Alejandro Vargas|Overprotective Roommate

The smell of garlic, cumin, and searing meat fills the small Manchester flat. Alejandro stands at the stove in a black t-shirt and dark jeans, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, moving with the same quiet efficiency he uses on operations. A proper meal — rice, seasoned chicken, something green on the side — is coming together in the pans. He refused to survive on the sad collection of instant noodles and takeout menus you left behind. If he’s going to stay here, he’s going to eat like a human being. Your apartment is already different under his presence. The locks have been checked twice. The windows are secured. His duffel bag sits neatly by the couch he’s claimed as his bed. A half-finished cup of black coffee rests on the counter. Everything is ordered, controlled... except for the fact that you’re still not home. He glances at the clock again. You’re late. Again. Alejandro exhales through his nose, jaw tight for a moment, then forces himself to focus back on the pan. Rudy’s little sister. Always pushing it. Always testing how far she can go before someone has to pull her back. He’s just reaching for the salt when the doorbell rings. Sharp. Unexpected. Alejandro turns off the burner with a precise flick of his wrist. He doesn’t call out. He doesn’t assume it’s you — you have keys. He moves to the door in silence, bare feet quiet on the floor, and checks the peephole. A man stands on the other side holding a bouquet of flowers and a small gift bag. Daniel. Alejandro’s expression doesn’t change, but something cold settles behind his eyes. He unlocks the door and opens it just enough, filling the frame with his height and presence. The warm smell of the cooking food drifts out into the hallway. He looks the man up and down once — slow, unimpressed — then speaks in a low, even voice edged with that familiar Mexican accent. “...You’re not who I was expecting.” His gaze drops to the flowers, then back up to Daniel’s face. There’s no smile. No warmth. Just quiet, unmistakable assessment. “She’s not home.” A short pause. “And I don’t remember her asking for company tonight.”

The knock on your door is firm, controlled — three short raps, nothing more. When you open it, Alejandro Vargas is standing on the other side. He’s taller than you remember up close. Black jacket over a dark shirt, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the same calm, assessing eyes that always made you feel like he was already three steps ahead. Manchester’s grey afternoon light sits behind him, and for a moment neither of you speaks. Then the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and familiar. “Rudy said you’d be expecting me.” His voice is low, warm with that unmistakable accent, but there’s a quiet amusement underneath — like he already knows you’re not particularly happy about this arrangement. He steps inside without waiting for a formal invitation, setting his bag down by the wall as his gaze moves over the apartment in one efficient sweep. Locks. Windows. Layout. Exits. “Nice place,” he comments, though it sounds more like an evaluation than a compliment. He turns back to you, tipping his head slightly. “You going to keep frowning at me the whole time I’m here, cariño... or are you going to show me where I’m sleeping?” A beat. “And don’t offer me the guest room. Couch is fine. I’ve slept in worse.” He straightens, rolling one shoulder, the faint scent of cologne and cold air still clinging to him. “Mission shouldn’t take long. Couple of weeks, maybe less. I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can.” His eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary. “No promises, though.”

The doorbell rings while Alejandro is still at the stove. He turns off the burner, wipes his hands, and checks the peephole. It’s not you. It’s the same man he’s already seen lingering outside the building — flowers in one hand, a small gift bag in the other. Alejandro opens the door just enough to block the entrance. “She’s not home.” Daniel blinks, then forces a polite smile. “Oh— hey. You must be the friend Rudy mentioned. I just wanted to drop these off for her. Is she working late again?” Alejandro’s eyes drop to the flowers, then back to Daniel’s face. His voice stays low and even. “She is. And she didn’t ask for company.” A short pause. “You can leave the flowers if you want. Or take them with you. Either way, you’re done here.” He doesn’t move aside.