Hey, Guys! I know I haven't written anything for ages, due to some family issues, and this is my first time writing something new. I will update my other stories, but I felt like branching out and this is what I came up with. It's not great, and it's very much a draft, so I just wanted to test the waters and see whether you like this extremely short chapter, and whether you want me to write more. Please R&R and be kind. :) Thank you.

Epigraph from Gotta Be Somebody by Nickelback.

"The moment when we're meeting will play out like a scene straight off the silver screen."

"Bye, Mum! Bye!"

She laughed as she waved away the black car that was now performing a tricky U turn in the dead end street where her mother had dropped her. She grinned around herself at the numerous bags and suitcases that surrounded her legs. Her mother had promised to bring her the rest later in the week. She grabbed the three heaviest in her hands, attempting to balance the weight, looking up at the building which she was now to call home. It was a tall, redbrick building with many floors and countless windows. Nothing special, but the world to her. Twenty one, starting a new life in the outskirts of a city. She smiled to herself. New job, new car, new house. She was ready.

She asked her new neighbour standing outside her own door to watch her bags for her as she made the multiple flights up the stairs to the fourth floor. It was early morning, five AM. So late, so early, and so dark. She pouted as she rubbed her sleep ridden eyes. The plan was to get inside, get her bags inside and go to sleep immediately. It had a sofa, which was what she needed to sleep on before she began mutilating the walls with paint and wallpaper. She wrapped herself up in her big black coat and walked up the stairs again. As soon as she'd checked in and wiped the sweat from her forehead, she stood in front of the door to her new flat. Dark, burnished oak with a gold knocker and lock. She smiled brightly and looked down at the key resting in her hand. It was the same gold colour as the lock , a small key fob dangling from it. "Annabella Spencer, Flat 475," it said. She smiled, breathed in, breathed out, and inserted the key in the lock.

She closed her eyes, twisted the key and opened the door. Stepping in, she inhaled slowly. It had that new room smell. That warm, fresh, new smell. She opened her eyes and frowned.

"Hello?"

"Thanks, you can leave it by the couch."

She blinked at the figure in front of her. Her brain wasn't functioning properly. Surely this was some sort of hallucination. There was a man. In her flat. He had her back to her, looking out onto the skyline from the large bay window, smoke billowing from the cigarette hanging at his lips. His hand hung at his waist, his pose slight and carefree. She stared.

He sensed that she hadn't moved and turned. He blinked at her and stepped towards her.

"Hello, sorry about that. Neighbours, are we?"

He extended the free hand that wasn't nursing his cigarette towards her and cocked one eyebrow. His thick, dark hair framed his eyes and she breathed in a little. His sharp but lazy brown eyes searched her gold ones for a reaction, recognition, any sign of positive emotion. She breathed out and gathered herself.

"No, we're not neighbours. This is my flat. You're in it."

He stared at her and smirked a little, retracting his hand into the pocket of his jeans. His smirk turned up his soft lips at one side and made his eyes twinkle. She shuffled her feet, suddenly intimidated in his presence. His dark jeans and crisp collared shirt gave an aura of well-kept authority.

"No, this is my flat," he corrected, taking a drag on his cigarette, "you're in it."

She blinked at him for what seemed like the hundredth time. Who was he anyway? Some crazy stalker? Why was he in her flat, saying it was his? She breathed out and tried to still her panic. If he tried anything on her, she had her phone in her pocket. She could always run out and try and grab the stairs before he got to her. If she didn't trip over the bags she'd left at the entrance, that is. Oh, God, it'd be like a bad horror movie, where she'd try and shuffle away from him on the floor and he'd have this huge knife.

He didn't know what she was thinking, but he took his time to survey her while she acted out her own little stalker movie in her head. Her dark gold eyes flitted this way and that in some sort of panic, catching the light each time. He brought his cigarette to his lips again and surveyed her over the rising smoke. Her face was tanned and emanated a warm glow, though that was probably from carrying her whole house up four flights of stairs. The lift was broken after all. He could see the palms of her hands red and slightly cut by the bag straps as she clenched and unclenched her fists. She shuffled her feet, shifting their weight, making her slight frame sway under her pretty floral dress. He smiled at the uncertainty in her heart shaped face as she looked down at her feet. She moved away from him and began to pace back and forth, tossing her hair side to side. He sat back on the sofa and watched her, soft, loose, dark curls falling down to the bottom of her back. His eyes narrowed slightly and he bit his lip as she placed one hand on her hip, looking at him.

"I have a key," she offered plaintively, digging in her cardigan pocket and holding out her most treasured possession. He stared.

"So do I," he gestured below to pat his pocket, in which she heard a bunch of keys jangle happily.

She blinked again and threw herself down opposite him.

"Well, we can't both have bought this flat," she told him, looking out of the window.

Her tiredness was getting the better of her and the dark sky wasn't helping. Her head and her habitat were telling her it was time to go to bed, but she didn't exactly want to fall asleep with this random maniac in her flat. He smirked a little again, noting her eyelids slipping.

"Two strangers, stranded on a dark and stormy night," he uttered in ominous tones, his gaze piercing her over the top of his cigarette. She stared at him. He was a creep.

He sighed and muttered, "Oh, I'll go downstairs and speak to the porters," before stubbing out the cigarette in the nearby ashtray before getting up and dusting off his jeans. He walked out of the door and she sighed, sinking into the couch, burying her face in the pillow. Suddenly, she heard a huge growl from outside. She shot back up, hair all over her face.

"Hello? Are you okay?"

"How many bags does a woman need? I was about to be disfigured for life!"

She giggled and buried her face back in the pillow. She rested her cheek against it and stared out for a while in her reclining position. She looked up at the clock. It had been ten minutes. He wasn't back yet, but she didn't really care. Perhaps he'd just done the decent thing and gone away, she thought, sinking further into the warm fabric of the sofa. She kicked off her boots and pulled a pillow to her chest to cuddle as she slept. The warmth of the room enclosed her and the tiredness from the drive crept up on her.

"Sorry, the porter had some sort of issue with the computer system, it doesn't function outside office hour—" He stopped dead as he saw her reclined on the couch, breathing softly, legs kicked out, pillow cuddled to her chest. He smiled softly. The poor girl was obviously knackered from the drive from wherever she'd come. He grabbed a soft white blanket and draped it over her sleeping form. Seizing a sheet of paper form the office, he scribbled a quick note explaining what he'd learned during the conversation with the porter and walked out of the door to bring her bags in before shutting it and locking it.

He pulled off his jacket and boots, throwing himself down on the sofa opposite her after drawing the curtains. Pulling his jacket up over his shoulders, he closed his eyes and went to sleep himself.