Next Door || HAMZAH THE FANTSATIC

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟗

Y/N

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:09

I stare down at my alarm clock as I watch the seconds go up. 

6:28

Two more minutes...

While doing this, I try my best to hear any noise coming from Hamzah's apartment. I shouldn't feel nervous, he's the one who offered to bring me... every week. Still, my stomach tightens at the thought.

The more I think about it, the more my mind spins. Is he this nice to everyone? I mean... who just offers to casually drop them off somewhere daily? It feels... too effortless. Like it's second nature for him, like I'm just one more person in a long list he's gone out of his way for. 

I'm probably overthinking it. 

Without thinking, I stand up abruptly, only to freeze in place, unsure of what I'm even doing. My feet stay rooted to the ground, and for a second, I just stare at the clock. 

I suddenly hear an abrupt noise from Hamzah's apartment. I squirm to my door, pressing my face to the peephole, I peer through, trying to keep quiet.

My stomach flips the moment I see him. Hamzah is standing just outside his door, his head tilted down, staring intently at the ground. 

For a second, he looks... thoughtful, maybe even nervous. Something about the way he hesitates makes me linger longer than I should, my fingers tightening on the doorframe.

The minute my hands land on the door knob, the twisting noise sends an alert and I instantly see Hamzah's face perk up, the corner of his lips turning slightly upward. 

"Am I late?" I ask in a teasing matter as I close the door behind me, he slightly walks closer. 

"Just by a few seconds," He lets out a hesitant chuckle. We exchange a small and a small glance before he nods and leads me to his car. 

"Thanks," I say clearing my throat as I get inside.

The car smells faintly of pine, with an air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. Hamzah adjusts something on the dashboard before starting the engine, the low hum filling the silence between us.

"No problem," he finally says, his voice casual but slightly quieter than usual.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye as he reverses out of the parking spot. His hand grips the steering wheel, his focus entirely on the road, but there's a subtle tension in his jaw, like he's thinking of something to say.

"Do you usually wake up this early?" I ask, hoping to sound nonchalant.

He snorts softly, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "Not unless I have to."

I stare at him as his attention goes from the road to me. Suddenly his expression changes slightly and his eyes dart back to the road. 

"Don't worry," he says with a faint smile, his tone lighter now, "I won't fall asleep."

I let out a small laugh, more out of relief than anything else. 

"So you're really willing to wake up at 6:30 every Tuesday?" I ask without facing him, somewhat out of embarrassment— although in the corner of my eye, I catch the faint smile still lingering on his lips.

"I'm already getting used to it." He jokes and I let myself smile aside him. 

"At least on Thursdays I can sleep in till exactly— 1pm?" He asks, slightly furrowing his eyebrows and I nod along as a response, though I can't help but feel a little amused by how much he's memorised of my routine.