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my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction · 7 days ago

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L x Reader pt. 2: The Billionaire and the Prostitute

this one is much shorter than the first, but I feel like it's an important one for storyline's sake, and I also felt like it was important to cut it off where I did. Let me know what you think!

L has been thinking about you.

Don't flatter yourself, he thinks about everything.

He thinks about how dull life is without a case to work on. He thinks about how there is currently a .06% decrease in American stock market value. He thinks about how the changing climate means that Mont Blanc will be coming into season. He thinks about you.

It's best to start with why he even decided to find a prostitute in the first place. Yes, he's heard sexual activity is good for mental acuity, but it's more than that.

At first, he tried to watch porn. The results were rather fruitless, the obvious theatrics and pandering was what one might call "a turn off." He didn't appreciate the plastic, fake feeling of it. So, he turned to more experimental methods.

He tried various aphrodisiacs, no matter how disgusting (He will never taste another oyster in this life), different devices, anything to gather a result. It just wasn't...fun. It brought him little pleasure, and it certainly didn't give him any boost in attention. Still, he was no quitter, and when self-pleasure failed, it was only natural that human contact took it's place.

It would be wrong to say that people scare him, because it frankly isn't true. People don't scare him, nor do they allude him, they simply...tired him. People are so needy, they want to be praised and assured and directed. He was content in doing so, for the sake of work, but recreation was different. More personal. More annoying. On the other hand, this hypothesis intrigued him, so he would allow the discontent, so long as he could minimize it.

Obviously, he couldn't find someone to date, it wouldn't be right. The breakup after his experimenting would be too messy. So, a hooker. He scoured the internet, called a few people that owed him favors, and gathered a small sample. high end women with extensive background checking and respected clientele.

He needed someone who wouldn't ask more questions than necessary, he needed someone he was attracted to, and he needed someone who knew what they were doing. With so much time on his hands, he personally looked into each woman's history, including yours.

He knows what you've done for clients, what you offer to do, what you ask of them before hand, as well as the personal things. Name, age, schooling, address. Nothing to worry about of course, he's not judgmental. You had the best track record out of everyone, as well as the highest rates.

With a logical deduction, he chose you. It only made sense, you were objectively the best. He sent Watari to drop off a letter in your mailbox, a request of your services accompanied by up-to-date tests for every STD under the sun, with hopes of your cooperation. As you know, you responded via the email address he had added on the request, and sent over your expectations and contracts. They were reviewed by him, all manageable and reasonable. All parties must consent, the relations can be terminated at any time, each session must be paid for individually, etc. However, you also demanded more pay for the extra work he required. It would take a lot of time to do all the things he requested for privacy's sake, and that should be paid for along with your time in his presence.

Ever gracious, he corresponded that he'd pay ¥10,000,000 for each session. It was no bother, and far easier than negotiating. He received an eager agreement, as he suspected, and sent the down payment.

a week after contracts were signed and processed, you came over for your first meeting. He found himself attracted to you, at least in a physical sense, which was promising. In an effort to be hospitable, he offered you cake and engaged in light small talk, and through that he found you to be interesting. Polite yet proud, witty and...a little bossy. He wasn't used to being bossed. It was good, it meant he didn't have to worry about initiating anything. He could follow a professional's direction.

The sex was much better than his personal attempts. He was delighted, one might say. During the act, his train of thought felt surprisingly linear, there were no clouds of depression, nor scatterings of calculations, not a single other idea besides how you felt around him. To find that the stress he often experienced was practically nonexistent in the afterglow was almost better than the act itself.

In the time after, he felt spurred on, instilled with a vigor that couldn't be traded for anything. He took on a new case in America, nothing he needed to be present for, but something that he would enjoy enough to fill his days with. This clarity lasted for a couple weeks, 18 days to be exact, before he felt exactly as he had before. Make no mistake, 18 days was an incredible feat for him, this was not anything he regretted. Now, all he had to do was call you back. ¥10,000,000 twice a month wasn't so bad...though he may just have to quell his excitement at this discovery and only schedule you back once a month. He could spend two or so weeks feeling bogged down, it was no trouble.

Your phone rang around 10 PM, right in the middle of a very delicious ramen dinner. You didn't recognize the number, but you picked it up anyway.

"Hello?"

"Miss L/N?"

"L?" You never gave him your number, but you recognized his low tone and slow, enunciated words.

"Yes. I'd like to schedule another appointment."

"How'd you get my number?" Already? you saw him 2 weeks ago. He didn't strike you as someone with a high libido.

"I don't see how that's important. Would you rather me send an email?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Next time then. Another appointment?"

You sigh. It was a curse, being so impeccable in bed. "Yeah, sure, what time?"

"I want to see you on October 13th, at 11:30 PM. does that work for you?"

"Really?" people don't usually schedule so far in advance, this is usually an impulse, call a day ahead type of thing.

"I imagine you're busy. Can you do it?"

"I mean...yeah, sure, why not," you shrug, grabbing your calendar to pencil him in.

You were very easy going. He liked that, it was a sign you were open-minded.

"Alright, you're in. Anything else?"

"...Yes, actually. Did you enjoy yourself?"

He was certainly forward. "Uh..." you thought back. You didn't mind how he went about it...he was nice to look at... he picked it up quickly. He actually managed to give you an orgasm. "Yeah. Guess so," you hum. What were you supposed to do, jump for joy? "Why?"

"Curiosity. That was all, thank you."

"Kay, goodnight," you say, annoyance slipping through your tone. It was sort of late, and your food was getting cooler by the second.

"Goodnight, Miss L/N," L says softly. Then, he hangs up.

What an odd guy.

L can confidently say, and this is not something he can say often, that he is excited. The prospects were enticing, he wanted to know just how beneficial this arrangement was in the long run. to see results after only one night was incredible enough, imagine what could happen after sustained visitation. Though, he had another question he neglected to ask on the phone.

Your computer pinged with the notification of an email. You roll your eyes. You were just about to get into bed, now what? After considering waiting until morning, you tiredly walk over to your computer, and opened up your work email to see which bastard was emailing you now. To your surprise, it was the one you just finished talking to.

Do you enjoy sweets? If so, which ones?

-L

#fanfic #fan fiction #l lawlight #l lawilet #l lawiet #l x reader #l death note #death note #death note l #death note fanfiction #death note smut #l lawliet smut

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lying-on-floors · 3 months ago

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Yellow Mailboxes

Sniperscout

The sweet spring air flooded Mick's nose as he stepped out of the house. He lit a cigarette and waited for Jeremy and the kids to get into the car to go to the school assembly.

"You sure you ain't coming, Mickey?"

Jeremy asked his boyfriend as he loaded his kids into the car.

"Yeah. Besides, it's parents only and, y'kno--"

Mick trailed off and gestured to himself. Jeremy nodded, showing his understanding. It's not that they were ashamed to be together, it was just dangerous right now.

"Okay, We'll see ya--Tanya!"

Jeremy failed to catch the little girl who jumped out of the car and ran over to Mick to hug him.

"Why aren't ya coming, Mickey?"

Mick threw his cigarette onto the porch next to him and crouched down to be at the girls level.

"Well, sweetheart, it's parents only and I'm not your legal parent. Besides, there's stuff I gotta do around the house while you lil rascals are gone."

He ruffled her hair, which made her giggle.

"Okay. I'll bring you back pamphlets!"

The little girl skipped happily back to her dad, who helped her into the car, fastening her seat belt. He waved to Mick as he opened the driver's side door.

"We'll see ya soon!"

Mick waved back and picked up his cigarette and put it out in the ash tray sitting on the porch railing. Time to get to work.

