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Alaric wasn't necessarily a violent person by nature, but he was just about ready to gut someone.
More specifically, whoever the prick was next door that thought it was appropriate to blast music at—Alaric rolled over in his bed, searching for the red LED numbers amongst the darkness of his room—ten o'clock at night. Alaric huffed, continuing to roll until he was flat on his stomach. He reached for his pillow before smothering himself in an attempt at self asphyxiation, yanking the sheets to cover the entirety of himself for extra measure.
For most younger than Alaric it was still early hours of the night, but as he crept further into his thirties, Alaric much preferred to be in bed and asleep by nine o'clock latest.
Beside, the no noise rule stated all tenants were required to keep noise to a minimum after eight o'clock. Yet still, trashy rock music continued to seep through the thin walls of Alaric's apartment. He couldn't even find amusement in the discordant belching along with the music that would have under other circumstances made Alaric laugh, because right now he was mad, and tired, and tired of being tired.
So from underneath Alaric's makeshift den where the air was beginning to grow dense, he threw the covers from himself and sat up straight. With a mission and an insatiable urge to murder his neighbour, Alaric marched out his apartment.
Of course once he actually stood at his neighbour's upside down welcome mat so it read 'emoclew', he wasn't so confident in his initial idea to kick the door down like he'd seen in those cop shows. So he stood still a moment, conjuring an internal monologue that would be sure to show the other until he'd mustered the gall to knock on the door.
He rapped at the door a few times, before crossing his arms over his chest.
From inside, the music quietened so Alaric could hear the padding of feet approaching the door before the chiming of locks unlocking sounded. When the door swung open, Alaric immediately lost any remnant of a script he'd prepared at the sight of the man that appeared in the now vacant doorway.
A set of dark, thick eyebrows that took up thirty percent of the man's face—the remaining percentage being all chiselled bone and sharp edges—perched atop his eyes in a straight line to form a formidable resting bitch face. Underneath the man's bed shirt Alaric suspected there to be yards more of flawless skin.
Alaric had been quiet for approximately ten seconds too long before the other spoke. "I don't remember calling for a male stripper, but by all means." The man's gaze raked over a still stunned Alaric before scooting to make way in the doorway. "I hope you accept coupons as payment. I can't guarantee they're not expired but I can toss them like dollar bills, if that helps."
"No, I—" Alaric's face scrunched up in confusion—"What?"
"Can't blame me for assuming." The man gestured to all of Alaric who gazed down at himself. "You're certainly dressed the part."
Of course, in Alaric's rush to tell the other off he'd waltzed out his apartment clad in just his boxers. Suddenly, Alaric felt very exposed, and his cheeks quickly flushed. Fighting against the urge to turn tail and book it back to his apartment, Alaric grit his teeth.
"No, I'm not a stripper," Alaric huffed, ignoring the other's disappointed awh. "I came to tell you to turn off your music. Some of us have actual jobs we need to be well rested for in the morning."
"I'm sorry, really. I get it." The other man offered an exaggerated nod, leaning himself against his door frame. "You need your rest, stripping is a taxing job."
"I'm not a stripper," Alaric repeated, massaging his temples.
"Apologies, is exotic dancer the proper terminology?" The man hit a palm against his head in a deprecating manor. "I meant no offence."
Alaric was gobsmacked, staring on at the other with exasperation.
"The offer still stands..." the man trailed off, glancing behind him into his dim apartment. Alaric shook his head before turning on his heel, beelining it for his apartment.
The next night was a repeat of the last. After a lovely glass of bourbon, Alaric had tucked himself into bed, which is when the music started. He'd tossed and turned, seethed and hoped the music would stop for the best part of an hour. It did not.
Alaric sat up, although hesitated this time at the memory of what a nutcase his neighbour was. At least that gave him time to remember to actually clothe himself. He pointedly tugged a stray shirt over his head, and stepped into a pair of nearby slacks before storming out the door.
He banged on the door, standing strong with hands perched atop his hips. This time, it took much longer for the music to shut off, and for the footsteps to approach the door. Not to worry, this time Alaric was fully aware of the absolute smoke show that was his neighbour, as annoying as it was to admit. He wouldn't be caught off guard, and would be able to effectively tell the dick off.
He was wrong.
Alaric's neighbour stood before him, exposed body drenched as his hand held a towel in place around his waist rather non-committedly, allowing it to hang dangerously low on his hip. Alaric watched on with wide eyes as a droplet of water travelled down the other's abdomen, fleeing passed the cover of the towel.
Alaric forcefully tore his gaze upward to the other's smiling face, a mildly less distracting sight.
"Off the clock?" The man's eyes trailed over Alaric's clothed form with a pout.
Alaric heaved out a sigh, deciding he liked the other much better when he wasn't running his mouth. "Still not a stripper."
"Shame." The man clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "What are you, then?"
"A teacher."
"Subject?"
Alaric cocked his head at the conversational tone that their exchange which was supposed to be an argument had taken. "History," he responded suspiciously.
"Double shame," the man sighed. "History was a drag."
Alaric tamped down the great offence he'd taken from that comment, because seriously? The maturity of this man was on par with that of the overly hormonal teenagers he taught. His opinion really shouldn't matter to him.
"History's great," Alaric let out, indignant. He couldn't help himself.
The man in the doorway offered a doubtful look.
Alaric rolled his eyes, then rubbed the bridge of his nose, the combo he pulled in class to let his students know he was really fed up. "Look, I didn't come over here to be social with you."
"Then perhaps physical?"
Alaric gave the other a look. "Are you sure you're not the stripper?"
