"Yes, that works for me. No problem at all... I appreciate your help. I'm sorry, but I need to run. I'll transfer the payment shortly. Thanks again." With a polite nod to the administrator at the door, Joaquin ends the call. "Sorry about that."

"No worries," she replies, gesturing toward the board room. Joaquin steps in, met by the composed yet attentive stares of five senior partners. Pressure descends over him, yet his stance remains unbroken.

Raul Jimenez, the founder's son smiles at him, the fine lines in the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Good morning, Joaquin."

"Good morning, Attorney."

He chuckles, running his hand over his gray hair and waving off the formality. "We're all attorneys. Just call me using my initials. RFJ. And you'll be JMC, correct?"

JMC. Being reminded of his middle initial stirs an uncomfortable sensation, but he hides it with a measured nod. "Yes, that's correct."

The rest of the senior partners take turns introducing themselves, flexing their expertise and underlining the Jimenez Firm's specialization in criminal and civil law—exactly the fields aligning with Joaquin's interests.

Raul signals the administrator, who promptly sets the employment contract before Joaquin. He skims the sections thoroughly, ensuring that the terms discussed during his interview are included, and then signs with confidence.

"Excellent," Raul remarks. "Monday, then?"

"You'll see me Monday."

"I'll have Alice show you to your space."

"By the way, how's Dennis doing these days?" Basilio Capacite, or BAC, asks with genuine interest. "Your father and I were university classmates."

Joaquin's polite smile softens. "He's enjoying his retirement. As you know, I just returned from visiting him in the States."

"That's good to hear. He was always such a workaholic. Well-deserved retirement, albeit early."

After some more light chatter, Alice escorts Joaquin to his office, the second to the last room down the hall. Seeing his nameplate affixed to the door brings him a ray of mood boost.

"Here you are. Let me know if there's anything else you need."

"Will do. Thanks, Alice."

The doors shut behind her, and Joaquin paces in the room, his fingers grazing the furnishings. A solid wooden desk is complemented by a newly painted shelf, and an old abstract adorns the wall. Relics of the space's previous resident.

He approaches the window, looking down at the hustle and bustle of the city, and takes a deep, steadying breath.

He's finally here—where the top minds in criminal defense thrive. His blood rushes in anticipation of what's coming next for him: the knowledge he'd gain,  the experience he'd accumulate, and the significant cases he'd soon handle.

"Knock, knock."

Joaquin swivels and sees Myka, leaning against the door, a warm smile on her face. Gone is the long black mane that used to flow down her shoulders; her bob haircut highlights her heart-shaped face with polished elegance. "Welcome to Jimenez. Hope you're ready to defend some big baddies."

"Hey, Myka," he says with a grin. "Nice to see a friendly face."

"Likewise!" she retorts, coming in and settling on the client chair. "This office space has been empty for months. Definitely cozy."

"Agreed. It's great, actually. Just signed my contract. Will start next week." He sits on the office chair, feeling himself sink a little too deep. His first order of business is to get a better chair. "And, uh, thanks for that referral. I'm moving in this weekend."

She giggles. "Anytime. Happy to be your pseudo-life manager... Speaking of which, we are grabbing drinks later. I haven't told him about you yet, but if you're up for it... you can start getting... reacquainted."

Joaquin's lips flatten, though he keeps his tone lighthearted. "Sounds tempting, but I've got plans with Alex this evening."

"I suppose there'll be other times... And hey, you can literally take the stairs. It's right there." She rises to her feet, brushing off invisible dust from her smirk, then shoots Joaquin a sly smirk. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Catch you later."

"Thanks, Myka."

Left alone, Joaquin leans back in his chair, his gaze drifting upward.

The ceiling—a barrier of what's one floor above.

******

"How's it feel being back in the country?" Alexander asks, sliding the glass of whisky across the coffee table to Joaquin, then pours his own.

Joaquin flops down on the sofa, scrutinizing the decor of Alexander and Emily's home—marble floors, white and taupe accents, and furniture with baby-proofed corners. He smiles at the sight.

Alex, a family man. Starting two years ago at 26. Who would've thought? Certainly not Joaquin. But there's no denying it now.

The couple's house isn't in the same neighborhood and is a bit farther north, but it's not like Joaquin still resides in their old home either. It's been left in the hands of stay-out cleaners. He only visits periodically to check in and make sure that the place stays in order.

His father had wanted him to stay, but the truth is, Joaquin can't bring himself to. The house is way too spacious and too quiet for him. He can hear himself think. And there are thoughts, unless work-related, that he prefers to evade.

"Thanks." Joaquin takes a sip and relishes the sensation in his throat. "It's... alright. Settling in. Found a new job and a new apartment."

"Missed work? You were gone for quite some time."

"More or less. Yeah, I suppose three months is pretty long," he mutters, staring at his palms. "And you? How's fatherhood treating you?"

Alexander glances over his shoulder, his expression softening. "It's great. I enjoy being a dad to Jessica. And Emily's a solid mother. Strong and caring."

"It still gives me goosebumps listening to you talk like this. Make sure you're pulling your weight, yeah?"

