Next Door .

If someone told me I'd end up living with Heaven, I'd say they needed therapy.

He's loud, messy, and allergic to responsibilities. I, on the other hand, enjoy peace, quiet, and not losing brain cells every five minutes.

But apparently, the universe has jokes. His parents thought the best way to keep him out of trouble was to let me move in.

Now I wake up to his loud music, trip over his sneakers in the hallway, and pretend my heart doesn't skip when he smiles like he knows exactly what he's doing.

It's not a love story.
It's a survival story.

At least... that's what I keep telling myself.