Neighborly Intentions: Chapter Two - The Hunger

Elias: I’ve spent three years building a fortress with Ben, but today, the walls came down. One look at the woman next door and the hunger I’ve been burying roared to life. Ben is terrified, playing the "friendly neighbor" to hide the truth, but I know better. She isn’t just a neighbor. She’s the piece we’ve been starving for.

Chapter Two 

The Hunger

Elias

The hammer feels heavy in my hand, but my chest feels heavier.

I’ve spent three years building a life with Ben that most people would envy. We have the house, the rhythm, the shared silence that speaks volumes. Ben is my anchor, the man who keeps me steady when the world feels like it’s spinning too fast. I love him with a ferocity that borders on physical pain. But there has always been a ghost in the room with us—a space shaped like a woman that neither of us knew how to fill.

Until today.

I see her through the glass of the side window first. She isn't a porcelain doll; she’s a masterpiece of soft curves and solid, grounded presence. When she steps into the light of her kitchen, brushing newsprint off her forehead with a frustrated huff, I feel the air leave my lungs. My heart doesn't just beat; it thuds against my ribs, demanding I pay attention. Every muscle in my body coils, reacting to her proximity like a compass needle swinging north.

I don't mean to stare. I know Ben is watching me from the porch, his protective hackles already rising, but I can’t break the connection. When she pushes that window up, the scent of vanilla and old paper drifts across the fence line, and I am undone. It’s a sensory overload. I find myself tracing the line of her throat, the way her honey-blonde hair catches the afternoon sun and turns to molten caramel, and the comfortable, honest way she carries herself. She is real. She is undeniably beautiful.

"Elias," Ben’s voice is a warning, a low vibration of concern, but I barely hear him.

I am too busy memorizing the way her name sounds in my head. Sloane. It feels like a prayer I didn’t know I was supposed to be reciting. I want to walk across that overgrown clover, sink to my knees, and tell her that she is the piece we’ve been waiting for. I want to touch the line of her jaw just to see if she’s real, to see if she’ll lean into me the way I am already leaning toward her. My skin feels tight, too small for the sudden, electric need humming beneath the surface.

"Ten minutes," I tell her, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. Someone hungrier. Someone who hasn't eaten in years.

Sloane nods, a small, stunned movement, and then she pulls the window shut. The glass creates a barrier between us once more, but it doesn't stop the pull. I stand there, hammer still gripped in my white-knuckled hand, watching her silhouette retreat into the depths of her kitchen. I feel like I’ve just been plugged into a live socket, my skin humming with a frequency I don't recognize.

"Elias."

Ben’s voice is a low vibration of concern, and this time I can’t ignore it. I feel his arm drape over my shoulders—a heavy, grounding weight that usually makes me feel safe. Today, it feels like a restraint. He’s looking at her house with a slightly guarded, pensive expression, his thumb digging into the meat of my shoulder in a way that says look at me.

"Eli, walk away," he murmurs, his tone pleasant for the sake of any prying eyes, but there’s an edge to it. He keeps his arm draped over my shoulders, steering me away from the fence line. "Come on. Back inside."

I let him lead me. My boots crunch on the dry grass as we head across the yard and up the steps of our back porch. Ben doesn't say another word until we’ve stepped through our door and the heavy oak frame clicks shut, sealing us away from the neighborhood.

The silence in our kitchen is sudden and deafening.

Ben doesn't go find our moving straps in the garage immediately. He stops at the island, gripping the edge of the marble until his knuckles go white. He doesn't look at me, but I can see the pulse jumping in his jaw. This is the Ben the world doesn't see—the one who isn't always the steady flame.

"Eli," he says, his voice low and stripped of the neighborly mask. "What the hell was that?"

"You saw her, Ben," I say, my own voice shaking. I don't try to hide it. There’s no point in lying to him; he knows the shape of my soul better than I do. "You felt it. The second she looked at us, the whole world shifted."

"The world didn't shift, Elias. A woman moved in next door." He finally looks at me, and his eyes are clouded with a mix of fear and frustration. "You were looking at her like... like you were ready to tear the fence down with your bare hands. You’re going to scare her. You’re going to blow up everything we’ve built for a fantasy."

"It’s not a fantasy," I argue, stepping closer to him. I need him to see what I see. "I’ve been telling you for years that something was missing. That there was a space between us that we couldn't fill on our own. And then she stands there, in that kitchen, and the space is gone. She fits Ben. Even from twenty feet away, she fits."

