HufflepuffHolland's Writing Collection

The Neighbors // Sam Holland

By Hufflepuffholland on Tumblr

Pairing: Aspiring Musician!Sam Holland + Gender Neutral!Reader

Prompt: You live next to an aspiring musician, and you almost go your whole time not knowing them. Until one day, your mail is left in his mailbox.

-

Living next to an aspiring musician had its perks. You'd fall asleep to soft piano notes playing, come home to soft guitar riffs, wake up to muffled singing and music (the person had great taste) all through the walls. You didn't know who lived next door, but you didn't want to know. You were afraid that if you met them, you'd be disappointed in what you found. There were plenty of Music Major's at your university, but all of them were pretentious.

You liked the image you'd created of your neighbor. They had soft features and messy hair, they had a smile that matched their voice: sweet, soft—comforting. You wanted to believe that they'd be the coffee date type, the staying in type. They were there in the mornings, and they were there when you came back from long days of classes.

You remember, one particular day, you had come back home after a horrible day. You had no rhyme or reason and you couldn't pinpoint when it had started or how it had gone south; it just did. You had just gotten home, ready to take a bath, when you remembered your water and electricity had been cut off until the next day—you were late on the bill, so you'd have to wait the next business day for them to turn it on. You had decided to just wallow away in pity in the comfort of your own bed.

You laid there, in the dark, huddled in your bed underneath the covers and let the tears pour over your face. You almost slipped into a soundless sleep, until you heard a familiar sound fill the room. It was muffled, and for a second you thought it was your phone sounding in your back pocket, but it sounded too distant. You sat up, leaning your ear against the wall and smiled softly. You hummed along to the song by, feeling relieved, once again, at the fact that you lived next to an aspiring musician.

You smiled wider when you heard the sound of his piano overlapping the audio they were playing—they were trying to match the notes. You laid against your mattress again, closing your eyes while thinking of who could possibly be living next door. You fell asleep to the song on a loop.

-

You walked into your apartment, feeling fatigued as you laid across your couch. You looked at the time on your phone. You had a lab today, which caused you to have to stay late on campus. It was nearing seven o'clock and you couldn't wait to enjoy the weekend alone—your plans with friends had gotten canceled. You didn't want to sound happy that they fell through, but you were a little glad that you'd have a weekend to just rest. Maybe start reading a new book. You never admitted it, but you liked to isolate yourself once in a while. Maybe you—

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, causing you to groan. Your freedom weekend was already being interrupted. You sat up slowly, rolling your eyes in annoyance when the knocking came again, this time with a doorbell.

"I'm coming!" You yelled, looking through the peephole. Their head was turned away from the door, you only saw a mess of brown hair. You furrowed your eyebrows, but then again, you wouldn't have recognized anyone except for the doorman. You never talked to any of your neighbors—ever. So, you weren't surprised that you didn't recognize the unfamiliar mop of curls standing outside of your door. You sighed heavily, plastering on a fake smile and opening the door.

You'd opened the door, causing your neighbor, you assumed, to turn around. Your breath caught in your throat—he was beautiful, simply put. Your eyes scanned him and they fell to the acoustic guitar hanging off his shoulders. He smiled at you, shyly. He had freckles littered across his face, and it took everything in you not to reach your hand out and caress his cheek.

"Hi! Uh, I'm your neighbor—next door neighbor, to be exact." Your cheeks warmed at the fact that your dream musician neighbor, wasn't so much a dream anymore. He looked exactly as you imagined him, just with an accent to match his innocent look.

"You're the one who keeps playing music?" His eyes widened as he stumbled over his words, trying to apologize if he were making too much noise. You laughed, shaking your head. "No, no! I like the music. You—you're very talented." You smiled at him, causing him to smile more. You racked your brain to ask him something – anything – to make him speak more. His voice was soft, but low. Slow. And that accent. "Is that for me?" You gestured to the mail in his hand – you assumed that's why he was here, considering he was holding two separate mail piles in his hands.

"Oh, yeah! The, uh, mail-person. They left your mail in my box. I didn't open it! It was open when I got it, I swear." You smirked, liking the feeling that you weren't the only nervous one here. You reached out, grabbing the card your mother had sent you.

"My mom's very old fashioned," you said, as if it were an explanation for the letter. "She refuses to get a cell-phone, so she sends me weekly letters. Sometimes with pictures." He smiled, nodding along.

"That's nice... I like letters. I like writing them."

"Funny, I like getting them. It's nice being thought of—it's nice seeing the little extra effort." You two stood there in silence for a little, unapologetically checking each other out.

"I... I should go."

"What's your name?" He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

"Right, sorry... I'm Sam. Holland. Sam Holland." He stuck his hand out for you to shake, which you did.

"I'm—"

"Yeah, I know. I saw your name on the mail. Suits you." You smiled, looking down at your shoes. You moved back into your apartment, slowly shutting the door.

"You're very talented Sam Holland. I like listening to you."

"I take requests." You both smiled at each other as you nodded, the door inching closer to closing.

"I'll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Sam." He bowed playfully, letting you close the door.

-

You walked up to the mailbox the next day before heading up the stairs to your apartment. Your eyes furrowed as you saw another letter stacked on top, no return address. Weird, you thought, wonder if it's a picture from mom. You shrugged, sticking it under your arm as you climbed the stairs. You placed your belongings on the ground next to the door and set everything that came in the mail, except the letter, on top of your coffee table. You opened the envelope, seeing a piece of sheet music. You smiled softly, knowing only one person who could possibly own it.

You unfolded the letter, seeing a list of songs on it. Your eyes skimmed the letter, seeing a message sprawled on the bottom.

List of songs to look forward to. Maybe one day you could join me. I've never given lessons before. But, I'm sure you'd make a good student.

Sam x