Chapter Text
At 6 am sharp, 3y woke up. Even though he lived just two blocks away from work, he still felt like he needed three hours to get ready and make sure everything was ready and organized for work, always arriving an hour early. He was a denominator, which meant he felt like he needed to work harder to prove he was as good and as equal as those numerators.
He climbed out of his stark white bedsheets, which he washed every other day. He did his usual morning tasks, making the bed, brushing his teeth for exactly two minutes, and boiling some water in the kettle for his daily jasmine tea. Then, turning on the news for his usual information intake, watching his favorite weatherman.
He yawned. The upstairs neighbor has been as annoying as always, blasting his trashy music till 3 in the morning.
3y was not having a great start to his day.
He walked to work and arrived an hour early so he could get some extra work done. He was sitting at his desk and yawned. He checked his watch, and it displayed 9:00, so he could just sit and wait for his colleagues to arrive.
Accounting wasn't his favorite, but it paid the bills, and his colleagues were alright. His best friend at the office was 2x, who worked in MR, and sat across the room facing his desk. 3y, usually a very hard-working person, but when he was around 2x, work felt like it was the least of his priorities. He wanted to hate him for making him unfocused, but sometimes 2x was the only good thing in his day, and he really, really couldn't stay mad at him.
2x was a numerator, and numerators were usually stuck-up and privileged, but not 2x; he was more grounded and less prejudiced than any numerator 3y had ever met. They got along great, but were just work friends, and never talked or hung out outside of the office.
3y was in the break room, filling up his mug with tea for the second time this morning, when he felt someone grab his shoulders from behind and shook 3y as hard as they could
"Piss off dickhead" 3y said through gritted teeth. It was his least favorite person, 7b.
7b and 3y used to be friendly, but when 7b realized that 3y was more likely to get a promotion from their boss, π, he started getting more competitive and a lot meaner.
"If it isn't my favorite Fatser," 7b sneered with that awful smirk he had.
"Oh fuck off,f you degenerate slug.g" It was 2x, coming to his rescue, even though he didn't even need it. His hair was a curly mess,s and he had dark eye bags seeping into his face. His tie was crooked,d and his pants looked like they hadn't been picked off the floor in days.
7b scowled and stormed off to his desk while muttering something rude under his breath. 3y breathed a sigh of relief and half-heatedly told off 2x.
"I really didn't need you to step in; I was going to deal with him myself."
"Yeah, yeah, it sure looked like you were dealing with it,t" he replied while raising an eyebrow at the hot water that spilled all over the bench and floor after 7b's shake down. He grinned at 3y and walked out of the break room. 3y rolled his eyes and followed.
Work was a drag, and apart from a couple of times where he got distracted with 2x and definitely did not start planning revenge on 7b, it was boring. 3y was dreaming of getting home and doing his own things for once. He used to always work late, to get more work done, and to prove himself worthy of a promotion.
He always wanted a job like the one he has now, where he would earn a respectable wage, because it is what his family always wanted for him. He didn't come from much, so he wanted to make his family proud by making his own way in life and having a good, secure job. But more and more lately, he's been feeling doubtful about what he wants to do; his job is boring, and 3y feels he could be doing so much more with his life.
His days are unfulfilling,g and he finds himself daydreaming about what else he could be doing;g, he could be a musician, or an occupational therapist, but really anything but his current job would be nice.
3y had been less of a workaholic, had started to focus on his well-being, and had picked up music again. He used to play piano when he was younger, and has rediscovered his love for the arts.
3y decides to finish early, mostly because he had done most of his work, but partly because 2x had fallen asleep at his desk and it did not look like he was waking up any time soon.
3y closed his laptop and pushed out his chair. He smiled at 2x and didn't manage to stop himself before that stupid jump in his chest happened again. 3y sighed and hurried out of the door before any distracting thoughts took over his mind.
3y wished he hadn't walked to work, because he was severely less energetic than his morning self, and all he wanted to do was lie down and take a nap. He finally arrived at his apartment after 30 minutes of walking in the grueling summer heat.
He tossed his bag down by the kitchen bench and threw himself onto the divan. He stared at the ceiling and probably thought about a certain messy-haired coworker a bit too much. He sighed; it was probably the heat, playing tricks on his mind.
3y changed out of his work clothes and got into his one comfortable outfit: a loose blue T-shirt and gray sweat pants. He walks over to the piano, sits down, and takes a deep breath.