Mick went to his camper van and opened the back door to get out the paint cans and the corresponding tools. He brought them over to the beaten up mailbox and opened one of the cans. It was a pale yellow, a color Jeremy's fond of. He grabbed the wide paint brush and carefully began painting over the gray mail box. Once he was done he decided he needed to let it dry, so he took a break and cleaned up a bit. Mostly tidying up the yard and living room, making sure all of the kids toys are put away so Jeremy doesn't have to worry about doing that when he gets home. Of course, they're going to have to do it again later, but it would be nice for him to walk into a clean house along with his newly mailbox.

A few hours passed and Mick went into the kitchen to grab the stickers he would use to adorn the Mailbox's side.

Willis

He went back to the mail box to check if it was dry enough. He deduced that it was, so he lit a cigarette and got to work. He was finishing up the last letter when Jeremy's car pulled up. Mick cursed under his breath, but decided it wasn't too big of a deal, since he was done. Mick stood up and shoved the trash into his pockets. He'll deal with it later. The four excited kids ran past him, Tanya being the only one who stopped to hand him the pamphlets she promised him before running off to join her siblings. Jeremy met Mick by the mailbox and beamed.

"What's all this, Mickey?"

The question was rethorical, Mick knew that, but he still answered.

"I painted your, uhm, mailbox."

He awkwardly patted the top of the mailbox, which made Jeremey laugh.

"Aww, Mick, that's so sweet!"

Mick blushed.

"Yeah, well, you mentioned wantin' to paint over it, so, I, uh, wanted to suprise ya."

Mick shoved his hands in his pockets, years of knowing Jeremy never made him any better at romance, but Jeremy didn't seem to mind. He was too busy admiring the soft yellow and the large white lettering.

"It looks really good! I love this color!"

Mick smiled.

"I know. You always talk about how warm and inviting it is. And how it reminds ya of ya mum."

Jeremy looked at Mick, tears forming in his eyes.

"I love you, Mick."

Mick grinned and wrapped his arm around Jeremy, directing him inside. "

"I love ya too, Roo."

#sniperscout #speedingbullet #scout tf2 #sniper tf2 #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 fanfiction

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solacanis · 9 months ago

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" if you were mine I would ... Kiss you, hold you and say I love you each day." / And more 😏

" if you were mine I would ... " finish it in my askbox !

"You already do all those things BUT I wouldn't mind a kiss from the love of my life." He smiled and blushed a bit when Rachel confessed her desires. "Can I do the same for you as well my dear?"

#correspondence (MAILBOX).#verse (PENDING).#[ he is blushing! ;w; ]

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iboatedhere · 9 months ago

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could I please get "heart shaped sunglasses" as a prompt? I love canon but if there's an AU that speaks to you I'd love that too

I went with a photographer/model AU.

—

Alex didn’t grow up thinking he wanted to be a photographer.

He cycled through dreams that almost every kid has—doctor, teacher, President of the United States, and astronaut. For a few weeks, when he was four, he thought seriously about becoming a T-rex.

When he was thirteen, he found an old camera in the attic that his father had left behind when he moved out.

He watched a half-dozen YouTube videos to figure out how to get it to work, then took a photography class in high school and got a position on the school paper, taking shots of football games and events around town.

He thought he looked cool, carrying around a vintage camera that used real film in the age of sleek digital devices and camera phones, and he was good at it. He received heaps of praise from his photography teacher, won awards in local contests, and even sold a few prints at farmer’s markets and craft fairs around Austin.

Alex majored in studio art in college, focusing on photography and media. He learned about color, composition, and lighting. He studied Ansel Adams, Dorthea Lange, Steve McCurry, and Robert Capa. He thought about becoming a war correspondent, embedding himself in the most volatile parts of the globe and reporting the truth through photographs—gritty, raw, and dangerous.

Where he ended up was someplace much softer.

–

Alex first saw Henry Fox on the glossy pages of one of June’s fashion magazines when he was twelve.

Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar. Maybe Cosmopolitan. He can’t remember. What he can remember is Henry Fox’s wide, blue eyes and golden hair. He remembers looking at the close-up photo of him for too long until June cleared her throat and met his startled gaze with raised brows.

He looked for Henry after that. Sneaking into June’s room or stealing the magazine straight from the mailbox when it was delivered. He’d bring it with him to the treehouse in the backyard and search.

Before Alex even had a word for it, most of the photos had felt exploitative. Henry, too young, around much older models. Odd poses and barely there clothing. Henry never looked happy. He never smiled. Alex would never photograph him like that. He never really thought about photographing him at all. Mostly, he just wanted to hang out with him. Maybe take him swimming at Barton Springs, to a baseball game in Round Rock, or ride their bikes together. He just wanted to make Henry smile.

Alex found out later that Henry’s father was a famous actor and his mother was a supermodel, making Henry one of the world’s biggest nepo-babies.

Maybe doors automatically opened for Henry. Maybe he has a trust fund or an inheritance and never has to work another day in his life. Alex is unsure of those things, but he is certain Henry is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

–

Alex lowers his camera as the art director flutters into the frame, tugging on the strap of Emily’s bikini top and sweeping Henry’s hair off his forehead.

“Perfect,” she says before waving in Alex’s direction. ��Okay. Keep going.”

Alex rolls his eyes and lines up another shot.

He doesn't really know what the point of this shoot is. He guesses it’s supposed to be playful…a fun day by the pool where Henry has stolen her heart-shaped sunglasses and perched them on the top of his head while she’s taken his diamond-studded watch and is holding it against her throat like a necklace. But Emily’s bikini is practically see-through, Henry is wearing a pair of swim trunks that hide nothing, and Alex doesn’t understand what they’re trying to sell, aside from their bodies.

So goes the fashion industry.

“Did you get it?” Henry calls out to him without moving a muscle.

Alex blinks through the viewfinder. “What?”

“Did you get the shot?” He asks.

“Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

“Good,” Henry says, “my foot is beginning to cramp.”

He shifts, and Emily hops off his lap and into a robe a PA is holding while Henry stands up, stretches the arch of his foot, and accepts his own robe.

It’s all so fast and formal as if they didn’t just spend the last hour dry-humping each other by a pool at a mansion in Beverly Hills.

Alex isn’t sure if he could pull that off, being that close to either of them and acting like it’s no big deal. Things are easier behind the lens of a camera.

Alex busies himself by pulling the photos up on his laptop. He took nearly two hundred. At least one has to be good enough to go to print.

“May I see?”

Alex nods, and Henry steps into his space, pressing their shoulders together before Alex can make room.

“Christ,” Henry says as he peers at the screen. “Am I really that pale?”

“We can fix it in post?”

Henry hums. “Add it to the list,” he jokes, but it’s not funny at all.

Alex knows that no one is perfect, but he thinks the people he photographs—Henry especially—are about as close to the idea of it as possible. That won’t stop every photo he’s in from being scrutinized and edited to death. They’ll airbrush out the moles that dot across his ribs, the small half-moon scar by his left hip, and the line between his brows. Whatever they do to Henry, it’ll be ten times worse for Emily.

“You’re very good at this,” Henry tells him. It’s not the first time they’ve worked together, but it’s the first time Henry has complimented him.

“Thanks. You make it easy. I mean you guys—you two—you and Emily,” Alex flounders. “You look good.”

“Is it the sunglasses?” Henry asks as he reaches up and touches the thin, pink frames.

“Yes,” Alex answers. “They complete the look. Maybe they’ll let you keep them since they suit you so well.”

“I’ll be sure to ask,” Henry says, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

—

Unsurprisingly, it was June that helped him shape his view of fashion.

