs training or something, though. Cardio is definitely not my strong suit."

The man laughed. "Come on, let me help. You look like you're one box away from collapsing." Without waiting for an answer, he took the box, lifting it with infuriating ease.

The other guy stayed a few steps behind, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "You don't even know him, Alec," he muttered, his tone low but not quiet enough to go unheard.

Alec shot his brother a look. "And? It's called being neighborly, Nate."

Elliot blinked, unsure whether to laugh or hide. "Uh, thanks... Alec, was it?"

"That's me," Alec said, beaming. "And this ball of sunshine back here is Nate."

"Elliot," he introduced himself, awkwardly shifting to offer a hand. Alec shook it warmly, while Nate gave a stiff nod, his eyes flicking to the box Alec now carried effortlessly.

"Welcome to the building," Alec said. "You're on the top floor, right? We're your next-door neighbors."

Elliot's stomach twisted. Of course, they were. He plastered on a smile, hoping it didn't look too strained. "Well, guess I lucked out with strong neighbors. Should I expect free moving services with my rent, or is this a one-time deal?"

"Depends how good your coffee is," Alec shot back, his grin widening.

Elliot snorted, his nerves loosening just a fraction. "I can't make coffee to save my life, so I hope you're okay with bribes in the form of muffins or pizza."

Nate rolled his eyes. "Some of us are stronger than others," he muttered, his tone clipped, but Alec just laughed.

As they reached the top floor, Elliot couldn't decide whether his pounding heart was from the climb—or the unexpected company. Either way, this move was already shaping up to be more eventful than he'd imagined. 

Elliot peeked at the brothers as they walked infront of him, their contrasting features pulling his attention. Alec's hair caught the light, an almost golden hue that added to the warmth of his personality. His curls swiveled messily on top of his head, as though styled by the wind—or maybe a complete disregard for a comb. Nate, on the other hand, had much darker hair, straighter and meticulously styled. It suited his more serious demeanor, every strand in place, like he'd planned it to say as little as he did.

The contrast between them was striking, but the resemblance was undeniable, from their piercing blue eyes to the similar cut of their sharp jawlines. It was like staring at two halves of a whole—one gleaming and carefree, the other polished and reserved.

Elliot fumbled with his keys, acutely aware of Alec standing beside him, the box balanced effortlessly in his arms. The sound of Nate's door closing with a solid *thunk* down the hall made the quiet stretch a little thinner.

"No rush," Alec said lightly, his tone as easy as ever.

"Sorry, sorry," Elliot muttered, finally fitting the key into the lock. "First time opening this door—gotta make it memorable, right?" He shot Alec a quick grin before pushing the door open.

The apartment was small but cozy, a wash in natural light streaming through a single large window at the far end. White walls reflected the glow, making the space feel bigger, and the light wood floors gleamed, fresh and unscuffed. A sleek, modern kitchen was tucked into the corner, its cabinets a soft dove gray with shiny silver handles. The counters were pristine, begging for coffee stains and clutter. 

The living area blended seamlessly into the kitchen, marked by a simple pendant lamp hanging from the ceiling. It was currently empty except for a rolled-up rug leaning against the wall and a small stack of furniture boxes which had been delivered earlier. A door to the left led to what he assumed was the bedroom, and the faint scent of paint and cleaner still lingered in the air.

Elliot stepped inside, taking a moment to breathe it in. This was his space now—quiet, bright, and new. No creaky floorboards, no ancient appliances threatening to quit on him, no noisy neighbors—He paused, glancing at Alec, who was still standing in the doorway, the box held like it was weightless. Well, mostly no noisy neighbors.

"Home sweet home," Elliot said, setting his keys on the kitchen counter. "It's, uh... minimalist, right now."

Alec chuckled, stepping inside and setting the box down near the stack of furniture. "It's nice. Lots of light. Nate and I have been here a couple of years, so I've seen the other apartments—this one has one of the better layouts."

Elliot perked up. "Oh, really? So I did win the apartment lottery. I was worried I'd moved into the one with the weird plumbing or the haunted laundry room."

 "You're safe on both counts. For now." Alec grinned.

Elliot laughed, his earlier tension easing slightly. He could still feel the nervous flutter in his stomach, but Alec's presence was surprisingly grounding. "Thanks for helping me carry that. I owe you one."

"Consider it a neighborly favor," Alec said with a shrug. "Though I wouldn't say no to those muffins you mentioned earlier."

"Done," Elliot said, leaning against the counter. "Though I make no promises about how edible they'll be."

They shared a laugh before Alec glanced toward the door. "Well, I'd better get out of your way. You've got a lot to unpack—and I'm sure Nate would love to remind me that I've got plenty to do myself."

Elliot smiled, a warm buzz spreading in his chest. "Thanks again. Really."

Alec waved it off as he stepped out, but before the door closed behind him, he turned back, his easy grin softening. "Welcome to the building, Elliot."

The door clicked shut, leaving Elliot alone in the quiet of his new apartment. He exhaled slowly, looking around at the light-drenched space. The nerves hadn't entirely left him, but they were mingled now with something else—something that felt a little like hope.

Once Alec was gone and the apartment was quiet again, Elliot let out a long sigh and leaned against the counter. He glanced around at the empty space, the walls echoing faintly with every sound. It felt surreal—this place was his now. No one else's mess, no one else's rules, just him and his dreams.

With a swipe of his phone, music filled the apartment, breaking the silence. The soft hum of a piano and an upbeat rhythm lifted the mood, and Elliot felt the tension start to melt from his shoulders. Music was his constant, his anchor. No matter how far he was from home, how unfamiliar the surroundings, the right song could make him feel grounded.

He stretched his arms over his head, the tightness in his muscles reminding him of the long trip to get here. A dream come true, sure, but dreams didn't come cheap. Moving halfway across the country to attend one of the most prestigious dance schools wasn't exactly the easy route. His parents had been supportive, though with their fair share of worry, and his best friends had all but shoved him into the car, promising to visit the second he was settled.

Elliot smiled faintly at the thought, tapping his foot to the beat as he paced the small living room. He couldn't wait to tell them about the building, about the school, about this space that felt like a blank canvas waiting for him to paint his life onto it. He rolled his neck, loosening the tension, and let the music carry him. Without even thinking, his movements turned fluid, a small improvisation. A spin, a step, an extended arm—it wasn't a full routine, just enough to remind himself why he was here.

The knock at the door startled him mid-step. He froze, chest heaving slightly from the burst of movement, and fumbled to lower the volume on his phone. The movers. "Finally," he muttered to himself, crossing the room to answer. As he reached for the doorknob, he paused for a moment. This was it—the next chapter of his life was about to start, one box, one dance, one day at a time.