Rules of Proximity
by @mysticravenAfter losing her apartment, a medical intern moves in with her brother’s best friend—a disciplined man still nursing a broken heart. In their cramped space, accidental touches and midnight exhaustion ignite a tension no rule can contain. When his possessiveness flares at another man’s glance, their fragile friendship finally cracks into undeniable love.
MEET THE CHARACTERS
Lena Marchetti
A 24-year-old medical intern with dark circles under her hazel eyes that no amount of concealer can hide, her chestnut curls perpetually escaping a messy bun. She's all sharp angles and nervous energy—elbows that knock things over, fingers that drum on surfaces, a body that's forgotten what eight hours of sleep feels like. The way her scrub top pulls across her shoulders when she stretches after a 16-hour shift makes him forget his own name.
Marcus Chen
A 29-year-old structural engineer with a body that looks like it was built for carrying things—burdens, boxes, the weight of a past he won't talk about. Broad shoulders that fill doorframes, hands that are always occupied (a pen, a stress ball, the edge of a counter) because stillness means thinking, and thinking means her. Close-cropped black hair, a jaw that could cut glass, and eyes the color of dark chocolate that watch her like she's a structural problem he hasn't solved yet.
EXPLORE CHAPTERS
Doorway Rules
Lena stands in Marcus’s narrow hallway, a duffel strap cutting into her shoulder as he lifts her second box past her. His forearm drags across her spine, a graze of warm cotton and muscle that she pretends she didn't feel. He sets the box on the couch—her couch now—and turns, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the coat hook beside her head. 'Living room's yours. No leaving dishes in the sink.' He doesn't say don't touch me. He doesn't have to.
Hallway Stillness
Lena rises from the couch, bare feet silent on the cold floor as she pads toward the bathroom. The hallway narrows at the kitchen doorway just as Marcus steps out, coffee mug in hand. They stop a foot apart, his chest inches from her shoulder, the smell of fresh coffee and clean cotton filling the space. He doesn't move aside. Neither does she—the mug's handle creaks under his grip as the seconds stretch.
Towel Return
Lena's bare feet press into the cold bathroom tile as Marcus's footsteps approach from the living room. He stops just short of the doorway, towel extended in his hand, his gray t-shirt still holding the cedar scent. Her fingers close over the fabric, and his knuckles brush her palm—deliberate, electric, a mirror of her shoulder dragging across his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, his dark eyes tracking down to where their hands meet, then back up to her face. The fluorescent light buzzes overhead, and the hallway holds its breath until he finally releases the towel and steps back.
Still Damp
Lena wraps the towel around herself—the same one his knuckles brushed—and sinks onto the toilet lid, knees pressed together. The shower drips. The couch creaks. She presses her palm flat to the door, feeling the wood grain, and her hand trembles against it. She does not rise. She does not unlock.