When he was younger, he’d point to the avant-garde looks in her magazines and genuinely ask who the hell would ever wear this?

“No one,” She’d tell him as she snatched the magazine away. “Sometimes clothes aren’t meant to be worn, they’re meant to be admired. It’s like how some people go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. Other people find their art in fashion magazines.”

He reminds himself of that each time he attends Fashion Week in London, Milan, or Paris. It’s an art exhibit; the models are living sculptures.

In the front row of the Dior show at Bryant Park, Alex thinks Henry makes a stunning canvas.

His hair is dyed dark brown, a near match to the cropped leather jacket he’s wearing, only half zipped, his chest bare. Alex watches his long legs in oversized wool shorts as they walk down the runway, where he stops at the end, poses, and then continues back. He looks down at Alex as he passes, tips his head up, and disappears backstage.

Only after he’s gone does Alex realize he didn’t get a single photo of him.

–

They let me keep the glasses, by the way.

Alex frowns down at his phone as he tries to parse out the Instagram DM that popped up on the screen.

He has two accounts—an official photography account and a smaller, more personal one, followed only by his family and friends. Alex knows he isn’t famous, not yet anyway, but he knows that people can get weirdly parasocial, and he’d rather not have to purge his main account a few years down the line.

This message, from a GEJames97, was sent to his personal account.

????? Alex sends back.

The ones from the shoot, the next message reads.

This is Henry.

Fox.

Alex’s frown deepens. Henry has an Instagram account. He has nearly four million followers and posts photos of his most recent campaigns at least twice a week. Not that Alex is keeping track.

Prove it, Alex says.

A few moments later, a photo of Henry Fox in the pink, heart-shaped glasses pops up.

Pez told me about this account. I hope that’s okay.

Pez…..???????

Percy Okonjo.

Percy Okonjo is an up-and-coming designer who is best friends with Henry. They have the entire fashion world buzzing with speculation that Henry will start working with Percy the second his contract with Dior ends.

Percy also was a guest editor for Vogue and had an undefined thing with June. Alex doesn’t know the details, and he’ll never ask for them, but it was enough that Percy followed Alex’s personal account.

How long are you in New York? Henry asks, and Alex feels his heart rate kick up.

Why do you think I’m still in New York?

Henry sends him a photo Alex posted earlier of a friendly Central Park squirrel eating a small piece of bagel out of his hand.

Until Sunday, Alex tells him. Why?

Doing anything tonight?

Alex blows out a breath.

Not yet.

Alex has only been at the bar for three minutes before Henry shows up. Alex appreciates the promptness, it gives him less time to be nervous.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Henry says anyway, leaning in to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek that leaves Alex feeling untethered. “Traffic in Manhattan is insane.”

“It’s fine,” Alex says, “you’re good. You’re…” Alex trails off because Henry is beautiful in jeans, a t-shirt (that probably cost more than Alex’s hotel room bill), and a Yankees cap pulled low over his face.

“If you want to go someplace else–,” Alex starts.

“Why would I want to go someplace else?” Henry interrupts, raising his hand to wave down the bartender.

“I don’t know. I feel like this place isn’t your usual vibe.”

It’s not a dive by any means, but it’s certainly not the flashy restaurants and clubs Henry usually attends.

“A few months ago, Pez brought me to this place in Chinatown. We followed this woman down a narrow stairwell for what felt like forever, light flickering and water dripping from the ceiling. I would’ve phoned my sister to say goodbye, but I didn’t have cell service. If I can survive that, I can survive this.” He glances around the bar. “I don’t fear for my life at all here.”

“You’re in America,” Alex tells him. “You should kinda always be fearing for your life.”

Henry snorts. “I suppose that’s true, but I am enjoying myself.”

“You just got here.”

Henry shrugs. “Then maybe it’s the company.”

Alex ducks his head. “How long are you in the city for?”

“At least another two weeks,” Henry tells him. “I’ll have a good bit of downtime, but not enough to fly home between shoots. I’m trying to figure out ways to keep myself busy. Do you have any ideas?”

Alex has about a million. He’s been thinking about this since he was twelve years old.

“Have you ever actually been to a Yankees game?” Alex asks, and Henry shakes his head. “They’re in town if you wanna go.”

Henry smiles, big and bright, even in the murky lighting of the bar, and Alex feels like he’s suddenly accomplished everything he could ever want in life.

#rwrb #rwrb fic #FirstPrince #FirstPrince fic #summer prompts

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katsigian · 1 year ago

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🌈💖✨Send this to the nicest people you know or seem to have a good heart! Let people know that they are admired 🩷 the biggest heart and the most kindest person 🥹🖤 besties in this life and the next 🖤🥰

DHFJDS besties from now until forever 🩷🩷

#you are so nice to me #and i'm so glad we met #mailbox 💌

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katsigian · 2 years ago

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Fack not again why do this keep happening 2 me 😔 damb sorry 9 inchs isn't enough Nathaniel was so hot 😭

Uhh asking for a friend is Nathan single

Is Nathan Verner Kinlaw like free sometime cos I know a guy who wants to cherish him and adore him and love him and suck him off

Asking for a friend you've probably seen him around. Might be Nathan's type iunno. Really fuckin tall and built, kinda emo but he's got dark hair and giant c--

(The sniper got me)

Sorreeee, but uhh, I think you're a little late. He's already got a guy. Kinda not well known, not sure you'll recognize the name. Valen, made by a person called katsigian.

But oh yeah, that's his type to a T. Too bad man, maybe if your friend had been a little quicker. Can't guarantee he'd get a shot though, Valen's also got a massive co-💥

#i shouldn't be awake right now #clearly #mailbox 💌

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mimisempai · 11 months ago

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I'll find you at the end of the road - Chap 3/8

Chapter summary

Through the mysterious mailbox, Crowley and Aziraphale get to know each other and their bond grows stronger...

On Ao3

Rating G - 3764 words

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4 - Chap 5 - Chap 6 - Chap 7 - Last chapter

April 15, 2024 - 7:00 a.m.

Crowley, his heart beating a little faster than usual, approached the mailbox from which the flag was raised.

He opened the flap and unfolded the note with slightly shaking fingers.

Thank you for this lovely gesture. I haven't stopped wearing it since I received it. But how did you know that tartan is one of my favorite things?

You tell me that this connection with me allows you to open up to others and not feel alone, and you ask me if I want to continue this correspondence?

I don't want to stop either! I feel the benefits in my life as much as you do.

I don't know if we'll ever meet, but I want to keep getting to know you and for you to get to know me.

Let me know what you like, what you don't like, what makes you tick, whatever you feel like writing.

Sincerely.

Aziraphale.

Crowley, not realizing he was holding his breath, let out a sigh of relief, tucked the letter in his pocket, and left. He had to get to work before he could write. It was no longer a matter of writing a short note; he wanted to take the time to think before he could answer Aziraphale.

As he walked through the school gates a few hours later, even though he loved his job, for once he couldn't wait for the day to be over.

April 17, 2022

Aziraphale was reading Crowley's latest letter, a steaming cup of tea beside him, sitting in what had become his special Crowley corner, the armchair in front of the bay window.

As for the tartan, I was really acting on a hunch, I saw this scarf and thought you'd like it.

A little more about me:

I became an astronomy teacher because I've always loved the stars and planets. I lived in a country village as a child and was fascinated by the night sky.

My favorite color is red, although I pretty much only wear black.

My favorite spirit is Talisker and I love spicy food.

Queen is the best band! (I won't accept any arguments to the contrary).

My favorite book is Persuasion by Jane Austen.

