the boy next door « z.m.

one · /wʌn/

With an annoyed huff a small figure with his face buried in a layer of thick wool fumbles in his pockets for his apartment keys in the halls of a building above the New York skyline. His brown hair is covered in small snowflakes, each outshining the next one like small crystals. It had been snowing for a week straight and the temperatures have been dropping as well, not very pleasant circumstances to buy groceries, the man thought. One arm was wrapped around a brown paper bag with groceries inside, supporting it with his hips. »Where is the damn key?«, Liam growls to himself. November snow was something rare in New York City, but this year there was plenty of it. The only reasonable option concerning clothes are a coat with coats of pullovers underneath, a cap, a wool scarf, and warm gloves. But right now, Liam feels taken back to the time when he was dressed by his mother. And that damn key was missing too. His arm is almost giving in as his fingers get a grip on his key. An annoyed, but very relieved sigh escapes him and he's sooner inside of his apartment than he originally expected. After unwrapping all the layers of fabric he has tangled himself in before leaving, he puts the groceries away. Outside thick flakes of snow dance around the air, slowly making their way down to the ground. We are merely a week away from December and the people almost can't keep up with shoveling snow, he thinks to himself. The sudden longing for a hot shower hits him like a wave, so he hurries a little more. Before he strips down his clothes, his fingers wrap around the radio power button gently to turn up the music and the sound of the soft playing of piano fills the air like the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls he enjoys the most around Christmas time. His clothes fall to the floor one by one and as the hot water finally flows down his back a relieved sigh echoes through the bathroom. It is quite a big bathroom with a black shower to match the black sink. It's moments like these when he fully enjoys having moved to New York and having his own apartment. Due to the cold weather, he's okay with taking a little longer than usual to shower to chase the coldness stuck in his bones away. After thoroughly shampooing his hair and washing his body, he has almost convinced himself to turn the hot water off, the sound of rushing water starts on the other side of the wall. He listens closely and can soon hear the sound of faint singing that turns louder with each second. It's his invisible neighbor, he thinks to himself. Ever since he has moved here a few weeks ago, he has never once met his neighbor. Without purposely doing he, he catches himself leaning forward to the wall that separates his and his neighbor's shower and holding his breath. The voice from behind the wall sounds angelic and Liam can't get enough, he leans forward until his chest and cheek hits the cold shower wall. With his cheek and ear pressed against the wall tightly, a chill runs down his spine. How come a voice sounds like this? How come someone sounds this breathtakingly beautiful? Liam is stunned and can't stop himself from leaning even more against the wall in hopes of melting into it to fully indulge in his neighbor's singing. He's taken aback for a moment and realizes how weird he must look right now. With one last dreading press against the wall to hear the melodies a little better, he pushes himself off the wall and stops the running water. A towel around his head, a towel around his hips, and his wet feet carry him out of the bathroom to get dressed in his bedroom. While getting dressed the singing still rings in his ears and he would have caught himself humming the rhythm he just heard, if only he paid more attention. But his thoughts are everywhere but on what he is humming, it's like his head is caught in clouds. He can't stop and whenever he stops humming, his thoughts circle around his neighbor. Why? Oh, he doesn't even know himself. The urge to find out more about whoever was singing is driving him closer to insanity by the seconds passing. So he doesn't think and stomps out of his door, full of enthusiasm to find out who the singing angel is. But fate has its own ways to reveal the things we want to know oh so desperately. So before he can enter the corridor of the 25th story, he trips over something placed on the ground and doubles over. There is a small package placed right at his front door and he curses under his breath about how the postman, responsible for the skyscraper he lives in, just places the mail on the ground and leaves. Sometimes he even rings the doorbell once but is long gone before you can answer the door, at least that's Liam's experience. His hands grab the package wrapped in brown paper and he reads the beautifully flowing font written in gold. The name isn't properly visible, so Liam steps back into his apartment to decipher the name and apartment number. He can now see that it must read »25.4«, which is exactly where his neighbor is living, the invisible angelic singing neighbor to be exact, Liam thinks to himself and can't help but giggle. What a weird name to give your neighbor! But the text written on the package doesn't stop there, it reads a name underneath the apartment number. As soon as Liam deciphers it to read »Zayn Malik« his heart jumps. So his name is Zayn, he thinks, what a beautiful name for a beautiful man. He catches himself assuming that his neighbor must be beautiful, but he won't mind the thought. And an idea jumps to his mind! What if I just hand him the package and maybe get to know him better, he smiles at that. And though many voices tell him not to do so and that Zayn most likely isn't even at home, he still continues to put his plan into action. His heart is almost beating out of his chest, he feels lightheaded. But he's determined to finally see who his neighbor really is. With shaking hands, he is stood right in front of the front door that has the golden numbers reading »25.4« on it and straightens his back. Is he really going to do it? Despite discussing his decision of putting his plan into action thoroughly in his mind, he does as planned. His hands leave the brown paper shaking and sweating in a ridiculous amount, leaving him wondering why his body is making such a big fuss about nothing? His fingers touch the doorbell and press it shortly. But he can't help the anxiety rising in his chest tightening around his lungs, making him feel as if he can't breathe anymore. So instead of waiting for Zayn to open the door, his hands place the package on the ground gently and rush into his apartment again without turning back once more. Cold sweat is forming small pearls on his forehead, this can't be real! To slide down the closed door is what he wants to do, at first but then decides to peek out the peephole. And so he does. At first, nothing is happening, so he grows bored of looking through the peephole fast. He just wants to leave it and accept that he will never find out who the singing angel next door is.