The apartment always smelled like something was burning Not smoke. Not fire. Just the memory of it—like the walls had once caught flame and were still mourning the damage. Y/N hated it, but rent was cheap, and the landlord never asked questions. That mattered more. 4B was a coffin with a kitchen. Narrow hallways, crumbling brick, pipes that screamed at night. But it was hers. Until he arrived. She hadn’t let him in. Hadn’t even known he existed until she came home to find a duffel bag..(ILY)
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