I love to drive my old Bentley.

I'm afraid of fire.

I can't stand cruelty, condescension, and lying, especially people who lie to themselves.

And I hate people who feed bread to ducks (it's not good for them).

I love the lake house.

Aziraphale laughed slightly at the humorous tone of the letter, then finished his tea before fetching his notepad to begin writing his reply.

April 19, 2024

Crowley, sitting cross-legged on his sofa, Harry curled up in a ball on his lap, read the latest letter from Aziraphale.

I love old things, especially old books. In my antique shop, the only thing I refuse to sell are old books. I prefer to keep them for myself.

I love restoring old furniture and objects to their former glory.

I also drive an old car, an old yellow Beetle from 1941.

My favorite book is Pride and Prejudice, but Persuasion is a close second.

I listen to my favorite classical music on an old gramophone, but I also have Queen records. (Which I listen to sometimes and I won't deny that they are the best band).

I like to draw, or rather make sketches that I never finish.

My favorite drink is sherry and occasionally a good glass of French red wine from Bordeaux. I love sweets more than anything and especially French crêpes.

I also dislike lies, prejudices, and gratuitous meanness - well, just plain meanness.

I also like the lake house. A lot. A lot. (All the more, since it seems to be what made our connection possible.)

As for the ducks, what should I feed them if I see any on the lake?

How did you come to live at the lake house?

Crowley reread the letter, folded it, and placed it in the small metal box where he'd put the others before going to bed and thinking about what he'd answer the next day.

April 21, 2022

It was a day of rest, and Aziraphale was still in his bathrobe when he left the house to see if there was any mail. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Crowley had already replied, if the little flag was to be believed. He refused to think about the fact that his heartbeat had quickened for that reason, attributing it to the fact that he'd been walking a little faster than usual.

He took the letter and read it over his breakfast, Harry munching on a lettuce leaf at his feet.

Frozen peas. The ducks love them and it's good for them.

I rented the lake house after I graduated from university. I needed some space and peace.

It was the strangest place I'd ever seen.

I couldn't imagine anyone building it. In fact, I couldn't imagine anyone building it and not living in it. I liked the way it seemed to float above the water. I liked the path that led to it. I don't know why, it has a strange, timeless charm.

April 23, 2024

Crowley, during a break between classes, took Aziraphale's answer out of his pocket and read it again.

I now have a bag of frozen peas in my freezer. I'm ready for the ducks.

Regarding the lake house, I so agree with you.

The fact that you have to walk so much to get to the front door, it's like you have to earn the right to enter the house. Every time I walk up the path, it's like I'm on a quest, and the prize is the right to enter.

I'm sorry, I must sound a little eccentric.

April 24, 2022

During his lunch break and throughout the day, Aziraphale read and reread the last words from Crowley.

Please don't apologize. Not to me for being who you are.

You can be eccentric. You can be anything you want.

Aziraphale had always felt different, in both his personal and professional life choices, never accepted by his own family for who he was, so Crowley's words eased some of his inner struggles.

He couldn't ignore the warm feeling in his chest at this affirmation from someone he'd never met.

There was someone in this world who accepted him for who he was.

You can be anything you want.

A few weeks passed as Crowley and Aziraphale continued their strange correspondence.

It was late spring now, and yet the wind was blowing strongly on this early morning in London as Crowley walked briskly to the academy.

As he always did these days, he smiled at the thought of Aziraphale's latest letter, already thinking of what he would write back.

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he reached for it to answer the call.

Seeing the name on the screen, he said in a cold voice, "Yes?"

He held back a sigh of annoyance as he listened to his caller and then replied, "Look, this isn't easy for me either. You know... no, I'm not angry that you called. It's just that... I'm sorry, I have to go to work and I..."

He approached the school and didn't want to continue this conversation as more and more students entered.

After listening to the arguments on the other end of the line, he replied firmly, "I don't think that's a good idea. No, Furfur, I'm asking you not to come. Because we need more time... Especially if we want to stay friends. I just don't think we should... Look, I'm on my way to work, so we'll talk. Bye."

Crowley sighed again and shook his head as he walked out the large front door.

"Don't tell me you've lost your motivation already."

Crowley looked up and, meeting Mrs. Tracy's gaze, replied, the smile back on his lips, "Absolutely not."

"That's fortunate. Eric has the flu and we need someone to cover his classes while he's out. Since your resume says you majored in art, I was wondering if..."

"No problem! I'm happy to oblige. Just don't blame me for associating it with astronomy."

"I'm already happy to have someone, I'm not going to be picky. You can check Eric's schedule with the assistant and then make arrangements. Thank you, Crowley, really. If it weren't for the exams, I wouldn't have asked you."

Crowley replied kindly, his expression open to show her he meant it sincerely, "No worries, really."

On the contrary, he was pleased to see that even though he was the last to arrive, he was trusted.

However, at the end of the week, when he came home with his arms full of groceries, he thought maybe he should have thought before saying yes, because he was literally exhausted. He hadn't realized how much time and energy it would take to do the work of two people.

Luckily, Eric was back at work by Monday.

But despite his exhaustion, nothing could stop him from going looking for Aziraphale's letter, which must have been waiting for him at the lake house for days.

Less than two hours and a few speeding violations later, he parked in front of the mailbox in a cloud of dust, and a few seconds later, leaning against his car, he eagerly read the letter.

Hello, pen pal.

It's been a while since you last wrote.

I hope all is well.

Several words were crossed out before the letter continued in Aziraphale's elegant handwriting.

It's ridiculous, just a few words to write, and it makes me sound like a babbling teenager (if there's such a thing as sound when it comes to a letter).

Well, I'll write it: I MISS YOU

It was obvious that the last words had been written with determination, probably as much for the author as for the recipient.

Crowley felt a strange warmth in his chest. He, too, had missed the correspondence, more, he had missed Aziraphale's words, so he hurried to reply and put the letter in the box before heading home.

Parking the car in front of the mailbox, Aziraphale decided to ignore the butterflies in his stomach when he saw the little flag raised.

He took the letter out of the box, and once he was home and Harry was fed, the antiquarian went to his favorite spot to read it.

It's been a tough week.

I've had to take a sick colleague's classes and have only had the strength to go to bed at night (and feed Harry, of course), and I feel like it's been a century since I've looked at the sky or seen a bloody tree. That's what I miss. The nature that surrounded me at the lake house.

It's not so bad when I'm busy. It's when I have a minute to breathe, to look around, that it seems really hard.

I wonder what I'm doing here, alone, in this gray city. I miss the trees.

PS: I missed you too. A lot.

June 15, 2022 - 7:00 pm

Aziraphale left the house with a medium-sized tree and gardening tools in the trailer attached to the Beetle and headed for London.

June 15, 2022 - 8:55 p.m.

Arriving at Crowley's address, in front of the construction site he'd seen the other night with Muriel, Aziraphale parked the Beetle. He took out a shovel, put on the gardening gloves he had in his pocket, and after finding the ideal spot in front of the construction site where Crowley's future home would be, began digging a hole. With the help of a rope and a lot of sweat, he managed to get the tree into the hole and covered its roots with the soil and potting soil he'd brought.

Half an hour later, at 9:30 p.m., he stood in front of his work with his hands on his hips and said quietly, "I hope this will work."

June 15, 2024 - 9:30 pm

Halfway between the school and his apartment, Crowley saw rain gathering in the sky and began to pick up his pace as he realized he didn't have an umbrella. Suddenly, a rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, and as he ran almost the entire distance to his apartment, the rain began to fall.

