A man dancing around your apartment

Astonishment makes your jaw drop when you see a man prancing around the middle of the flat, moving like a dancer beneath the spotlight of one of the many skylights.

"Hello!" he cries out in delight at your appearance. You're scarcely able to toss your bathroom supplies in the direction of a basket before he pounces on you.

"Let's dance!" he exclaims, pulling you forward. Your feet stumble, feeling like they're trying to catch up with the rest of you. Just as they've nearly succeeded he spins you, the room blurring into unrecognizable brightness.

A window seems to rush at you and a scream escapes your lips. Just as it seems you'll plunge through a firm hand closes on the back of your robe, halting your momentum right up against the broad expanse.

"So sorry, I got carried away," the man says from behind you. His hand remains clenched on your robe, having gathered quite a bit of it in order to stop your movement. With the dizziness and the fright of the looming disaster you don't even notice that his grab for your robe has pulled it wide open, leaving your breasts pressed against the glass just as your forehead is.

"Who... Who are you?" you finally manage to ask shakily, turning your head to look back at him.

Delicate of features and stunningly beautiful, he hardly looks like the sort of man to slum in a place like this. The rest of your neighbors have always scared you - robbers, pimps, dealers, ex-cons and sex offenders.

"I'm Philip Rosary. Just like the beads," he says with a grin. You start to say something else but he holds up a hand suddenly. "Don't move!"

You freeze, though you can't imagine why. Had he seen someone out the window? Was there a spider?

"Beautiful!" he exclaims.

"What?"

"The light! The apartment! Look at that!" he points to the skylight, "And that! Wall to wall windows, ceiling to floor!"

As if to drive it home he drags you along those windows, your feet scrambling to keep up and avoid stepping on the many things littering the floor.

"I could paint, sketch, photograph you anywhere in here! Let me see you!"

"Photograph...?" you repeat, stumbling as he turns you to face him, your confused brain trying so hard to keep up with him it hasn't had the time to register than your clothes have been pulled open.

"I'm an artist, of course," he says brightly, but looks at you as if you're a slow child. "And you would make an excellent subject. Tilt your head. No, like this!"

He demonstrates, tiling your head upward and turning your body in the room's corner so that you face one window and present your profile to the other.

"Wonderful! Yes, I can use you. I shall use you! Most heavily indeed," he says with a smile, and you can't help but blush at the praise. "I accept being your room-mate. This wonderful light and you modeling will be benefit enough for me!"

"You... accept?" you repeat. "But I haven't offered. I haven't even seen the others."

"Nonsense. You don't need to see the others. Who would you prefer, some thuggish criminal sort or me? A woman with her six kids or me? An **** out on bail or me?"

Philip preens as he lists the horrific options, and you can't help but stare at him. He has to be gay, you think, his mannerisms and looks all but confirming it as he saunters off with a whistle to inspect the room.

For the first time you realize your robe has come undone and yank it shut, your mind wondering what it will be like to have him as a room-mate.