Gerard's apartment isn't anything fancy. It's tiny, the fixtures are old and the heating doesn't always work, but it's close to the subway and his school, it gets good light in the daytime and there's a convenience store right downstairs.
All these details aside, Gerard didn't even know about the best thing until he moved in: his neighbor.
Gerard lives directly opposite a guy who is quite possibly the hottest guy in New York - at least, he is if the person holding the score cards is Gerard. He's a musician of some sort, maybe in a band or maybe a session muso. Gerard knows because he has guitars, CDs and rock posters all over his living room. He keeps odd hours, he can't be much taller than five foot, he's covered in tattoos and he has the most amazing eyebrows Gerard has ever seen.
He also never closes his blinds. Gerard's beginning to wonder if he even has blinds.
Gerard should probably close his own blinds and mind his own business. The problem is, the hot neighbor is right there, only separated from Gerard by four giant windows and not all that much empty air, all cute and well-lit by what Gerard thinks must be the brightest energy saving bulbs in the world. The guy never stops moving either, so even when Gerard is trying to concentrate on other things, his neighbor will catch his eye as he darts from one thing to another - cooking, cleaning, rearranging his CDs. Even when he's watching TV, he bounces all over the couch like he can't sit still.
Then there's the time he spends playing his guitar. Gerard's wished hard and long that the sound would carry, because whatever he's playing looks like it would sound amazing if Gerard could hear it. Sometimes the guy sits on the floor with his acoustic, all curled over it like he's returning to the womb, his face ecstatic. Other times he rips around the apartment with his pearl-white electric, spinning and bouncing and head-banging until Gerard fears for the man's body and furniture.
Not that Gerard spends that much time thinking about his neighbor's body. Okay, maybe some, but not in a creepy way. He can't see into his neighbor's bedroom - which is a good thing, because Gerard is honestly not sure he could resist that kind of temptation. There was one memorable incident where Gerard's hot neighbor stuck his hand down his jeans while he watching something on his laptop - right there on the couch in his living room. Gerard tried not to watch - he did - but he is only one man, and the way his neighbor moved and writhed and the look on his face as his body stiffened... well. Gerard's not proud of his behavior.
He's not proud of his behavior in the shower in the ten minutes that followed either.
Aside from the Couch Incident, which he maybe thinks about more than is healthy, Gerard doesn't think his behavior is all that creepy. In the right light, he and his hot neighbor are kind of like housemates. They like a lot of the same TV shows, they keep similar hours, they both seem pretty alone in this big city. Even if Gerard never gets to talk to the guy, just having his neighbor in his eyeline makes him feel less lonely. It makes him miss Jersey, his home, and especially Mikey, less.
Tonight, Gerard's sitting on his kitchen bench, drumming the heels of his boots against the cupboards as he eats a bowl of cereal. Across yards of air and two panes of glass, his neighbor is on the couch, his feet propped up and tapping on the coffee table as he eats Lucky Charms from the box. Gerard sends a milky smile in his neighbor's direction and even though it's not returned it still feels nice.
The only warning Gerard has of Mikey's impending arrival is the jingle of keys in the door right before it opens. Mikey never calls before he comes over. He just lets himself in with the spare key Gerard gave him for "emergencies" ("It's always an emergency, Gee") and waltzes in like he owns the place. Not that Gerard minds, most of the time.
