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Sanji hammered on the door with his fist three more times. He heard the yipping of a dog, and then finally that damn, thundering music went down to a dull roar. There was a lot of rustling, some shushing of the dog, a whispered, “who is it?” and “I don’t recognize him,” and then the door opened a crack. A head popped out, its hair a shocking green, but what held Sanji’s focus even more was the bare chest just below it, every muscle chiseled like a statue come to life.
“Uh, hello?” the man said. Behind him, Sanji picked up furtive movement, but he couldn’t quite see who was there.
“Uh, yeah, hi,” he began, scratching his neck in discomfort. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m your new neighbor — just moved in over the weekend — and your music’s actually really loud, it’s keeping me awake.” He knew he was babbling by the end there and wanted to stab himself in the face for coming off so weak, but this was just so awkward.
“Tch, really?” The marimo stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Zoro.”
“Sanji,” he said, shaking the hand. “Listen, do you always play music this late, like after midnight?”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t exactly keep normal hours. I, uh, make a lot of videos and stuff,” Zoro said. Sanji caught his gaze then, and the silver eyes seemed almost to glow in the bright light of the hallway. Then the door slipped open a little more and he blushed, realizing the man wasn’t just bare-chested, he was buck naked.
“I see,” he replied, cursing his luck for getting stuck with some deadbeat partier freak for a next-door neighbor. “Do you think you could—”
“—I’ll keep it down,” Zoro said at the same time. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
Sanji wasn’t sure if he imagined the wink on that last statement, but he definitely didn’t miss the marimo-head looking him up and down. He pulled his robe closed across his chest. It wasn’t his fault it was the middle of the night, and like hell he was getting dressed to give the idiot next door a piece of his mind. “Uh, thanks, man.”
“No problem. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
The door slammed shut behind him, muffling the sound of laughter emanating from within. When he got back to his room, he could still heard the ntz, ntz, ntz, but it was noticeably quieter. “That’s what I get for moving into an apartment building,” he said, knowing he couldn’t really expect more.
But then a half hour later, it went blissfully silent. He fell asleep dreaming of green hair and silver eyes. And imagining what kind of “videos” required techno music and no clothing.
The next morning, on his way to work, he left a basket of muffins outside his neighbor's door, along with a note: Thanks for turning down your shitty music, Marimo.
That night, the music was loud enough to shake the walls.