Griffin lived on the fifth floor of an apartment building that was in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, according to the slip of paper Cynthia had given to her. Well, Cynthia hadn't outright said it was one of the worst places in the city, but a quick Google search had done that, since typing in the address had brought up a map and over fifty news articles reporting assaults, rapes, drug busts, and gunshots in the area in the past few months alone.

With this in the forefront of her mind, Beverly clutched the drinks close to her chest as she wandered past many questionable people and rundown buildings.

She didn't like to judge others by their appearances, but she couldn't help the anxiousness; just last week, a woman had been kidnapped and murdered in the same exact neighborhood, and she didn't want to star in a news piece of her own. She wasn't sure why Griffin lived in this particular area, and part of her wondered if he'd grown up there, which would partly explain his tattoos and mildly terrifying exterior. Beverly's anxiousness became obvious when she yelped and almost dropped the cups in her hands at the feeling of her phone buzzing in her back pocket. Letting her eyes sweep over her surroundings to ensure that none of the nearby individuals had seen her obvious discomfort, she blew out a sigh of relief when she only caught a grouchy woman snarling at her from the opposite side of the street.

Juggling the cups in her hands, she slipped her phone out and gazed at the screen, furrowing her brow in concern when she read Alicia's text: FYI, don't come back 2 campus, bc some students were drunk & trashed library, so whole place is locked down while they figure out who did it.

Beverly blew out an exhausted sigh. The entire mess of drug and alcohol abuse at her school was kept relatively quiet, even with the constant news reports. That fact could be seen if one considered that Beverly normally had to learn about any incidents through Alicia or another friend instead of campus officials; it was tiring to be constantly worried about what was going on and whether the students were being given the truth when the officials occasionally spoke up.

And if that's just on a college campus, she let her gaze drift back over the nearby passersby, imagine how bad it is off the campus. Shuddering at the thought, she sent Alicia a simple OK—thanks before shoving her phone back into her pocket and continuing on her way, keeping her head down and her steps quick.

It was a relief when she reached the apartment building—a relief that vanished as soon as a group of men in the parking lot started catcalling her. Sending up a prayer for safety, Beverly rushed up the wooden staircase settled on the exterior of the building.

"Where you goin', baby?" she heard one of them holler, and her shoes clattered on the stairs noisily as she picked up her pace.

Blowing out a haggard puff of air when she reached apartment 505, she juggled the cups in one arm and reached up with the other to rap her knuckles across the faded blue paint of the door. Unknowingly holding her breath now, Beverly waited intently as the latch clicked on the other side, and the door opened to reveal Griffin, looking as handsome as ever.

He stared at her for several long beats, and—

Closed the door in her face without a single word.

No doubt looking like a dead fish with her jaw hanging open, Beverly gazed at the door unblinkingly.

God, I'm an idiot. What am I even doing here? I should've never listened to Cynthia; now I'll have to turn around, walk past all those creeps again, and I'll probably get murdered, and then I'll never get my degree or have a future and—

The door swung open again, ceasing her internal scolding, and Griffin looked her up and down twice before swallowing audibly. "What are you doing here?" he croaked, shifting from foot to foot.

Feeling smaller than ever, Beverly held up the cups. "Cynthia sent me." Plus, I wanted to see you, but she kept those words to herself.

He stiffened suddenly, his eyes narrowing, and she took an unconscious step backwards, her hips hitting the staircase railing. "Cynthia sent you? Here? To this neighborhood? Jesus. Come in, Beverly, please." Realizing his ire was not aimed at her, she did as he bade, feeling much safer once she was inside.

His apartment was a studio and sparsely decorated; his bed was nestled in the farthest corner of the room, half-hidden by a divider, while the kitchen was on the right, and a couch and small TV sat to the left. All of the furniture was sleek and modern, and seemed to serve a specific purpose. There were no pictures, posters, or unnecessary decorations.

It felt almost . . . cold. Detached. Her dorm room, as tiny as it was, had far more personality than his apartment, and she almost pitied him—surely he didn't feel at home here, if he didn't even bother to decorate the space.

"Here," he led her to the kitchen, where she set his cup down on the counter so he could take it. He popped open the lid and took a sip, his face screwing up soon after.

"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

He met her gaze, then looked away, shrugging. "Nothing. Cynthia knows I hate too much sugar in my tea; I think she added too much on purpose, just to mess with me." He sighed then, leaning back against the ancient stove and crossing his arms over his chest. It was only then that Beverly realized he was wearing a tank top that showed off his entire tattoo sleeve, and she had to work to keep her eyes from darting over it and seeing what he'd had done.

"I appreciate you coming to see me," Griffin's words were soft, and his eyes were trained on a watermark on the ceiling; Beverly was reminded of when they'd first met, and she couldn't stop a soft smile at the sight of the shy giant in front of her. "But please, don't ever come back here again."

When her mind caught up with his words, her face fell in an instant. Griffin must have caught her change in expression, as he quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean it like that!" he rushed on. "I just . . . don't come back here without me, at least. I don't want something to happen to you, and this area really isn't safe."

His concern was touching, and she nodded in agreement. "That won't be an issue; I'd rather not have to do it by myself, either."

Griffin's shoulders relaxed at her words, and he finally spared her a small smile. "I was worried when you didn't show up last week. Did you finish your project?"

She shot him a thumbs-up. "Yup! All done, with an A-minus to show for it. I'm sorry I haven't been around. Cynthia said I should call the shop next time, that way I don't worry you."

"You could also . . ." he trailed off uncertainty, picking at a loose thread on his shirt.

"I could also . . .?"

He sucked in a breath but didn't say anything; after a moment of silence, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, eyeing it as though it had personally insulted him.

Taking pity on him, she stepped closer, her words gentle. "I could have your cell number?"

His responding smile was bashful. "Yeah. I mean, if you don't mind. I just thought that maybe . . ."

"That would be great." She took his phone, plugging in her contact information and sending herself a text before handing it back to him. "Thanks, Griffin. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome. You can always call me, just so you know."

His words were honest, and—as touched as Beverly was—she couldn't resist the urge to tease him. "For anything? Like, if I need someone to talk to after I watch a really sad, sappy romance movie that made me cry?"

Surprisingly enough, Griffin's voice was filled with conviction when he replied, "Yes, even then. Especially then."

She smiled gently. "That's really sweet of you, Griffin."

"You're really sweet," he breathed, staring at her, before he realized what he's said and looked at a spot above her shoulder, muttering a quiet, "Aw, shit," as though angry with himself.

Wasn't it illegal to be so adorable? Surely it had to be against the law.

"Would you like to go somewhere?" Beverly sucked in a shocked squeak at her own words. But he was being so sweet, and her stupid filter had stopped working once she'd witnessed his compassion. "I mean, not like a date-date, not yet, but like a hey, let's get to know one another better kind of date."

His grin in reply was wide and toothy, and Beverly had to stop herself from swooning.

***