Chapter Text
With a binder full of papers tucked in the crook of his arm and the keys to his little apartment in his free hand, Doctor Otto Octavius began the trudge up the stairs to the fourth floor. It was ah long day, dreary at best, and he was trying his best to not be bogged down in the negative details. Mr. Osborne would always be like that, so it didn’t help to dwell on it.
Otto heard a snide chuckle in the stairwell a floor above and felt his mood sour again. Trent, a college student and resident of the third floor who apparently had nothing better to do most of the time, was just another bully in the doctor’s life. He almost always seemed to be on the third floor’s foyer when Otto was coming home from work, ready with a snarky jab about the doctor’s weight or lack of social life. Otto sighed and prepared to ignore the young man’s cajoling as he ascended, but as he rounded the third floor flight he realized that Trent’s attention was directed above.
“God, you look like a circus juggler,” Trent snorted just before Otto heard a clatter on the staircase above.
“Gee thanks, always wanted to run away with the circus.” The voice was feminine and carried a slight southern lilt, and Otto turned at the railing to see a woman trying to gather a tumbled pile of belongings into a haphazard stack on top of a box. She carefully stood up, balancing her things precariously, and Otto had to admit that she did rather look like a performer, especially with the yellow bandana she was wearing. Her hair was messy from exertion, as well as a little misty with sweat, and she made a face at a piece that fell into her eyes as she wobbled.
“Hey Octavius, check it out: now we have two freaks living on one floor! Maybe I oughta charge admission or something.”
At the mention of his name, the woman looked at Otto, momentarily losing her balance and dropping a few things from her stack. Something cracked. “Dang it!” She growled in frustration at the loss, but Otto rushed up the steps to gather the items. “Oh, gosh, thanks. You can just put those on top.”
Otto looked between the books and cracked picture frame in his hands to the top of the stack she was carrying, which was higher than her head. Now that he was on level ground with her, he realized that she was only a couple inches taller than himself. “M-ma’am, I... don’t think that’s such a good idea. Let me help you, p-please…”
From what he could see behind the stack, she relaxed at the offer of help. “Oh thank you. The moving truck was charging by time and I figured it wouldn’t be hard to get the last of it by myself. I… seem to have been mistaken.”
“Bit off more than she could chew? Big mouth, sounds kinda nice, heh.” Trent chuckled darkly, but he’d never harassed Otto beyond mere words, so the timid doctor ignored the comment as a crude jab, pocketed his keys, and adjusted his binder to take more from her arms.
“Lead the way,” he said awkwardly, and the woman nodded before continuing up the stairs.
When they reached the fourth floor, Otto saw that the door of the apartment next to his was ajar, propped open by a cardboard box. The woman led the way inside and made a sweeping motion with her foot while she struggled with her load. “You can just set it on the floor in here.” Looking around the conjoined kitchen/living-room, he saw a dark green couch and a coffee table—both with several boxes on them—pushed against the wall, a tall bookshelf crookedly dividing the room, and a rug rolled up in the far corner. It looked much like his own apartment, albeit mirrored, but somehow, despite the fact that she hadn’t even settled in, it felt warmer than his, cozier even.
Otto set the stack of books on the floor next to the couch while she rummaged in the kitchen. Watching as she set her box on the kitchen counter he said, “I’m… sorry you had to deal with T-Trent like that. He’s a nuisance, a-and a bully, but he’s never harmed anyone to my knowledge. I-I wouldn’t be too concerned about what he said.” Crass as it may have been, he mentally added.
“Thanks, but I’m used to dealing with his type. Don’t worry. Oh!” She spun around and opened the fridge, pulling out a small bottle of apple juice. “Would you like something to drink?” Looking at the bottle, she said, “It’s uh, still a little warm—I only put it in, like, 20 minutes ago. I’d offer you a glass of water, but I haven’t unpacked my glasses yet!” Her eyes wrinkled with her nervous grin, as if squinting from the brightness her smile shone. Otto found himself wanting to bask in that glow.
It was unusual to him to be offered a drink after knowing someone for only three minutes, even if it were only apple juice, but he hesitantly accepted with an outstretched hand. “You… You didn't have to offer either,” he said, “really.”
She laughed. “Well, if my mama taught me anything as a kid, it was the importance of good hospitality.” She passed him the bottle before grabbing another for herself out of the refrigerator. Twisting it open with a crack seemed to make her jump to her senses and she smiled bashfully, saying, “Ha, I should probably introduce myself.” The woman bowed slightly with closed eyes as she said, “Miss Sylvester Stone, but you can call me Sylvie or Sly if you like. I suppose I'm your floor-neighbor, according to Trent, Mr…?”
Sylvester smiled brightly again as she offered her hand to shake his. Otto stared at it for a moment, but he felt a sudden ease at the professional greeting. “Dr. Otto Octavius—but please, call me Otto.” Otto even managed a small smile at the end as he took her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sylvie.”
Her eyebrows raised when she grinned. “Ah, a doctor! Apologies.” Sylvie finally took a drink before she asked, “What are you a doctor of, medicine?”
