Next Door || HAMZAH THE FANTSATIC

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐𝟕

Y/N

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:27

The cab pulls up to the entrance of my apartment building, the familiar hum of Toronto settling in around me. I pay the driver and grab my bags, feeling the weight of them in my hands but also a sense of relief that I'm finally back in my own space.

I step inside, and the smell of my apartment hits me first—a mix of fresh linen and the faint scent of paint. 

I drop my things by the door and pull out my phone, tapping Hamzah's name. I let it ring for a moment before I assume he's probably sleeping, considering I got home pretty early.

I sigh, tossing my phone on the couch as I start to unpack. My suitcase lies open, clothes scattered in an organized chaos around me.

As I move around my room, putting things back into their proper places, my eyes naturally drift over to the canvas in the corner of the room. 

An unfinished painting from a few weeks before I left, is still there, waiting for me. The last time I had worked on it, I was too distracted to finish.

I pause, standing there in front of it, feeling a strange tug. For a brief moment, I consider leaving it be. But my feet move on their own, and soon I'm standing in front of it, grabbing my brushes. 

As the first strokes hit the canvas, I let myself get lost in the motion, in the quiet of my room. The hum of the city outside is distant, and for once, everything feels like it's in the right place.

Then, suddenly, a loud, unmistakable scream echoes from the apartment next door. It's followed by a muffled voice shouting, 

"Oh shit—"

I freeze, brush in hand, my heart skipping a beat as I recognize the voice.

 Hamzah.

I can't help it. A soft laugh escapes me, the thought of him tripping or dropping something too funny to ignore. Probably just woke up...

Before I can even grab my phone to call him, I hear a sudden noise coming from afar, followed by the sound of footsteps running down the hallway. 

I open my door just in time to see Hamzah standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face, his hair slightly messy from sleep. 

Without a word, he rushes toward me, his arms wrapping around me in a tight, almost desperate hug.

I pause for a moment, unsure of how to react. Did something happen or is he extra emotional today?

"You're back" he says, voice muffled in my hair. I laugh softly. My arms wrap around him instinctively, and I let out a quiet sigh, the tension of the past few weeks finally easing.

"I thought you were asleep, I would've called." I reply, pulling back slightly to look at him.

"I was," he says, his tone dry, but there's a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Don't worry about it."

A pause lingers between us, and the air seems to crackle with something unsaid. It slightly takes me back to how awkward we use to be, although I can't say we're not still awkward around each other. 

His eyes drop to my lips for just a moment, and before I can think, I lean in, closing the distance between us. The kiss is slow at first, tentative, like neither of us wants to rush it. But it feels natural.

When we pull away, it's not with the usual awkwardness. It's quiet, like we're both still processing everything. 

Hamzah lets out a soft chuckle, his arms still around me as he pulls me closer. "Martin owes me 10 dollars." He slowly puts his arm around my waist to pull me into another hug. 

"Huh?—" 

"Don't worry about it," he adds quickly, his tone turning slightly more embarrassed.

I smile up at him, allowing myself to ignore his last statement. "I thought you weren't much of a physical touch guy."

He pauses, looking down at me for a moment. "How would you know?" he replies, the question coming out more curious than defensive.

"Martin told me," I answer, grinning when I see the way his face scrunches in mock horror.

"He's not wrong,"

I let the silence hang for a moment before I step back, gently pulling away from him, but not completely. 

I'm not sure what lead us to dating. Or when I first started to like him.

Maybe it was when he first offered to drive me. 

Or when he continued to always drive me...

Maybe it was at my first artwork opening.

Maybe it was just fate in the end. The fact that he was friends with Mandy.

Or maybe it was something simpler—just the quiet moments between us, where words weren't necessary, where we just existed in the same space and it was enough. 

There wasn't a single moment, a defining event, that flipped the switch from friendship to something more.

Maybe it was just the fact that we were next door  to each other all along.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you to everyone who stayed this long and waited for the last chapter. I never expected this fanfic to be #1 or get this much views 😭 so tysm. I've been so busy and delaying this chapter because I haven't found the right time but I finally sat down and did it 🙃. There will be one last chapter after this for an epilogue and please go read my other book 'Familar' if you enjoyed 'Next door'. 💓