Next Door || HAMZAH THE FANTSATIC

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

Y/N

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:02

The minute I leave my apartment, I immediately look over at Room 407. I can't help but feel restless when I remember that he knew my name, but the only way I could remember his name was through him and his friend's excessive screaming.

I let out a deep sigh as I picked up the large canvas for my assignment. I mentally prepare myself to grip it for at least 30 minutes until I reach college. But I know this would all be easier if I just got a dorm there. I can't bring myself to go to any type of public transport as well, holding a canvas; the stares would physically and mentally kill me. Plus I am not able to drive.. and at my big age.

Just as I'm about to head down the four flights of stairs, I hear a door creak open. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of my neighbour from 407—Hamzah. Our eyes meet for a brief second. Without thinking, I offer him a small, awkward smile, and to my relief, he smiles back.

Although I've only encountered Hamzah a few times,  it's hard to miss. He's got this warm, olive-toned skin that seems to glow in the light, and his dark curls fall just perfectly like they're always a little windswept. He's tall, almost too tall, and broad-shouldered in a way that makes him look strong without being overly built.

"You good?" he asks, clearing his throat.

I feel my face flush, suddenly aware that I probably don't look my best right now. I straighten up and try to compose myself.

"Yup!" I respond a little too quickly. He tilts his head, noticing the canvas in my hands, and gives me a confused look, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Think that's gonna fit in your car?" he asks, giving me an awkward smile. My face warms immediately.

"Ah, I don't have a car," I mumble, turning to face him properly. His eyes widen a bit, and he clears his throat.

"Oh, sorry—uh, do you need help then? Where are you headed?" he asks in one breath. I stare at him for a moment, a little taken aback by his sudden concern.

"My college"

He seems to process that for a second, then his expression softens, and there's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Ah, okay. That's cool." He shifts on his feet, looking a little unsure but still standing there like he wants to offer help.

I try to read his face, but he's hard to figure out. There's a kind of gentleness in the way he's looking at me, though, and it makes me feel a little less awkward.

"Do you... need a ride?" he asks, hesitating for a second like he's not sure if it's too forward.

I blink, surprised. "Really?"

He shrugs casually like it's no big deal. "Yeah, why not? I've got room."

I pause for a moment, weighing my options. A small, irrational thought crosses my mind—what if he's some kind of murderer? But then I quickly push it aside, reminding myself that it's ridiculous.

I take a breath, wondering if I'm making a huge mistake, but the idea of carrying this canvas around for the next half hour is enough to make me say yes.

He clears his throat to catch my attention.

"You don't have to say yes―"

"No! I actually really need a ride. Please..." I mumble, cutting him off before I can even finish processing my words.

There's a brief silence, and I can feel my cheeks heat up. Why did I say it like that? It came out sounding way more desperate than I meant.

"Okay, no problem," he says with a shrug as if it's no big deal. He gestures to the backseat, and I awkwardly slide the canvas in, trying not to knock anything over. As we both step back, I catch a glimpse of his face, his expression calm, like helping me out isn't a big deal.

He clears his throat again, glancing at me to see if I've changed my mind before heading to the car.

I take a deep breath and climb into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the tiny flutter in my stomach. We're both quiet for a moment, and I can feel the tension from earlier slowly start to fade.

"So," he starts, glancing at me as he adjusts the rearview mirror, "where exactly are we headed?"

"My college," I say, trying to sound casual.

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. "You're an artist?". For a moment, I give him a blank stare before quickly facing back.

"No, I just bring a large canvas with me when I'm bored." I joke, letting out a small chuckle, then immediately regretting it. At first, he looks a bit puzzled; then he has that 'Oh' expression on his face.

"No, but yeah," I add quickly, feeling a little awkward. "I mean... I'm trying to be one."

He nods thoughtfully, his gaze soft.

"I bet you're great," he murmurs, almost to himself.

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