Of course, he was completely soaked as he ran the last few meters to the front door of the building. He fumbled for his keys, dropped them, and grew increasingly frustrated as the rain poured down on him, when suddenly it stopped.

Which surprised him because it seemed to be falling everywhere around him except on him.

He looked up.

Above him, the thick green branches of a young tree formed a canopy that swayed in the rain just above Crowley. That tree hadn't been there a second ago, but now it was sheltering him, and Crowley stared at it, mouth agape.

June 15, 2022 - 9:37 p.m.

Aziraphale smiles as he tosses the shovel into the Beetle's trailer before heading home.

June 15, 2024 - 9:37 pm

Crowley, overcome with emotion, smiled broadly and, knowing that only Aziraphale could be responsible for it, whispered to him, though the other man could not hear him, "Thank you, my friend."

Raindrops fell through the green branches, but Crowley didn't care as he danced with joy under the tree, his face turned skyward.

2022 - A few days later

Muriel stood on the small path in front of the lake house and exclaimed, "Wow!"

Aziraphale motioned for them to follow him inside, and Muriel entered, still stunned by the house, before asking, "So this is where you've been hiding?"

Aziraphale smiled back, "Yes. Would you like some tea or something stronger?"

Muriel replied quietly as they looked around, "Tea is perfect."

Aziraphale took two cups from the cupboard, poured the tea and they sat down in the chairs in front of the bay window.

They talked for a while about the new house, for Muriel, as usual, had a lot of questions and Aziraphale was happy to answer them.

Muriel finished their cup of tea, put it down, and with a more serious expression, they said quietly, "Aziraphale. I didn't just come here to escape my miserable existence in the city. I've come to talk to you about HH and to ask you to come back with us. We need you."

Aziraphale shook his head vigorously, "HH? Sorry, Muriel, but no."

His friend insisted, "But if you talk to her..."

"Forget it, Mother doesn't want me back. I don't want to come back. Everybody's happier now."

Muriel argued anyway, "What about your work? Your work was great. Even she admitted that. Look, I know it's hard, but if you put aside your problems with her..."

"I said forget it," Aziraphale replied, this time in a firm tone before softening, "I'm really sorry, Muriel. It's just that... I like it here. And I like my job at the shop."

Muriel replied gently with a slightly sheepish look, "At least I tried," then after a few seconds they asked with a mischievous twinkle in their eyes, "Are you seeing anyone?"

After a slight hesitation that didn't go unnoticed, Aziraphale shook his head.

"Why did you hesitate?"

"I didn't hesitate."

"Yes, you did."

Aziraphale said in a voice he knew was a little unconvincing, "I... I'm not committed to anyone, okay?"

"Okay," Muriel replied, smiling amusedly before continuing, "I'm just saying you might want to think about the future."

Aziraphale laughed.

He couldn't stop himself.

Think about the future.

For God's sake, he was communicating with someone who lived two years in the future.

Muriel looked at him as if he'd gone mad, "What?"

Aziraphale continued to laugh.

"What?"

A few days later, with Crowley's letter open in the passenger seat of his Beetle, Aziraphale drove to Waterloo East Station, near Westminster School.

He parked, picked up the letter, and got out, heading for the station entrance.

About the same time, two years ago, I lost something.

At Waterloo East station.

I was taking the train home to my parents and left it on the platform. See if you can find it for me. I won't tell you what it is.

Then drop it in the mailbox.

It's your mission if you decide to accept it.

The exact date and time is on the back of the letter.

Aziraphale couldn't resist a challenge, so he found himself searching for an object he knew nothing about. He wandered around the station, scanning the few people who were there.

He looked for a single man and saw none. Only a few families and an elderly couple.

He continued his search when suddenly, through the window overlooking the platform, he saw a man with short red hair get up and prepare to board the train.

Aziraphale's heart leapt, he wasn't sure if it was Crowley, but he had this deep intuition that it was, and if it was, oh my God, his pen pal was incredibly handsome.

Aziraphale hurried through the door to the platform where he was standing and was about to approach him when he stopped abruptly.

The red-haired man was embracing another curly-haired man who had his back to Aziraphale.

They kissed quickly and embraced again before parting.

Neither of them noticed that Crowley, for it was undoubtedly Crowley, had left a book on the bench behind them. Aziraphale had seen it, but he didn't dare come any closer and decided to wait and watch, a slight twinge in his heart that he chose to ignore.

A voice over the loudspeaker announced the train's imminent departure.

Crowley gave the other man a sad smile before boarding the train, obviously reluctantly.

The one who appeared to be Crowley's lover didn't move and watched the train pull away until it was completely out of sight. He didn't notice the book. Aziraphale watched him go, and when he was far away, he approached the bench. He looked at the book that Crowley had left behind. It was a well-worn copy of Jane Austen's Persuasion.

It had definitely been Crowley.

Crowley impatiently made his way to the mailbox, thinking that Aziraphale might already have gone to the station. He was not deterred when he saw the small flag raised.

He opened it, disappointed not to see the book, but only a note. With just one question.

What are you doing on July 1st?

Crowley replied immediately on the same piece of paper, and just as he was about to leave, he heard the characteristic sound of a small flag being raised and returned to the mailbox and opened it. He grabbed the note and unfolded it.

C: I have no plans. Why do you ask?

A: If you remember, the village celebrates summer with fireworks on the lake.

Would you like to watch them together?

From the lake house. The fireworks on the lake are wonderful.

C: I know, I used to watch them from the house when I lived there. You're not asking me out, are you?

A: No, no. I just thought it would be nice to do the same thing, that's all.

C: The same, but two years apart.

A: It's better than staying home.

C: Okay. Let's go see the fireworks.

A: See you in 10 days.

July 1st at 10 p.m. in front of the mailbox.

Aziraphale didn't wait for an answer and walked happily back into the house. Even though he'd denied it, it still felt like a date of sorts. Perhaps Crowley would agree to tell him more about his mysterious companion.

July 1, 2022/2024 - 10 p.m.

Two years apart, in the same spot, Crowley and Aziraphale sat next to the mailbox. Aziraphale brought one of the chairs from the garden and Crowley brought an old folding camping seat from his car.

They were both armed with notepads and pencils.

The strange, timeless conversation resumed, still punctuated by the little flag going up and down.

C: Did you go to the train station? I never got my book. You're not going to keep it like all your old books, are you?

A: Let me keep it for a while. I want to read it. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you.

Who was the other man at the train station? Was he your boyfriend?

Why didn't you tell me about him?

The way the questions were asked gave Crowley the impression that Aziraphale was jealous, but he didn't want to get the wrong idea.

C: You don't talk to me about your love life either.

A: Because I don't have one. God, I can't believe you didn't tell me you were married.

C: I'm not married, you idiot. We split up when I moved to London.

I'm single now.

The fireworks have just started.

A: They've started here too.

I'm sure yours are better because they're supposed to get better every year.

C: Probably. Let's enjoy the show.

Then, during the fireworks, the flag didn't move for a while. But the noise did not drown out the sound of their hearts beating in their ears.

Then, as the last bouquet ended and silence fell, the flag suddenly rose, startling Crowley.

A: At the station, when I saw you... I didn't expect... I mean, you didn't tell me you were gorgeous...

Crowley gasped, then blushed at the compliment. He looked around, embarrassed, even though he knew no one was there.

C: That's not fair.

You've seen me, but I still don't know what you look like.

Aziraphale ran his hand over his face and figured that since it was the night of truth, he might as well go for it.

A: You're right.

I would like to know what I'll look like in two years. Why don't we meet in the future and you can tell me what you think?

