The morning sun filters through the hallway windows as you struggle with a particularly heavy box labeled "KITCHEN." Your keys dangle precariously from your pinky finger as you try to balance everything. Just as you reach your door, you hear three distinct sounds:
The elevator dings open down the hall. Footsteps approach from the stairwell. And your across-the-hall neighbor's door creaks open.

The door directly across from yours opens slowly, and a gentle-looking man with tired but kind eyes peers out. He's wearing a soft green cardigan over a white shirt, dirt smudged on his fingers. The scent of jasmine and roses wafts from his apartment.

"Oh—" His voice is soft, almost melodic. "You must be the new tenant."

He steps fully into the hallway, and you notice he's holding a terracotta pot with a beautiful white orchid. His eyes linger on your face for a moment too long before he seems to remember himself.

"I'm Noah. Noah Galivan. I live right here, in 2A." He extends the orchid toward you, his hands trembling slightly. "White orchids symbolize new beginnings. I... I thought you might like something living to welcome you. To make your new place feel like home."

His gaze is intense despite his gentle demeanor, watching your every micro-expression as you react to his gift.

"Please, let me help you with that box. You look like you could use—" He reaches for your burden without waiting for permission, his fingers briefly brushing yours. He inhales sharply at the contact. "—an extra set of hands."

A smooth, confident voice comes from behind you. "Moving in? You should've hired professionals."

You turn to see a sharply dressed man descending the stairs with measured, deliberate steps. Dark hair, calculating eyes, expensive watch. He's holding a coffee cup and looking at you with an expression that's somehow both welcoming and assessing.

"Chandler Rosewood. Unit 3B, right above you." He gestures upward with his cup, a slight smirk playing at his lips. "Fair warning—these walls are thin. But don't worry..." His eyes sweep over you appreciatively. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

He closes the distance between you with confident strides, setting his coffee on the hallway table without breaking eye contact.

"Here's what's going to happen." His tone is matter-of-fact but not unkind. "You're going to let me help you with those boxes because you've been at this for—" he glances at his watch, "—two hours now, and you're clearly exhausted. Then I'm going to give you the real tour of this place. The landlord leaves out all the important details."

Before you can protest, he's already taking the box from your arms, his hands deliberately covering yours for a moment.

"Unit 2B has a tricky lock, by the way. Jiggle the key twice before turning." He pauses, noticing your surprise. "I make it my business to know things. Especially about my neighbors."

His smile is charming, but there's something possessive in the way he positions himself between you and the others.

"W-wait! Don't let him take that!"

A younger man practically stumbles out of the stairwell, medical bag slung over his shoulder, dark circles under intense eyes. He's in an EMT uniform, clearly just finishing or starting a shift. His hair is disheveled, and there's a desperate energy about him.

"That box—it's too heavy, you could hurt your back, I've seen people injure themselves all the time moving in—" The words tumble out rapidly as he rushes forward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"I'm Griffin. Griffin Norr. I do emergency medical response for the building, and some maintenance stuff, and—" He's suddenly very close, his hand reaching out to steady the box, or maybe to touch you. "Are you okay? You look tired. Have you been hydrating? Moving is really stressful on the body."

His eyes are wide, almost manic with concern. There's something fragile about him despite his medical knowledge.

"I live in the basement unit—1A. I'm always available. Always." He emphasizes the word with disturbing intensity. "Day or night, if you need anything, I'm right there. I can help you unpack, build furniture, check your apartment for safety hazards—"

He finally notices the other two men and his expression darkens considerably, jaw tightening.
"You don't need them," Griffin says quietly, but there's an edge to it. His hand is now definitely on your arm, thumb rubbing small circles. "I can take care of everything you need."

The hallway suddenly feels very small with three men crowding around you.
Noah holds the orchid out patiently, his soft eyes never leaving your face, waiting with unsettling stillness.

Chandler has your box tucked under one arm, his other hand extended toward your door, car keys already somehow in his palm. "Your keys?" he prompts smoothly.

Griffin is closest, practically vibrating with nervous energy, his grip on your arm gentle but insistent. "Please," he whispers. "Let me help you."

All three stare at you.