A lot of people take the elevator nowadays. Like it's fashionable to stand around awkwardly in a box while it rigidly moves to the floor you want.

And If you just chance upon that one lady with that one uncontrollable kid who just needs to press all the buttons… Well, your awkward trip just got infinitely longer. It's even worse than that one obnoxious idiot who douses himself with so much deodorant to badly mask his body odor that breathing itself becomes a chore.

Anyway, I digress. My point is that I don't take the elevator. Period.

Something about climbing up a few flights of steps just does it for me, you know? Plus, climbing stairs is healthy… or something.

What I mean to say is, the cute guy who always smokes on the second floor of the stairway has absolutely nothing to do with my new-found aversion to lifts.

Nothing at all.

Which is why I find myself lingering on the second floor as I make my climb up to the fourth, where my lovely apartment is located. I want nothing better than just lie on my bed after my terrible day at work today, yet my legs instinctively slow down at that little pile of ashes and cigarette butts.

He is something of a chain-smoker I guess. Which really isn't an attractive habit. He goes to the stairwell to smoke at least twice a day.

It's funny, because his apartment is supposed to be a carbon copy of mine, and that would mean he has a balcony.

It's not like I stalk him or anything. I'm just good at making observations. Like Sherlock Holmes or something.

As I urge my body to move past the second flight of stairs, as I try to assure myself that he just isn't coming (not that I cared about this crazy chain-smoker or anything), the door swings open, and my jaw drops.

He looks flushed and out of breath, like he was just running. He slams the door to the staircase shut and fumbles with a Parliament cigarette. I just stand there, willing my legs to move on. I have absolutely no reason to stand around and breathe second-hand smoke.

The man licks his lips and jams the cigarette in his mouth. I know I'm staring blatantly, but there is something so sexy about the way this gorgeous man smokes. His mouth…

I almost blush thinking about all the things he could be doing with that mouth of his. Oh god.

"Hey," he greets me in a hoarse, raspy voice around his cigarette. He still sounds a little out of breath. He really should quit smoking, no matter how good he looks doing it.

He's staring at me, eyebrow raised, his face slowly returning to its natural color.

Then I stupidly realize that he has spoken and is probably waiting for some sort of response.

"Hello," I supply tentatively, awkwardly. I shift my weight from one foot to another, waiting for a cue to leave.

He surprises me by speaking again. "You know," he gestures absently with the hand that is holding his cigarette, "I've been living here for months now and I still don't know your name. In fact, I don't think I know anyone in this apartment building. It's pretty depressing." He flicks ash against the banister.

I blink at him. "I'm Cesar," I say awkwardly. I want offer a hand to shake but I'm carrying a briefcase in one hand and a small bag of groceries in the other.

I see the upper corner's of his mouth twitch. "Jayden," he drawls. "And I'm gay."

I blink again. Jayden gingerly snuffs out his cancer stick and rubs his ashy hands on his jeans. He stares at me sadly, like he's waiting for me to unleash a major homophobic onslaught, or back away hissing 'fag' or something.

I finally regain my composure.

"So am I," I tell him, shrugging. "It's not the first thing I announce to people when I introduce myself though,"

"Sorry," Jayden smiles, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Just wanted to get all that out of the way. I usually don't get any… positive reactions."

He really looks better when he smiles. His green eyes are crinkling and I can see his slightly off-white teeth. I can feel a smile starting to spread across my face as well.

"Well, Cesar," he runs a hand through his mane of black curls. "I'll see you around,"

"Bye," I mutter. I watch him disappear through the door and continue climbing the stairs to my apartment.

I try to process all the new information. The sexy smoker's name is Jayden. Jayden is gay. Jayden said he'll "see me around". I can feel a giddy smile forming on my lips again.

No, bad Cesar. I'm getting ahead of myself.

He's way out of my league. And he smokes, which is a nasty habit in itself.

No matter how sexy he looks doing it.

"Oh fuck."

I can't stop the images of Jayden in rather... compromising situations from flooding into my head for the second time today.

Looking down at the front of my black work slacks, I discover that I have a little "situation" of my own to take care of.

Fucking Perfect.


AN: So, this is my first story on fictionpress. It didn't take me more than an hour to write, so it isn't very good. I might continue it if anyone's interested, but I might leave it as a stand-alone one-shot.