Crowley thought, then looked at his watch; it was 10:43 p.m. He took a deep breath, suddenly excited and nervous, then wrote quickly.

C: Why don't you call me on July 1, 2024 at 10:45 p.m.?

Just as Crowley was about to raise the flag after dropping the note in the mailbox, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate, nearly knocking him out of his chair.

Heart pounding, without looking at it, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and picked it up, "Hello?"

_________

A damaged author can't write the next chapter... so don't hit me for this cliffhanger...

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #human au #alternate universe

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blossomverse · 2 years ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚El Chico del Apartamento 512˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

pairing: neighbor!miguel o'hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

summary: you've had a crush on miguel for the longest time. he happens to be your very kind, extremely attractive, next-door neighbor. what happens when you end up bonding over smoothies and a broken elevator?

cw & tw: mostly fluff, mildly suggestive dream, catcalling (by strangers), random man grabs reader's wrist without permission, stuck inside an elevator trope, some cursing, minors dni

a/n: i'm currently undergoing a miguel brainrot, that's how i found myself writing this in the middle of the night. the sentences on bold and italic are supposed to be reader’s inner thoughts. the story is heavily inspired by the song "el chico del apartamento 512" by selena. i srsly recommend listening to it as you read

Every day, coming home from work, same routine. Life in Nueva York was like this. The unwanted stares and comments from strange men were a frequent thing you’ve had to deal with. Your response would always be to ignore, continue walking as fast as you possibly could, and show that you were not afraid, nor bothered.

Today was no different, unfortunately. After a stressful shift at work, you had arrived inside your apartment complex and clicked on the elevator’s summoning button. That old thing would always take forever to arrive when called. As you waited patiently, one of the neighbors that always had some unwelcome attention to give, began approaching to make conversation.

Please, not today. I’m tired of rejecting this dude.

“Oh, how lucky I am! I’ve been waiting to see you again, Y/n.” He stood next to you.

“Mhm, I bet.” You answered, uninterested in whatever he had to say.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask–“

“No offense, but you should really go shower…” You blurted the words out, cutting him off before he could ask anything.

The man stood speechless for a hot second, unsure on what to say next. You simply stared blankly at the wall, not even sparing him one pitiful glance. He was about to speak again, when a familiar ding was heard. Finally, that prehistoric device had reached the first floor and opened its doors.

A few people made their way out and as you looked up to see the last one leaving, your heartbeat completely accelerated at the sight. There was he: the image of your dreams, the one your heart belonged to. The guy from apartment 512.

“M- Miguel, hi!” You said, a little bit too loud and enthusiastically for your own good.

You’d bask on the embarrassment later when you had reached the comfort of your home. For now, all you cared about was him.

“Y/n, it’s nice to see you.” He walked fast and made his way to open his mailbox.

“It is– it is always nice to see you, too.” You heard your words become nothing but stammers. Something that happened regularly when you would speak to him.

“Home from work already?” He asked while taking out his correspondence and shuffling through it.

“Oh, yeah… finished early. I’m guessing you’ll probably head to work now, I see you’re umm– you’re wearing your gym clothes.” You subtly admired his muscles, which looked enhanced by his tight fitted shirt.

“I’ll stop to get a smoothie from across the street first. They’re really nice and nutritious, you know. Maybe you’d like to check them out sometime.”

With you?

Your heart ran a mile, just thinking about that possibility. But no, his voice was too nonchalant to be asking you out. He was simply recommending the place. Nothing more, right?

“Sure, I’ll go when I have the time.”

There was an awkward silence growing as you looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to make this situation uncomfortable or to keep bothering him. Everyone that was waiting for the elevator along with you had already disappeared, including the annoying neighbor. You had completely disassociated with the fact that you were evidently trying to go home, ignoring everything just to give him your attention.

Would that make me look like a fool in front of him?

“Well, I– I should probably leave now. Guess we’ll talk another time.”

“Have a nice evening, Y/n.” He stuffed everything he had picked up at the mailbox into his duffle bag.

“Yeah, good luck at work.” You offered a tiny smile and pressed the button again, summoning the elevator.

“Thanks.” He chuckled and simply left.

In a few minutes you were stepping inside your apartment. Which just happened to be right next to his. That’s how you had met when you had just moved in. Both of you quickly became acquainted with each other over the months, although it’d be too extreme to call yourselves friends. You were just… neighbors on friendly terms.

“Ugh, I totally made myself look ridiculous again, didn’t I?” You spoke aloud to yourself as you took off your shoes.

This crush was something you had been harboring for quite a few months. At first, you just noticed he was an attractive man. No one could deny that. But as you continued getting to know little bits and pieces of him, and noticed how respectful and kind he was to you, compared to others, your heart couldn’t help but fall for him.

You went inside your room and opened the window. Looking down at the streets, you noticed how he was walking away from the kiosk with his smoothie in hand and couldn’t help but continue admiring him from afar. He took a small sip from it and continued his steps. Your eyes never left him, convinced that he would not notice you staring his way.

Miguel looked up and glanced at the building where you both lived. His eyes immediately noticed the opened window on the 5th floor, with a certain person leaning her elbows on it. He smiled at you and waved. Your cheeks and ears immediately heated up. He had noticed you.

You waved back reluctantly, then slowly stepped away from the window, closing it a few seconds later. As you sat down on your bed, you fanned your face and ears. Things just couldn’t get more humiliating than this.

You decided to take a cold shower, hoping it would relax your mood. Once the cool water hit your skin, you were able to take a deep breath and release all the tension. At some point you’d need to confess your feelings, right? The worst thing that could happen would be getting rejected. Or maybe he’d be nice enough to accept going on a date, just to try things out, and then end up confessing you’re not exactly compatible.

I could just keep this to myself forever, though.

The evening went on as it usually would. Dinner was made while playing that romantic playlist you had created when thinking of him. Then you watched some tv, not paying too much attention to it, as you wrote the —probably— thousandth love letter you had made for him. That was the only way you knew how to pour out your feedings. At least without stuttering like a fool. But you could never give these to him.

Acting like a schoolgirl in love was definitely not the best way to go about this, you knew it. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from wasting the ink of your pen on a piece of paper that’d remain stored away, along with others like it. A red sharpie adorned the corners of the letter with pretty hearts. Each one was a symbol of your infatuation.

The sky was dark outside, letting you know it was probably time to go to bed. After all, tomorrow you had to wake up early, just to repeat the same, boring routine. You went to the kitchen to grab some water, like you usually would before sleeping. The faint sound of a blender could be heard through the wall. He was already home.

You smiled, knowing that only a wall separated both of you. A wall that felt infinite. With a final sigh, you heard the blender stop, and made your way to your room. The satin bedsheets welcomed you, bringing comfort after a long day of work. The thought of your earlier interactions with him clouded your mind as you waited for sleep to take over.

The next morning, as you were making your way out of your apartment complex, some random old man you had never seen before began trying to talk to you. There weren’t a lot of people around, unlike most mornings. For a moment, you considered going back inside, but you simply couldn’t afford being late for work. The old man spoke in Spanish so you could just act like you didn’t understand that he was talking to you.

“Chica, ven a verme.” [Girl, come to see me.]

You walked away without breaking pace. The old man kept calling behind you, his voice getting closer, until suddenly, his hand was clutching your wrist to turn you around. Your gasp was audible. No one had gone as far as grabbing you without permission before.

You were ready to defend yourself and slap the man away, when you felt the presence of another person, yanking the stranger away from you. When you turned your head around, you saw Miguel. His tall figure was blocking you from the old man’s view.

“No le caen los viejos rabos verdes.” [She doesn’t like dirty old men.]

