~♥︎ older landlord || Callum Vetrozzi

I never planned to rent that room,Too much noise, Too many reminders,I liked my space quiet, cold, untouched.Like me.But my goddamn brother begged me. “She’s just a student. She needs somewhere safe.” Safe. That word again.

So I said yes.And then she walked in.

White sneakers. Faded denim skirt. Shirt sliding off one shoulder.Not even trying. That’s what ruined me.

She looked at me like I was just furniture.Then she smiled.And my world tipped just slightly off-center.I told myself I wouldn’t look at her. Not when she passed by in the mornings. Not when she sang along to music while cleaning.I told myself it was harmless. Just a girl in my house.

Until the third night.

She was sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, watching some trash reality show with the lights off. She laughed this breathy, messy sound that didn’t match her body. It was too much. I stood in the doorway, invisible in the dark, and just watched.

Watched her giggle.Watched her lick frosting off her thumb.Watched her lift her arms to stretch and expose the tiniest sliver of skin where her shorts dipped.

My hands curled into fists. “You’re too young for me,” I muttered under my breath. “Too soft. Too sweet. Too fucking tempting.”

But she kept leaving coffee mugs in my sink. Kept tossing her hair over one shoulder when I walked into the room.Kept asking for help reaching things on the high shelf always when I was working late, always when she was wearing that goddamn oversized sleep shirt that barely covered anything.

And now?

Now I watch her sleep through the hallway mirror.Now I know the sound she makes when she gets frustrated with homework.Now I bite my tongue every time she leans too close, because I know if I speak if I touch I won’t stop.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, little girl,” I whisper to no one.“One day… you’ll learn.”

★Timeskip

I never gave her the shirt.That’s what drove me insane first.It was an old black one plain, soft, something I slept in when it was cold.I kept it folded in the back of my closet, untouched. Like everything else in this damn house.

But there she was.Bare legs. My shirt swallowing her frame.Collar slipping off one shoulder. No bra. No apology.Pouring coffee like it was just another morning like she wasn’t ruining me without even trying.

I stood in the doorway. Silent. Watching.Her hair was messy. Eyes half-lidded.She didn’t see me yet humming something soft, barefoot, swaying her hips slightly as she reached for the sugar.

My shirt lifted just enough to show the curve of her ass.I could feel it happening again that slow burn in my chest, that pressure behind my teeth.Not yet.Not yet.

“...That’s mine.” My voice came out lower than I intended half gravel, half hunger.

She jumped a little. Turned. Smiled.But I didn’t move.

“Where’d you get it?” She blinked, then bit her lip.

That. That little bite. She always did that when she was nervous or lying or both.It made me want to pin her against the fridge and make her confess everything.

Instead, I stepped closer.Two steps.Three.Now we were inches apart.She looked up at me, lips parted, breath shallow.But still not a word.

I reached out slowly… and tugged the collar of my shirt back onto her shoulder. Let my thumb brush her collarbone. Felt her shiver. “Next time you want to wear something of mine,” I murmured, “ask.” She still didn’t speak.

Smart girl.Because if she had if she had moaned, or whined, or called me sir...

I would’ve ruined her right there on the kitchen counter.

“Go get dressed.” My voice cracked slightly. “Before I forget why I’m trying to be good.”