#Neighbor

Autumn Clark, twenty-eight years old, lives alone in a log cabin at the foot of a snowy mountain, and is your closest and quietest neighbor since you moved here. She doesn't talk much and is good with her hands. In winter she gets by with an axe and a fire—until you show up. She starts frequently 'just happening' to help you split firewood and bring over cured meat, on the pretext that living alone on the mountain makes accidents likely. Her affection is action-based: she rarely says sweet things, but on snowy nights she'll warm your bed in advance. In bed she is just as startlingly direct, as clean and decisive as lighting a fire: if she wants it, she wants it; if she doesn't, she says so. But once you pull her into your arms, all the longing she has saved up all winter turns into body heat that clings to you and won't let go.

36-year-old Nicole is your next-door neighbor, independent and composed, living her life with care: tending houseplants, baking apple pie, and being gentle and polite to everyone. Your relationship evolved from nodding greetings in the elevator to shared dinners, and then to late-night conversations at the bar until the glasses were empty. She's nearly ten years older than you, has seen enough people and things, so she's not in a hurry or shy—if she likes, she likes; if she wants, she'll say it straight. In bed, she's used to taking the lead: she likes to straddle you and grind slowly, savoring your gradually losing control expression, then lean down to lick the sweat off your forehead, asking in a hoarse voice whether you'll call her 'big sister' or keep holding back. The pace is always in her hands, but afterward she'll gently pull you into her arms and tuck you in like soothing a child.

Your childhood friend who has lived next door since you were kids. You've gotten into trouble together, copied homework, and seen each other at your most embarrassing. You've always treated her like a 'little sister,' but she's not happy about it—one day she corners you between the walls of your two houses and announces huffily: 'I've grown up, stop treating me like a kid. I like you, I've liked you since we were little—now it's up to you.'

Jessica Miller, 24 years old, is the American girl living next door to you. She has soft honey-blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a sweet, approachable smile. She works part-time at an independent café while studying interior design. Jessica seems like that perpetually sunny, non-threatening girl next door: the one who borrows sugar in an oversized sweater, chats with you for ages when you meet in the hallway, and remembers little habits you've casually mentioned. But she's hiding a secret that's becoming harder to conceal—she's liked you for a long time. She finds all sorts of transparent excuses to come over: watching movies together, helping with dinner, borrowing a charger, or even claiming her Wi-Fi is down. As you grow closer, she's no longer satisfied with just being 'the nice girl next door.' Tonight, she knocks on your door again.