Chapter Text
“You’re a distraction, Irene,” Molly said to her roommate, rolling her eyes but smiling as Irene got tarted up for another night out. They’d shared a dorm together their first year in university and hit it off quite well, but dorm life wasn’t something either of them had been quite cut out for. The two of them, along with Molly’s other best mate, Mary Morstan, had pooled their resources together and gotten a rather nice three bedroom apartment not far from the university before their second year there. It was an arrangement that had worked well through the rest of their time at university, and now that that was nearing an end they had all seen no reason to change the arrangement.
“Only because you actually give a damn about Laughlin’s class,” she said, putting on her lipstick and then smacking her lips together to spread it more evenly. “Everyone knows you could sleep through it and do the bare minimum and he’d still pass you.”
“Well, it’s an interesting subject,” she said, pushing her spectacles back up her nose. She loved Irene dearly as a friend, she did, but she was amazed that Irene had managed to actually get a halfway decent education with her constant late nights out and late mornings in. “It’s surprising what you can learn about modern history.”
Irene snorted slightly. “Our elders fucked it all up and we’re paying the price,” she said. “What about all that anarchy in the UK those songs you play are so fond of talking about? It got us nowhere.”
Molly flushed slightly. It was true that she enjoyed punk music. Her parents, bless them, had been quite involved in the punk movement, having met at the Sir George Robey during a concert there by the U.K. Subs. In fact, her mum and dad had had one of their last anniversaries before he got too ill there in 1989, going to a punk weekender to see Splodgenessabounds, UK Subs, Culture Shock, The Abs, Guitar Gangster, The Abs, Red London, Suspect Device, Red Letter Day and so many more. Her mother to this day went on about how spectacular it was that Paul Fox of The Ruts had been on stage with The Price, guesting on guitar. “Well, it was a long time ago.”
Irene shook her head. “Put on a dress, come out to the club and come dancing with me,” Irene said, setting down the tube of lipstick and smoothing down her form fitting red dress. “You can’t spend all your time holed up in the apartment studying. University is almost over! I mean, except for medical school for you, but that’s just pure drudgery. You should live a little, Molly. Let your hair down and loosen up. Even if it is currently blue.”
“I have an exam in two days,” she said with a sad smile. “But…afterward. I promise, I’ll let you and Mary drag me out for a night on the town, all right?”
Irene gave her a smile and a nod. “All right. But I’m holding it to you, Molly.” She made her way over to the table by the door and picked up her clutch before turning in a circle. “Think I’ll impress the men?”
Molly laughed. “When don’t you impress the men, Irene?” she asked.
Irene pretended to think about it. “When one of us is severely depressed and I’m in a baggy T-shirt and leggings eating ice cream and lollies with my hair pulled up in a lopsided bun, watching horribly outdated romantic films,” she said.
“I’m certain there’s some man who would find you absolutely ravishing even then,” Molly said, a smile on her face.
Irene came over and kissed Molly’s cheek. “What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”
“Luck of the draw when it came to dormitory roommates?” Molly teased.
Irene reached over and ruffled her hair. “One day your cheekiness is going to be the death of me,” she said. She made her way over to the door. “Enjoy your evening of studying.”
“Enjoy your evening winnowing through the male population of London!” Molly called out as Irene opened the door and began to leave. Irene’s throaty laugh could be heard as she stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind her. After a moment Molly picked up the remote to the brand new stereo system that Mary had gotten. It was actually rather nice, having a section for the CDs and a section for cassettes and even a section to play vinyl, which Molly appreciated, considering her vinyl collection currently took up eight crates and she doubted many of the albums would be transferred to CD any time soon as most of them weren’t even on cassette and those had been out for years. She hoped no one had put in a different CD from the last time she’d been alone, and she was rewarded by hearing “Anarchy in the U.K.” blare through the speakers. She wasn’t listening to it too loudly, but as she was the only one home it was louder than usual.
After a moment she began to hear something from the apartment on the other side of her. Something very loud. Something like…an orchestral piece. A very distinctive orchestral piece. Camille Saint-Saens’s “Danse Macabre,” if she wasn’t mistaken. Along with the banging of a fist on the wall. She picked up the remote to the stereo system and turned the music volume lower. “Turn that rubbish off!” she heard someone yell through the wall. A male voice, and rather young, from the sounds of it.
She cringed. It wasn’t all that loud, was it? “Sorry!” she called out.
“As you should be,” the person said in a huff.
She glared at the wall. “There’s no need to be rude,” she called back.
“Well, then turn the noise off,” he said.
“It’s not noise, it’s the Sex Pistols,” she said, an edge to her voice.
“It’s meaningless noise.”
“I’ll show you meaningless noise,” she said to herself before turning the volume up higher than it had been before. Johnny Rotten’s voice filled the apartment and she went back to her studying. After a moment she heard a door slam down the half and then a few seconds later there was a pounding at her apartment door. She stood up, steeling herself for a confrontation, grabbing the leather jacket that had belonged to her mother with the punk rock patches and leather spikes on it and putting it on for good measure. She was a tiny thing and it was best to look intimidating. She undid the locks and threw open the door, looking up into the most brilliant eyes she had ever seen, eyes that looked like a roiling sea one moment and the bluest sky the next.
“Turn the music down,” the man said, his voice low.
She blinked, paying attention to the rest of him. He had a rather strange looking yet oddly handsome face, and curly dark hair, and he was tall and lanky and…why was she staring at him? He was angry at her! “It wasn’t loud enough to warrant you pounding on the bloody wall,” she said, glaring at him, trying to gain the upper hand in the argument.
“Well, it is now, and I have studying to do,” he said.
“As do I,” she said. “And I want to study to the Sex Pistols, and I was here first, so you’ll just have to make do.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I lived here first,” she said. “Tenant’s rights.”
“Tenant’s rights my arse,” he said. “If anything, my rights are being violated.” He crossed his arms. “Turn it down, or I’ll bring the super into this.”
“The super adores me,” she said, mimicking his stance. “I pay my rent on time, I babysit his daughter, and I cook for him twice a week. What do you do for him?”
He stared blankly at her, his mind seemingly buffering. Finally he looked away. “You win tonight. But tomorrow, I’ll have reinforcements.”
“You’ll need them,” she said, taking a step back and shutting the door in her face. Certainly not the first impression she wanted to make on such an attractive neighbor, but when he insulted the Sex Pistols, well…she had better taste than that. Still, she thought to herself as she put her back to the door and shut her eyes, that was going to make things a wee bit awkward around here for a little while.