“Perdón, no sabía que tenía novio.” [Sorry, didn’t know she had a boyfriend.]

You were breathing heavily, trying to process everything that had just happened. The old man walked away. Miguel didn’t move for a few minutes, staring at him menacingly. Once your knight in shining armor had made sure the coast was clear, he turned to you with a soft expression on his face.

“Are you alright? That fucker didn’t hurt you, did he?” He was concerned and his arms wanted to hug you, but he didn’t want to step outside the line, like that other man had done.

“N-no, no, I’m okay… I think.” Your body was shivering just a bit, partially because of the chilly morning air.

“I’m glad to hear that. If anyone ever bothers you again, tell me.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Thank you, for helping me… but, how come you’re outside this early?” You were confused. He had told you about how he only worked from afternoon until nighttime at a gym, and barely ever woke up early.

“I was on my way to the airport.”

“Oh– you’re going to travel… well, I wouldn’t want you to lose your flight because of me. Anyways, I have to get to work–“ You began walking away.

“Wait wait, I’ll go with you. And I’m not traveling.” His words made you slow down your steps.

“I don’t want to be a burden…” You said, reluctantly.

“You’re not, I promise. But it’s completely fine if you don’t want me to accompany you, so don’t feel like you have to agree.” He assured you with a warm smile.

“No, I would really like that– I mean… sure, you can.”

He gave you one of the chuckles you loved so much and you resumed your walk to work. He followed after you silently. It was quiet as you both made your way through the streets, save for the sound of some cars and the other people that walked by. It was a comforting silence. It made you feel safe.

Once you had reached your destination, you turned around to thank him again. You both said your goodbyes as you watched him leave. There was barely any time to process anything. Much less as you both walked together. He always made you so nervous.

Work was slow and tiring. Your mind drifted to the thought of Miguel, as it often did. But today, he seemed to be persistent on staying running through your head for longer. It definitely made you get distracted way too many times during working hours.

Finally, after each agonizing second, it was time to clock out for the day. Once you were a block away from home, you remembered to buy groceries. By the time you had finished, the night had covered the sky with its starry mantle.

As you neared the building of your apartment complex, your eyes drifted to the kiosk across the street. There they found Miguel, and a smile crept up on your face. He was speaking with the other customers, a lively conversation likely taking place by the looks of it. His gym clothes were on, meaning he was back from work.

You considered going there with the pretext of trying the smoothies he had recommended, but desisted upon the idea for the moment. First, you needed to get rid of the grocery bags. Perhaps, by the time you had left them at home, he’d still be there chatting and you’d have time to come down and casually join the fun.

If only the elevator was faster, of course. It seemed to move even slower when you needed it to do its job the most. Miguel and the smoothies would have to happen another time. Or not… for you felt a familiar presence entering the building and joining the long wait for the elevator.

“Hey again.” Miguel’s voice rang across the hall.

“Oh– hi, Miguel.” You totally pretended you hadn’t recognized him by the smell of the Axe body spray he’d use after gym.

“Need help with that?” He pointed at the bags.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. But thanks, you’re always a gentleman.” Soon enough, you realized you’d given him a compliment and cringed internally for some reason.

“Heh, glad to know that.” His voice all smug.

The elevator arrived and you both made your way inside. It creaked loudly as it made its way up to the 5th floor. Miguel shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Remind me to tell the landlord to get this old thing fixed.”

“It’s no use, anyways. You know he’ll just ignore the request.” You sighed and leaned your back against the elevator wall.

“I should still try, at least before it brea–“ The lightbulbs blinked and the elevator stopped.

The two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, realizing what was happening. You were now stuck inside an elevator, and with the man of your dreams no less. But even the fact of being here with him didn’t stop you from slowly panicking.

“Shit… Miguel, what are we going to do?” You asked, exasperatedly.

“Press the button for emergencies, it should alert the nearest fire department. Just don’t panic.”

“How can I not panic? We could run out of air and die here…” You pressed the emergency button repeatedly and checked your phone to find signal, but to no avail.

“Don’t do that, the button could break. And we’re not gonna run out of air. This has air currents here, I think.” He spoke while typing on his phone.

“You seem oddly relaxed…”

“I’m also worried, but I’m trying to text the group chat of the people I train. One of the dudes is an engineer and there’s also a doctor, so they’ll probably know what to do.”

“Shouldn’t you call 911 or something, instead? I have absolutely no signal–“

“Hold on, I’m getting some answers… Miles said ‘don’t run out of air’…” He squinted his eyes as he began reading the replies.

“Ha, I told you we could run out of air!” You began panicking more now, thinking his doctor friend had answered.

“Hobie said ‘lay flat on the floor if it starts falling’…” Miguel continued reading the texts out loud in a confused tone.

“WHAT? Don’t tell me your engineer friend said that.” You were now seated down on the floor.

“No, he’s a musician. Only the younger people are answering right now, but these sound ridiculous.” He almost laughed as he kept reading. Leave it to the teens to joke about a situation like this one.

You leaned your head back in frustration. Miguel ended up sitting down as well and carried on typing. He looked awfully chill in this situation. Your only hope now was that the fire department had been notified through the emergency button. As time passed, you convinced yourself that if you were going to die, at least it’d be with the man you liked.

“Well… thankfully we’ve got some food and water, in case we have to spend the night here.” You pointed to the grocery bags, which were now also laying on the floor as well.

“And good company.” He smiled without looking up from his phone.

You felt your face heat up again, and your heart jumped up and down. His words always managed to fluster you in the worst moments. Now that you were stuck together for so long, it was becoming harder to hide your crush. You thought that this was probably a signal the universe was sending you, to convince you to finally confess before you died and it was too late.

“Umm, Miguel…”

“Yeah?” He looked up, glancing at you now.

“So there’s this thing I’ve been meaning to say– or ask, I guess.” You breathed in before continuing.

“I hear you.”

It was now or never.

“Okay, so–“

The elevator shook slightly and began moving up again. The lights flickered repeatedly, then the doors opened after it had reached your floor. You were not dying there together, after all.

“Oh, I guess grandpa decided to take a nap in the middle of his shift.” Miguel joked as he stood up.

He reached out his hand and helped you stand up. He then took some of the bags and carried them for you until you’d reached your door.

“I’m so glad it started working again.” You commented as you fumbled with the keys.

“Yeah, but anyways, what was it that you wanted to ask me? You never got to finish your sentence.”

You stood there frozen for a second, trying to come up with something to say. Your life was no longer at risk, so you didn’t feel the need of confessing before death any longer.

“Oh, it was nothing important.” You stalled, still thinking about what to say.

“Are you sure? You can tell me anything.”

“I just– I wanted to know if I could start training at the gym you go to.” You said as you opened the door of your apparent.

“That’s it?” He sounded like he didn’t really believe that’s what you meant to say.

“Yep. I’ve just never been to a place like that in my life so I gotta ask the expert, of course.” You smiled innocently, as if to convince not only him, but yourself, that what you had said was the truth.

“Sure, you’re welcome to do so. It’s not exactly a secret society, so you could have joined any gym without asking me.” He spoke sarcastically but your mind focused too much on the last portion of his sentence.

He probably doesn’t want me to join the same gym as him.

“Right… well, it was a long day and you must be tired. See you around, Miguel.”

You took your bags inside and closed the door quickly, leaving him slightly dumbfounded. Leaning against it after locking, you took a deep breath. Your mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle, and overthinking wasn’t helping at all. A shower was all you needed to get rid of all the stress caused by today’s incidents.