The man laughed. "I could be for the right price. Tell you what, I'll give you a fifty percent discount for the first dance."
"Yeah?" Alaric breathed out, then caught himself. "No—Yeah no," he corrected.
The man cocked his head, raising a brow.
"Can you just turn down the music?" Alaric rushed out, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
"What music?"
"The music—" had stopped, Alaric realised. "Right, thanks," he said awkwardly. The two stared at the other a moment before Alaric jabbed a thumb in the direction of his apartment.
The man smiled. "Night, teach."
"Goodnight," Alaric spoke, before retreating to the comfort of his room.
The next few nights had been uneventful, and quiet. Yet Alaric had still been having trouble getting to sleep with how much the man next door occupied Alaric's thoughts. The guy didn't even have to be talking to be annoying, or doing anything for that matter. Just knowing he was on the other side of the wall made Alaric's skin itch.
At some point, he'd asked another neighbour the name of the mystery man next door. It turned out his name was Damon Salvatore, but that did little to appease his curiosity.
After the second night of silence from the other side, Alaric gave in and held an ear to the wall. All he heard was quiet humming and guessed the other had finally began to wear headphones. Alaric frowned. Though he should be happy; he was happy.
But that obviously wasn't the case when he was overtly pleased upon seeing Damon's car parked in Alaric's assigned lot, and was overly eager for the opportunity to march right back to Damon's apartment.
It was his carpark and Damon had no right parking his stupid Camaro in it, Alaric told himself. Although he knew very well the actual reason he currently stood outside the other's door, hand held before it at the ready.
A singular knock to the door later and it opened almost instantly; Alaric hadn't even heard the footsteps.
"I wondered when you'd come back," Damon smirked, crossing his arms all self assured like. He was dressed this time, much to Alaric's relief—dismay? Though his shirt left very little to the imagination with the way the fabric strained over his biceps.
"You act like I wanted to," Alaric scoffed.
"Didn't you?"
To avoid lying—Alaric was a very bad liar—he rolled his eyes. "Your car's in my park."
Damon gasped, and Alaric bit his lip to prevent a smirk. "It can't be. I could have sworn on my own mother that was my park!" his voice was drenched in sarcasm, not even trying to hide it.
Alaric shook his head. "Your poor mother."
"I'll move it first thing in the morning," Damon vowed with a hand to his chest.
There, problem solved. That should have been the end of the conversation. Alaric could go back to his apartment, now. So, why didn't he? For the same reason Damon bit his lip at Alaric, eyes heavy.
"I'm not sure that's soon enough, Damon," Alaric pressed slyly.
Damon's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's hardly fair. You know my name but I don't know yours?" he prompted, stretching the conversation just that bit further.
"Alaric Saltzman." The former held out a hand before him. Damon slid their palms together, his index finger sneaking to hover over Alaric's wrist, right over the pulse point that was surely hammering right about now. Damon hummed.
"Mr. Saltzman," Damon tried the name out, letting it roll off his tongue, roll right over Alaric, travelling down his spine in a sensation that pricked underneath his skin.
Damon poked a foot out into the hallway before he began taking steps forward. Alaric squinted at the other's antics, but allowed Damon to walk them both to the wall behind him. Damon's palm pushed against Alaric's chest, before he let it slide to the other's shoulder.
Alaric rested his own palm atop the other's hip, looking down at Damon with a smirk. Damon's hand moved from Alaric's shoulder to cup the taller's neck instead, guiding him closer at the same time Damon leaned in further. Damon let his lips brush against Alaric's bottom one, and smiled as Alaric's tongue flicked out, swiping against the seam of Damon's own lips.
But then he pulled back suddenly, jangling a pair of keys in Alaric's face before setting off down the hallway. Suffering from whiplash, Alaric watched on, dazed, as the other sauntered down the hallway, hips swinging in a purposely teasing manor.
After the incident it had been quiet between both parties. Days had passed since Alaric last arrived at the other's doorstep. Music no longer kept Alaric awake at night, and his carpark remained rightfully his. Although he had still noticed traces of Damon throughout the apartment block; recyclables began to pile up outside his door, his packed letterbox had began to spill onto the post room's floor, and Alaric had even spotted a load of Damon's clothing still in their apartment's communal washing machine hours after its cleaning cycle had ended.
They were all small things, but Alaric suspected Damon to be laying crumbs down that lead to the mouse trap with a fat piece of cheese in the centre, (Alaric was the mouse in this metaphor).
And it was tempting, it was. But Alaric didn't like being baited very much, so he'd opted for the waiting game.
It turns out Damon wasn't a patient man, as mere days later there was a knock at Alaric's door this time. Alaric smirked as he stared the door down. He didn't reach for it immediately, instead scampered around his room, rustling papers and opening drawers, taking his sweet time as though he was busy. The second knock was louder, and Alaric finally made for it, mustering his best indifferent expression before swinging the door open.
"You took too damn long," Damon huffed out instantly, mouth morphed into a straight line. "You didn't take my bait," he said simply.
"You certainly snagged mine," Alaric abandoned his bored expression, grinning at the other who stood indignant before him.
Damon tilted his head at the other, but didn't say a word. Instead, he walked away. He walked away. Alaric furrowed his brows as he poked his head out into the hallway, catching the last glimpse of Damon's smug expression as he disappeared into his apartment. His door closed, but not all the way. Alaric huffed out an exasperated laugh at the gap of the unlocked door, all too inviting.
"Unbelievable," Alaric murmured, walking toward the other's apartment as he took the bait.