Fics like the guy next door

He stands up, because Eddie does not cower from knocks at — he checks his phone — 10:52 PM, even though every true crime podcast his abuela forwards him suggests this is exactly how people end up as a Dateline episode. He looks through the peephole. He blinks. He looks again. There is a man on his porch. Which, fine, he expected a man. What he did not expect is for the man to be — and Eddie needs a second here, because he’s processing several things simultaneously and doing a poor job with all of them — approximately six foot two, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, visibly muscular in a way that suggests either a dedicated gym routine or a genetic lottery win or both, and completely, entirely, spectacularly naked. Except for the potted succulent he's holding in front of his crotch. Eddie's succulent. From Eddie's porch. The one Chris named Potricia. Or, The odds of the universe dropping a naked man on your doorstep are low, but never zero.

Fics like the guy next door

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