Chapter Text
When Kayn gets home from work on a normal, boring Thursday no different than any other normal, boring Thursday in his life, the last thing he expects to see is a tan moped in the spot where he usually parks his motorcycle.
He can’t say he knows everyone who lives in his apartment complex, but he’s been living here for two years now, and he’s never seen another bike in this parking lot. On top of that, it’s in one of the reserved spots for residents, not visitors. So either someone’s recently upgraded their ride, or someone new’s just moved in. And in either case, if there’s another biker in his building, he’s interested in knowing who.
He pulls his bike around to another corner of the cramped city lot to park. The recycling dumpster he walks past on his way in is stuffed full of cardboard, the remnants of broken-down boxes with moving company logos plastered on them in fading ink. So, new resident.
Kayn keeps an eye out as he walks through the lobby; the welcome desk and the support offices are in another building, so it’s not like there’s anything to really see. But he still glances along the row of mailboxes marked with names, listens for the sounds of commotion on the floors above. Unsurprisingly, he notices nothing—it is a four-story building, so there’s no reason a newcomer would linger on this floor.
The last week of August is passing him by, which means a new semester is about to start for the city’s colleges. With that in mind, he wouldn’t be surprised if this is just another student moving in right before the school year begins. But the building in which Kayn lives is not huge, and he’s run into most of its residents at some point or another since moving in. If there’s an unfamiliar face around, he’ll get to know who it belongs to soon enough. Especially if it’s someone in the habit of biking.
Kayn’s suspicions are confirmed when the elevator door opens onto the fourth floor, where his apartment sits at the end of a long hall, and a new welcome mat sits in front of one of the doors. Notably, the door directly adjacent to his apartment. Oh, yeah. That one had been empty for the past month or two.
He glances at the nameplate, but it still reads R. Konte, the name of the woman who’d been living there previously. The mat on the carpet simply reads “Welcome!” in a curly cursive font, decorated with pink flowers around the edge. Kind of not what he’d expect from someone with a motorcycle license, but whatever.
He fishes his keys out of his pocket, turning this mystery over in his head. He’s gotten fairly used to the people he shares the fourth floor with: a short-haired woman who’s invited him over for tea before, an obnoxiously affectionate couple he thankfully does not share a wall with, a dancer at Navori’s college for the arts, a blind man who he’s never seen use a cane, someone down the hall he’s never actually seen but who he assumes is an artist given the constant deliveries of paint and canvases. And a biker with pink and white flowers on their welcome mat.
Huh. Well, he’s sure he’ll meet them eventually, whether he wants to or not. And he can’t help but admit that his curiosity has been piqued.
Kayn pushes open his plain front door, hearing it squeak on its hinges. He leaves his keys haphazardly on their hook on the wall. He takes off his boots, hangs up his jacket in the closet, throws his beat-up bag onto the living room chair. Rummages through his refrigerator for a can of soda after a long week at the tattoo studio where he works.
He doesn’t mean to listen through the wall. But as he settles onto his couch, his home falling silent again, the voice catches his ear. It carries gently over the various thumps and scrapes coming from the apartment next to his, presumably the sound of boxes being unpacked and furniture being moved. It’s just the one voice—no roommates, no one helping with the unpacking. Too soft for him to pick out a song, or lyrics. Just loud enough to keep him coming back to it when his attention wanders from the shitty Netflix drama he’s been watching or the string of notifications from Akali in a group chat they share with some coworkers. Just loud enough for him to notice how pretty it is.
Briefly, Kayn thinks about going over, knocking on the door and introducing himself. Just as quickly, he pushes away the idea. It would be way too awkward, especially if she’d just moved in earlier today. And he doesn’t know what the fuck he’d say other than “hi, I’m your neighbor.”
Whatever. They’d run into each other eventually. Until then, he’d try not to think too hard about the owner of the angelic voice echoing through his quiet apartment.