Ben lets out a sharp, ragged breath and turns away, pacing the length of the kitchen. He’s the anchor, the logic, the one who keeps us safe. I know I’m asking him to do something terrifying—to let a stranger into the fortress he’s spent three years perfecting.

"We don't know her," he mutters, though his voice is losing its edge, softening into that weary devotion I know so well. "She’s a neighbor who needs help with a bookshelf. That’s the limit, Eli. We go over there, we be helpful, and we come back here. Alone."

I don't answer. I can't promise him that, because I already know it's a lie. I move to the junk drawer and pull out my leather-bound journal. I need to anchor these feelings before they consume me. I need to put the need somewhere so I can breathe.

February 26th

I see her today. I think I’ve been looking for her my entire life without knowing her name. She has these eyes that look like they could see right through all my bullshit, and a body that looks like it was made to be held. Ben is terrified. He’s playing the part of the friendly neighbor, but I can feel his heart racing through his hand. He thinks I’m going to fall too fast, but how can I not when I’m about to meet the other third of my soul? I look at her and I can’t breathe. If she lets us in, I don’t think I’ll ever let her leave. I am a starving man, and Sloane is the feast.

I close the book and tuck it away. My hands are still shaking as I reach for the toolbox on the floor. I lean my weight against the cool marble of the island, my knuckles white as I grip the edge. I can feel the heat radiating off my skin, my pulse a frantic, jagged rhythm against my ribs. My vision is tunneled, focused entirely on the image of her still burned into my mind, and I feel like a man who has been hollowed out and filled with nothing but want.

"Ready?" Ben asks, reappearing from the garage with the canvas straps slung over his shoulder. He’s pulled the mask back on, the rugged, dependable man I fell in love with. His expression is guarded but resolute. He is doing this for me, because he loves me. But I see the way his fingers linger on the straps—he’s bracing himself for the impact.

"Ready," I say.

We step out of our house and back onto the sidewalk. The walk between our front doors is less than fifty feet, but it feels like a pilgrimage. Every step is heavy. I watch the way the shadows of the oak trees dance across her porch. I notice a small ceramic pot by her door that’s tipped over, and I have the sudden, possessive urge to fix it for her. To fix everything for her.

"Eli," Ben murmurs as we reach her steps. He stops me with a hand on my chest, his palm warm and grounding through my t-shirt. "Deep breaths. Remember what we talked about. Just neighbors."

I close my eyes for a second, trying to pull the mask back into place. But it’s slipping. The look of need is carved into my features, and I don't know if I have the strength to hide it anymore. I want her to see it. I want her to know.

I watch Ben reach out to knock on her door. The sound of his knuckles against the wood echoes in the quiet afternoon air, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching out first. I want to be the one she sees. I want to be the one who carries her heaviest burdens.

As the door begins to creak open, a sliver of light from her hallway spills out onto the porch. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, echoing one word over and over: Finally.

The door swings wide, and there she is. Sloane. Up close, the undeniably beautiful woman I saw through the window is even more staggering. She looks tired, her hair a bit messy from the move, but she radiates a warmth that makes me want to move closer until there’s no air left between us. I fix my gaze on her face, waiting for the moment our eyes meet again, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

"Hey," she says, a small, tentative smile playing on her lips.

I don't say anything. I can't. I just stand there, letting the weight of my stare tell her everything my voice isn't ready to say yet. I look at her, and the hunger in my stomach turns into a roar.

Come back tomorrow for another chapter

"Internal Monologue" (The Hunger)

The Trope: The Obsessive/Instantly Smitten Hero. The Thought: Elias isn't just "interested"—he’s undone. I loved writing the contrast between Ben’s protective caution and Elias’s raw, almost feral need. It’s that classic "he fell first and he fell hard" energy that sets the stage for everything coming next. Is there anything hotter than a man who knows exactly what he wants the second he sees it?

The Trope: The Obsessive/Instantly Smitten Hero.

The Thought: Elias isn't just "interested"—he’s undone. I loved writing the contrast between Ben’s protective caution and Elias’s raw, almost feral need. It’s that classic "he fell first and he fell hard" energy that sets the stage for everything coming next. Is there anything hotter than a man who knows exactly what he wants the second he sees it?

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: March 2026

Cover Design by LS Phoenix