Once you had finished freshening up, you grabbed a quick snack before heading to bed. Rest was due. You didn’t feel like thinking about him and confusing your head even more. Now in the comfort of your bed, you allowed sleep to take over.

Thankfully, there was no need to worry about waking up early the next day. The sweet weekend had arrived, meaning you could rest and stay inside all day. The perfect way to avoid Miguel.

However, your dreams had different plans. As if to spite you, your subconscious mind displayed images of how it would be like if you and Miguel were a couple. The dream began by showing how you knocked on his door and confessed to him, he looked happy as he confessed his feelings as well. Then everything shifted, you were both having dinner at a nearby restaurant and he leaned over to kiss you. One last shift of images happened before you woke up. This time, the images presented you both kissing inside the elevator, slowly taking each other’s clothes off. His mouth had moved to your neck, leaving marks as he made his way down your body. It all felt soft and intense… and so real.

The loud honk of a car resonated through the walls, making your eyes open. The memories of your dream flashing rapidly inside your head, making you cover up your face in shame. But you wouldn’t deny how much you were enjoying it, so you screamed into your pillow in frustration.

“Fucking car had to wake me up exactly when it was getting good!” You whined and threw the pillow.

What if this was another sign?

Sitting up on the bed, you reached out for your phone and called your best friend. Sometimes when a girl doesn’t know what to do, she needs professional assistance from someone who knows her better than she knows herself.

“Oh em gee, look who’s calling!” You heard your friend on the other side of the call.

“Hey, bestie… so, I really need help with something– more like, someone.” You admitted nervously.

“And here I thought you wanted to, you know, say hi to me and know how I’m doing, maybe ask me out for brunch but nooo… I’m kidding, of course. How may I be of service?” She joked, making you laugh.

“Well, it’s about my neighbor.” You whispered the word ‘neighbor’, as if it was possible for Miguel to hear you talk about him through the wall.

“Wait, is this the neighbor you spoke to me about like two months ago?”

“Yeah, it’s about him. I’m in dire need of some advice.” You hated how she knew you so well.

“Girl, seriously… I thought by now you had already fucked him.” Her words made you gasp and burst out laughing.

“You did not just say that.” You continued giggling, unable to control yourself.

“Well, did you do it? Or did he break your heart and you need your best friend to cheer you up?” Maybe she didn’t know you that well.

“No, I just have this huge crush on him–“ You began explaining.

“Still?” Your friend cut you off with her comment.

“Yes, still. And I don’t know, but lately a lot of strange things have been occurring. I keep thinking they’re signs saying that I should tell him how I feel, but he keeps giving me mixed signals sometimes. I never know what’s going on inside his head.”

You continued rambling about everything that had happened in the past two days. Your friend listened carefully, her own mind trying to come up with the best answer to your problem. Surely, you couldn’t continue living life like this. Once you had finished the rant, she stayed silent for a few more seconds before finally speaking.

“In my opinion, you should knock on his damn door and confess. What’s he going to do? Bite you? You’d probably like it, anyways.” At least she spoke the truth.

“You make it sound so easy.” You shook your head and sighed.

“Because it is. You knock on his door, confess, I’m sure he likes you so he’ll say yes, then he’ll invite you in and you can fuck. Simple.” She sounded proud of her answer.

“It’s not certain that he likes me, maybe he’s just really nice.” You protested, still denying that possibility.

“Gosh, just get it over with! If he rejects you, just come over to my house for the weekend and I’ll help you deal with the pain. But now I need you to get your ass up and stop being a coward. Or else, I’ll show myself up when you least expect it to tell him everything.”

“You wouldn’t do that…”

“Try me.” You heard her chuckle.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You sighed in defeat.

“Today.” She almost threatened.

“Mhm, today, whatever.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be expecting an update of how it went. But if by midnight I don’t receive anything, I’ll know for sure it wasn’t a rejection. Good luck, love ya!” She blew a kiss through the phone and hung up.

This girl…

You armed yourself with the courage your best friend had provided you with. She was right, you needed to get this over with. The next two hours you spent getting ready, making sure you looked and smelled nice. Even going as far as shaving, because you never know.

Once you thought you’d done enough, you checked yourself in the mirror one last time and inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. As you made your way out, your heart was racing like never before. With wobbly legs and fiddled thumbs, you found yourself at his door. Another breath was taken before finally knocking on it.

Each second felt endless, even the door seemed to be opening in slow motion. Goosebumps suddenly appeared on your skin as you timidly looked up. But right there, standing in front of you, wasn’t the guy from apartment 512. Instead, a beautiful blonde woman had answered.

You felt your heart chatter. A million things going through your head as you stared at this woman you had never seen before. She looked a bit confused, waiting for you to speak first. At the moment, you simply couldn’t find any words.

Of course, he has a girlfriend. How could I be so stupid?

You were about to turn around and walk away while apologizing for the interruption. She obviously didn’t recognize you, so you’d just pretend you didn’t live next door and act like you were looking for someone else’s apartment. Then you’d pick up the pieces of your heart and spend the weekend with your best friend. As you took your first step back, the blonde spoke up.

“Were you looking for my brother?”

You froze and blinked twice. The breath you didn’t realize you were holding was released. Now you felt even more confused than her.

“Your brother? Miguel never mentioned he had a sister.” You scratched the back of your head.

“Are you the neighbor he was stuck with inside the elevator last night?” Miguel’s sister chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“My brother went to the kiosk to get us breakfast, even though we should already be having lunch. You can come in and wait for him if you’d like.” She opened the door wider to invite you in.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come by another time.”

“Alright, then I’ll let him know you were looking for him when he comes back.” She gave you a warm smile as she began closing the door.

“Sure, no problem.” You smiled back.

Once the door was finally shut, you remained standing in the hallway. There were now two options: either run back inside the house like a coward, or meet him at the kiosk. You chose the latter.

The elevator was as sluggish as ever, yet this time you didn’t care. You made your way out of the building, feeling like you were in a movie scene as the air hit your face while you walked to the kiosk. You noticed him immediately, leaning against the counter as he waited to receive his order. And in this moment, this was all that mattered. Him, only him.

The guy from apartment 512.

He looked up and your eyes met. There was no turning back now as you approached. He smiled brightly and you returned the smile with a hint of shyness.

“So, you came to try the smoothies I told you about.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Actually, I came to talk to you about something– and I promise it’s not about the gym.” You heard him chuckle.

“Okay, how about we enjoy some smoothies first and then we talk?” You were about to agree to his suggestions and then you remembered…

“But what about your sister?”

“Oh, don’t worry– wait, how do you know about my sister?” He was confused.

“Umm, I knocked at your door earlier.” You nervously admitted.

“Hmm, I see. As I was saying, don’t worry. She won’t die without her overly complicated, banana, pineapple, kiwi, and almond milk smoothie. Or her empanadas, which I seriously recommend, too.” Miguel rolled his eyes playfully as he listed out all the ingredients from his sister’s smoothie.

“If you say so… then I’ll have an uncomplicated guava smoothie with empanadas.” You spoke cheerfully.

“Good choice.” He stepped slightly closer.

“I think today I’m finally making the correct choices, for once.”

Life in Nueva York was like this, same people, same routine. Skyscrapers reaching for the sky, a bustling city scene. Yellow taxis honking loud, streets alive with motion. From dawn till dusk, a vibrant place, a perpetual emotion.

And now you had someone to share it all with. The smoothies from the kiosk across the street. The ancient elevator that would sometimes fall asleep. The unwanted stares and comments. This life and its precious moments.

❀if you made it this far, thank you for reading~ it's been ages since i wrote anything, so i hope i'm not too rusty. let me know if you'd like a part 2❀

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