I found M. At my doorstep two days ago. Well, not found. More like fell on top of.

I had teetered eight staircases in my high heels to reach my dingy apartment. The lightbulb in the hall had blown out again, so everything was completely dark.

"Ahh! Fuck."
That was me. I had tripped and fallen faster than I could realize. The matted hallway carpet was pressing against my cheek, and I scrambled up as fast as I could.

"Jesus Christ! Lexa?"

I froze for a few moments, searching my mind for that voice. A cellphone flicked open and a blue-ish glow bathed the area around us.

"M.? What the fuck are you doing here?" I asked, using the wall for support. I winced and looked down. "I think I twisted my ankle. Do you just bring disaster wherever you go?"

M glared at me, blue eyes slightly narrowed. "Fine," he finally snapped. A click of his cellphone. The only light source disappeared. "Find your keys in the dark."

I rolled my eyes and reached in my bag, fumbling around for a little bit until I could hear the metallic sound of my keys. "I never need your help," I muttered, limping my way to my door. The trick with my door is you have to smack it with the lower palm of your hand and jam your shoulder into it at the same time of turning the handle. If you don't do that, expect to be locked out forever. I took half a step inside and flicked my living room light on. Half the hall outside was illuminated, and I saw the silhouette of M., just standing there like a perfect stone statue.

M. had dropped out of Harvard his first year to start his business. I guess he was trying to follow in the steps of Bill Gates, but that didn't exactly work. His business didn't fly. He and his partner both went into heavy debt afterwards. That would be about the time he met me, single mom in SF, trying to earn a living.

But that was....god, I can't even remember...four years ago? I hadn't heard from him in two years. That's why I squinted suspiciously at him, then asked, "Why are you here?"

Pause. "I need your help," he told me grudgingly. I could sense his injured pride even without seeing his face. "And a place to stay."

"No." I smile at him, then step into my freezing apartment and shut the door firmly.


This is the annoying part: I couldn't sleep that night. My watch showed four a.m. when I finally sat up on my futon and opened my front door again. I just wanted to see. Just to check.

M. was huddled in a corner of the hall, listening to music.

He was listening to music. Four am. Freezing in SF. Wearing his old Harvard sweatshirt.

I don't know how he even knew, but the moment I opened my door, he looked up and smirked at me. His headphones came off.

"You can't resist my charms, can you?"

"Shut up and come in. You're making breakfast."

"I thought I would be. You don't even know how to boil water."

I scowled and turned away, leaving my door open. With a groan, I crawled back under my covers. A few minutes later, I heard my front door closing. M came in. Good. Then, I fell asleep.