“E-Engineering, with a masters in biology,” he replied, knowing it was never what people expected. Whenever he said “Dr. Octavius” people imagined a skilled surgeon, or at least a GP. He was used to the mild disappointment people got when they found out their new acquaintance wasn't useful to them, however involuntary a thought it may be.
Sylvester was different, though. Her eyes lit up like a child's and she excitedly said, “I love biology! I minored in it for my illustrative design degree!”
A wave of relief washed over him, quickly followed by curiosity. “Biology and illustration?” Otto asked, fiddling with the wrapper on the juice bottle in his hands.
Sylvie chuckled awkwardly. “I wanted to illustrate textbooks, but that didn't work out. Not yet, at least,” she explained. “I work in a bakery decorating cakes, so at least I'm putting those art classes to good use.”
Of course she's a baker, he thought with a small, amused smile, she's the sweetest person I've ever met. “...Do you enjoy it?”
“I love it.” She smiled fondly, eyes focusing in the distance on some memory before looking back to Otto. “Making people happy the way we do makes every inconvenience worth it. Fun birthday cakes for a little kid, anniversaries for an older couple… My favorites are proposals, they get so excited they shake sometimes!”
She laughed in a joyful kind of way as she thought about the many happy customers, and Otto thought it was the most pleasant sound he'd ever heard. He could practically feel a swelling in his chest as he imagined what she was seeing. Sylvie glanced at the clock and cut herself off suddenly, ending Otto's thoughts as well.
“Eight-Thirty already? Gosh!” She held a hand to her head and chuckled. “I hate to be rude but…” Sylvie looked around the room full of boxes, then shrugged apologetically. “...I should probably unpack my bedroom, at least.” Even as Otto was nodding bashfully and muttering his assurances that he wouldn't bother her anymore, she playfully said, “Unless you want to help!”
He tilted his head curiously, confused. She noticed and quickly added, “That was a joke, I don’t expect you to help.” Otto noticed her turn a little red as she rambled, “Ha, I wouldn't ask that of you. That would be presumptuous and I barely know you. Unless you genuinely want to help, but maybe not tonight seeing as I only met you five minutes ago and I don't know anything about you!” She laughed nervously, aware of her monologue, then stopped. After shuffling to the door, she removed the box propping it open and held it herself. “Otto! Thank you once again!” She bowed theatrically and held one arm out the door. It wasn't demanding, rather respectful actually, but Otto found himself rushing out of her apartment to avoid overstaying his welcome. As he passed her she lost her anxious edge and smiled. “Enjoy your juice,” she said, and Otto looked down to realize he hadn't even opened it yet.
“Ah, y-yes. Thank you, Miss Sylvie.” Otto gave her a small, appreciative smile and nodded in return before taking the final step over the threshold. She waved before closing the door, and Otto instantly felt the loss of all the warmth and sunshine that radiated off of her. The hallway around him seemed dreary and dull in comparison, all but the cool bottle of juice in his hand. He felt it slowly begin to warm from his body heat, so he finally opened it before taking a sip.
It was refreshing and sweet, like her. He never went out of his way to drink anything but water and coffee, something trained into him as a young boy. Drinks like this were frivolous to his mother, and he grew out of the habit of craving them when she so frequently denied his requests as a child. After fishing the keys from his pocket and opening the door of his apartment, Otto went straight to the kitchen. He poured it into one of his nicer glasses, something tall and without any chips, then added some ice for good measure. A gift like this from someone like her needed to be properly appreciated.
Standing in his sad little kitchen didn't exactly fit his idea of “appreciation,” but a glance around his apartment didn't bring up a better place to enjoy it. He took another sip, and it was much cooler this time. The room around him seemed to brighten, if only slightly, as if she were in the room with him. He sighed wistfully as he thought about the encounter, quietly testing the shape of her name in his mouth between sips and feeling like a schoolboy once again. He dreaded the thought of falling for someone once again, but he understood that his mother was no longer here to interfere with his personal life. He was his own man, capable of making his own decisions.
His expression soured angrily. Well, not when it came to Mr. Osborne. He quickly drowned that thought with the apple juice, draining the glass and leaving him with a few ice cubes clinking around at the bottom. Hm. The realization brought him back to reality, back to his quiet, dismal apartment. Oh well, I should probably work on the notes I brought home with—
Otto looked around his apartment, then remembered he left it under the stack of books he'd carried into Sylvie's apartment. He could have hit himself. Otto fretted for a moment, wringing his hands and debating if he should bother her again. He heard a thump from the other side of the wall followed by some mumbling, then decided against it. No, she clearly didn't want any more company tonight. I'd just be in the way…
He resolved to ask her about it the next time he saw her. They weren't important anyways, just adjustments to a personal project that could easily wait a few days. It wasn't like he didn't have extra copies on his computer at OsCorp. His stomach grumbled, and Otto realized that it was now 8:43 pm, and he hadn’t eaten since his lunch break at 1:00. Otto washed out the glass and set it on the counter to dry before opening the freezer. It was only populated by a few frozen dinners and an ice tray, and as he pulled out a box of a Schtofa’s macaroni & cheese he idly wondered if Sylvie was a cook as well as baker.
A quieter thump through the wall, this time from her bedroom. He… didn't want to admit that waiting to retrieve his binder would offer another opportunity to speak with his new neighbor.