Just as he is about to play something, he hears a door above him slam. "shit" he thinks,s "it's my upstairs neighbor". His neighbor's arrival means no good; it means that it isn't long before his shitty music starts. He huffs, frustrated, and starts playing.
He starts playing "Clair De Lune" and closes his eyes; this was his favorite song when he used to play. He was made to stop playing when he was 18, because he would have had to pay for lessons himself, and he couldn't afford that. His lessons were the only place he could play, because he didn't have one at home, so he was forced to completely give up one of the only safe spaces he had for himself.
He continued playing and lost track of time. He wasn't a great player by any means, but there was something about how the notes rang throughout the room that was so satisfying, so he just continued playing.
After a particularly bad string of wrong notes, 3y paused and thought to himself, chuckling, Noww I'm the one playing the bad music." he suddenly remembered his neighbor, what was his neighbor doing? He listened out for his trademark music, but he only heard the sweet sound of silence.
3y laughed to himself, finally, one afternoon when he didn't have obnoxious techno art rock thumping from the apartment above him. While his pasta was cooking, he slouched on his couch and put on 9-1-1, one of his favorite shows.
Sometime after Eddie gets shot, 3y must've fallen asleep, and woke up to his fire alarm attempting to harmonize with his neighbor's stupid,d shitty tunes.
Fuck.
He leaped up and turned off his stove and doused his burnt, smoking pasta in cold water. While he was transferring the pasta to the sink, the pot touched his wrist and left a large, angry red burn.
"FUCK" he yelped, crouching on the floor of the kitchen, holding his wrist in agony.
He sighed, he really needs to be more careful nowadays. He hears a knock at his door and quickly rushes to his door whilst still cradling his wrist. Hee opens the door, and he must have looked really disheveled because his next-door neighbor, 9a, gives him a strange, sympathetic look.
"Are you alright,t mate?" he asks with his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
" Yeah, I'm fine,e" 3y answers quickly.
"I just heard-".
"I just had a little incident with my dinner, er," 3y replied shortly, not in the mood to discuss his absent-minded fuck up.
9a, looking awkward, tries to make conversation, "That bloody music is awful, huh?"
3y nods, holding a cold towel to his wrist, smiling in agreement through gritted teeth.
"Ya know, 4c, from 2 doors down, tried to report him to the landlord, but apparently that dick is his uncle or some shit, so he did nothing".
3y lifted his head and met 9a's eyes,. This is something he was actually interested in. He needed to do some digging.
"Well, uhh…. thanks for checking on me 9a, but I'm pretty beat, so I'm just gonna….." 3y gestured to his couch, and 9a understood. He turned to leave,e but then 3y quickly added.
"Oh, and uh, keep me updated on the music situation, OK?"
9a smiled politely and nodded, then quickly shuffled out the door. 3y slammed the door and slumped up against it, holding his throbbing wrist. He sighed and closed his eyes. He had a blooming headache in the back of his head, and the booming vibrations from the music were not helping at all.
He made a frustrated grunt and started thinking. If the landlord wasn't going to fix this problem, then he would do it himself. 3y wrapped up his wrist with a damp cloth, threw on a hoodie, and stormed out of his apartment.
He had never actually met his upstairs neighbor; he had only ever heard him arriving at his apartment and playing his music. So he didn't actually know anything about him except what music he liked. His anger was growing redder and larger as he made his way down the hall and up to the stairs. "How dare he disrupt my sleep?" "What right does he have?"
As 3y stomped up the stairs, he thought of all the sleepless nights and stressful evenings he had had because of his stupid neighbor. He paused, and remembered that he didn't actually know where this dude lived, so 3y went slower, listening to the music and going towards wherever it was the loudest.
3y walked up to the apartment number 87, and he thinks this is it. He could hear every word, and the door was literally vibrating from the volume.
3y took a deep breath before banging on the door as loud as he possibly could.
Shit.
He forgot about his burn. He clenched his teeth and tried not to scream as his mystery neighbor came up to the other side of the door. His anger burned brighter than ever because of his reawakened pain in his wrists. He tried to compose himself as he heard the door click open.
He was about to face his archenemy.
When the door finally opened, he was met with messy long hair, unkempt clothes, and a wicked grin. And suddenly, all his anger dissipated.
It was 2x