"Of course," Alexander sniggers. "I can enjoy having drinks now because Jessica's been sleeping through the night since she turned two. But the newborn phase? Man. That was brutal."

Joaquin grins. "I hear you. I was there for some parts of it, remember?"

"True. Still got that photo with your goddaughter?"

"Absolutely."

Alexander refills their glasses.

"So, back to you..."

Joaquin lifts an eyebrow. "What about me? I've updated you on the basics. As for the other things, you're already in the loop."

Alexander gapes at him consciously. "But how are you really doing? Truly?"

Joaquin's lips stretch into a genuine smile, but he doesn't give Alexander a direct answer. Instead, he clinks their glasses and takes another shot.

"You're making me worried."

"No need," he replies.

******

Fresh from the gym, Joaquin exits the elevator, his forehead creasing as he notices a man standing in front of his door. Or more accurately, in front of the unit across from him. The man's shoulders are drooped, his eyes red-rimmed and bleary. But what catches Joaquin's ire isn't that the man is unknown to him, or his state of inebriation. It's that he is growing aggressive...

And he's directing toward someone Joaquin knows far too well.

Joaquin briskly heads over to the scene, halting just short of colliding with him.

Julian's big, circular eyes meet Joaquin's with a recognizable intensity. His cheeks have thinned, but the rest of him seems to have filled out with more muscle while keeping his slender frame. There's an undeniable charm to how he's matured that makes Joaquin's heart flutter.

He had missed him more than he realized.

Shock registers on Julian's face as if he's witnessed the dead come back to life. And in a way, he has.

He'd never thought he'd see Joaquin in the flesh ever again. Since their last encounter, he hadn't even dared peek at his social media account. Julian had been determined to quit him. He was the one who wanted to break up. The one who wounded them both.

Mindful of the problem at hand, Joaquin speaks up, "What's going on here?"

Christian zigzags as he walks, slurring, "W-Who the fuck are... are you?"

Joaquin steps forward, inadvertently hiding Julian from view, who is still frozen and speechless. "Who the fuck are you? Why are you yelling at him?"

"You're... not a part of this! Get lost!" Christian lunges and carelessly swings his fist at him, but Joaquin calmly side steps, watching as Christian topples to the ground with a harsh thud. He groans, muttering a string of incoherent words.

Joaquin jams his hands into his pockets and gives Christian a light nudge with his foot. "Hey. You can't sleep here. Get up." When there's no response, he crouches down before him.

Julian clutches Joaquin's shirt tentatively. "W-What are you doing?"

"I'm just going to make sure he understands what's about to happen," Joaquin retorts coolly without glimpsing his way. "What's his name?"

"Um, Christian."

"Are you two together?"

Grimacing, Julian mumbles, "No... We dated... but it's, uh, over."

"So you didn't invite him?"

"I-I didn't." Julian squirms, suddenly self-conscious. Why is he getting embarrassed?

"Christian. Oi." Joaquin jabs his temple with a finger.

"Ugh..." Christian tries to lift his head. "W-What?"

"Listen to me," Joaquin says, tone low. "If you show up here again, uninvited, drunk, and acting like an asshole... I'll represent the guy behind me who could sue you for unjust vexation. The penalty's not that much, but it'd leave you with a criminal record. Got it?"

Christian's eyes twitch rapidly, as if gaining sobriety.

"Did you hear me, Christian?"

He nods frantically, pushing himself to his feet, then flees the hallway without shooting Julian another glance.

As they listen to the elevators slide close, Joaquin pivots to face Julian. Their gazes lock, and Julian's stomach somersaults, compelling him to look away.

"Uh, that's... sorry about that. You didn't have to intervene... I had it under control."

Joaquin crosses his arms. "How exactly? By running away?"

Julian frowns but holds himself back from giving a snarky response. "Well, that's... whatever. Thanks. But I'll take care of my own business. You... take care of your own. And I guess you're visiting someone... here?"

Joaquin confirms Julian's worst suspicion with a simple, "No, I just moved. I'm in 803."

Julian pinches his lips together. Why is this place filled with people he sort of knows? And why does it have to be Joaquin? Right next door?

He shuffles his feet. "Ah, okay. So, uh, bye." Julian bolts past Joaquin, his hands trembling as he punches in his code, swiftly disappearing into the apartment. His back presses against the door, supporting his weakened knees.

Mortified, he winces inwardly, repressing the urge to shout. That wasn't the impression he would've wanted to show to an ex he hadn't seen in forever. Not to Joaquin—the only ex he actually liked.

"Goddamn Christian..." he hisses.

How's he going to live peacefully now? With Joaquin living across the hall? He can't give him the same casual nod he gives to the rest of his coworkers in the building. Joaquin's not another neighbor he's forced to acknowledge.

He's not on their level.

Julian would have to face him—look him in the eye, listen to the voice he used to get lost in.

And avoid gawking at his body which has, clearly, gotten more defined over time. Even without lifting his shirt, Julian could trace the changes. Like he had an X-ray vision.

Julian swallows, mouth dry.

How long is his lease for again?