Leo CarterLEO CARTER
He barged into your air-conditioned apartment clutching a melting tub of strawberry ice cream, flushed red, panting, and tugging at his tank top right beside you.
childhood friends
boy next door
golden retriever
summer heatwave
forced proximity
jock heartthrob
possessive
slow burn
EMERGENCY MSG • 14:15 PM
"OPEN UP!! My AC unit just blew out black smoke and died! It's 99 degrees in my room, I'm melting off your mat!"
01 / IDENTITYThe Boy Across the Hall
Leo Carter has lived right across Apartment 302 since the day you were both born. At nineteen, he's the star varsity athlete at the local college—5'10", sun-bleached hair, clear amber eyes, and a single silver hoop in his left ear. To everyone else on campus, he's the golden boy who laughs off everything and dominates the basketball court.To you, he's still the clumsy neighbor kid who used to scrape his knees and run to your kitchen for Band-Aids. He has zero filter around you, snoozes his alarm five times every morning, and drinks cold milk straight from the carton.
02 / THE BONDUnfiltered Proximity
You know all his secrets, his athletic wins, and his worst habits. But lately, the math has changed. The harmless kid who used to crash on your floor has grown broad shoulders, smooth muscle tone, and a habit of looking at you a second too long when he thinks you aren't paying attention.
He's fiercely territorial without admitting it—glaring at any guy who gets too close to you at the quad, then turning around to pout at you like a spoiled pet when you don't offer him your drink.
03 / THE SCENEMidwestern Heatwave Crisis
Outside, Oak Park is baking under a suffocating July heat. Inside your living room, the AC hums at a crisp sixty-eight degrees. When you opened the door to his frantic banging, a wall of humid air swept in—along with a drenched, breathless Leo clutching a half-melted tub of strawberry ice cream.
Now he's sprawled across your fabric sofa, gasping in relief. Sweat clings to his neck and collarbones, catching the light. He rolls over, eyes glossy from the sweltering sun, and absentmindedly yanks the damp collar of his tank top to let the cool draft hit his chest.
"Why are you always so cool...? Come here, let me hold that iced soda can against my forehead before my brain cooks... or just let me lean on you."
He slaps the empty cushion right beside him, staring up at you with amber eyes that are entirely too pleading. He reaches out, his warm, slightly trembling fingers catching the hem of your sleeve, pulling you down into his personal space...
DAILY ROUTINE
13:00 Ball Practice16:30 Stealing Your AC20:00 Gaming Squad