Chapter Text
Amy Santiago loves her new apartment. One bedroom, one bathroom, good neighborhood and decent rent. One thing she does not love? Her neighbors. More precisely, whoever lives in the apartment that shares a paper thin wall with hers.
She has been living there for less than three days, and, in that short period of time, they have managed to infuriate her. And what makes everything even worse is that they are messing with her carefully planned sleep schedule. She probably would be just annoyed if it wasn’t for that.
The very first night, after a long day of unpacking, she was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a long lost book she had found while putting everything away, when she was interrupted by music coming from the adjoining apartment. And it was loud . She checked the time. 10:04 pm. There were still 26 minutes before she would go to bed, and she was sure that the music would have definitely stopped by then. No one listens to music that loud at such hours. So she tried not to think too much of it at first and continue with her things. Focusing on the book was impossible, though. She was completely distracted by what had started as rap and then morphed into Taylor Swift (her neighbors definitely had an odd taste in music).
As 10:30 neared, she started to think that maybe it would not stop anytime soon. And that was going be a problem. Even if her room was on the other side of the apartment and none of its walls were shared, she could still hear the music from there - not as loud as from the living room, but loud enough to prevent her from sleeping.
Still, she got into bed in an attempt to fall asleep at her regular time. She had the next day off, but there were lots of boxes left to unpack, so sleeping in was not an option.
She considered complaining about the music right then, but she would be making a terrible first impression. And maybe her neighbors weren’t actually inconsiderate, maybe they thought the apartment was still empty. She would go the following morning, introduce herself, and ask them kindly to never play music this loud again.
It was almost 9 pm when she started hearing movement in the other apartment the next day. She had knocked on the door across the hallway from hers in the morning, but no one answered. She supposed there was no one in the apartment, it was Sunday after all, so she would try again once she heard something.
But she was already wearing her pajamas, and she was comfortable sitting on the couch and watching an incredibly interesting documentary on jellyfish. She decided to go only if it was completely necessary. Luckily for her, there wasn’t much noise, only the muffled sounds of a TV and the occasional beep of a microwave.
That was until the moment she rested her head on the pillow. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she guessed that the TV was suddenly on full volume (how else would she be able to hear it from her bedroom?) and some kind of action scene was on.
If she hadn’t been in bed, she would already be knocking on her neighbor’s door. But she was tired, and her bed was warm and comfortable, and whatever they were watching would be over eventually, right? She sighed deeply after she heard a loud explosion coming from the TV. This was going to be a long night.
That is why she fell asleep way past midnight, why she drank six cups of coffee during the day, and why right now she is knocking on her neighbor’s door (she knows they are home, Orinoco Flow has been on repeat for the past hour).
After knocking for several minutes, louder and louder each time, she finally hears the music stop and just a couple of seconds later the door opens. She is not really sure what she was expecting, but for some reason it definitely wasn’t a grown man of about her age. She’s taken aback for a moment, the words she had carefully planned suddenly forgotten. Confusion is clearly written on his face, and a moment passes before either of them says anything.
“I, um,” Amy starts, “I just moved here.” She points at her door. Maybe it’s because she is sleep deprived, or maybe the insane amount of caffeine running through her system is messing with her thoughts, but she finds her neighbor mildly attractive (okay, very attractive), and she doesn’t want the first thing she says to him to be a complaint.
At her words, the confusion on his face changes to surprise. But he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly.
“I’m Amy.” She extends her hand towards him. He stares at her hand for a beat, his eyebrows rising even more, but he shakes it anyway.
“I’m Jake.”
She wants to start talking, to say all the things that have been bothering her since she moved, but she can’t find the words. Instead they stare at each other, and Amy is sure she’s never felt this awkward in her entire life.
“Look,” she beings, carefully measuring every word, “I’m sure you are aware of how thin these walls are.”
He nods.
“So,” she continues with more confidence, “you know I can hear the music that you’re listening to.”
He stays still, but she can see the moment he realises where she is going with this. A small smile forms on his face. “So you’re knocking on my door to tell me how impeccable my taste in music is?”
“What? No! First of all, you’ve been playing the same song for the past hour-”
“A great song.”
She rolls her eyes. “And second, I’m here to complain. You have everything at full volume even when it’s late at night, and I can hear it all the way from my room and it won’t let me sleep. First the music, then the TV and now-”
“Wait, wait. When did you move in?”
“On Saturday.”
“Oh.” His smile disappears instantly. Even though she met him literally five minutes ago, she can clearly tell that he’s feeling bad about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
His words are honest, they make Amy’s anger dissipate. She sighs. “It’s okay, but please keep the volume down from now on.”
He nods, and, slowly, a smile reappears on his face. “You know, Mrs. Stevens never complained about the noise.”
“I’m assuming Mrs. Stevens lived here before me?”
“Yeah. She was the best. She was old and I think she couldn’t hear properly so I could have my music as loud as I wanted to and at whatever time I liked, she never said anything about it,” he sighs dramatically. “But she’s gone now.”
“Did she die ?”
“What? No! She just moved. Geez, you have dark thoughts.”
She rolls her eyes again. “Okay, well, she’s not living here anymore, I am, and I can hear what happens in your apartment and you can hear what happens in mine. So can we just please agree to keep the volume down, especially at night?”
He strokes his chin pretending to be considering his answer. Amy sighs deeply. She’s tired; she knows he is doing this to annoy her, and she’s not sure how much longer she can take it (although she may have had to hold back a smile at some point in their conversation, and his thinking face is actually cute).
“Fine,” he finally says, just as dramatically as she was expecting.