It looked so glamorous from all the TV show and movies you’ve seen as a child.
That bright-eyed child you once were would happily tell your parents that you would live in a big city in a nice apartment, just like in the movies. Your Dad would laugh and your Mom would freak out since she wasn’t ready to think about her own child moving out in the future.
Memories of back then always seemed to flood your mind as you carefully apply a wing to your eye with your eyeliner. Delicately, you grab your light pink lipstick and roll it onto your lips. Makeup is done. Your hair is done.
Next is your clothes, and you’re already walking to your room to survey your closet. The loud hustling, bustling of traffic can be heard from your window. Cars honking, people shouting. It makes you wonder if the city ever slept.
If you had to be honest, city life is loud and crowded.
The apartment is small.
Your job is awful.
You hate it.
You would wake up in the morning and take a shower before eating a bowl of bland corn flakes and drive around town finishing up errands until noon when your shift started. Then after work, you'd go home and doll yourself up and go meet up with friends at this club, partying it up until one or two in the morning. You'd go home after being dropped off at your apartment and stumble into bed, sleeping in and dreading that awful hangover awaiting you once you wake up.
And you would do it all again.
Dressed in your tight skirt and low cut top, you slipped on some heels and stepped out of your apartment with just your phone and purse. Tonight is the usual Saturday night, where you would go with your friends down to the club and get wasted for the umpteenth time. From the several times of having terrible hangovers, you’ve already attempted to stop drowning yourself in alcohol and would instead just watch your friends be lively while casually sipping at just soda.
It’s more fun to write on their face when they’re passed out drunk (but being incredibly drunk with them is fun, too). So you’re usually the designated driver on club nights.
But tonight it’s someone else’s turn to drive, so you’re stuffing a few bills into your small wristlet wallet.
In the middle of typing a message to your awaiting friends of how long it should take you to get there, you see an individual carrying several boxes stacked high to the ceiling down the hallway.
This...is quite the sight. You couldn't even move your legs or finish the text since you could barely rip your gaze away. Your eyes were solely on that person carrying those boxes with ease. That was pretty impressive.
What was even more impressive was the fact that as soon as the person passed you, you realized that person was a skeleton.
How odd. You start thinking, wondering if the apocalypse was upon you. How would you know? It's been a very long time since you bothered with TV or looking up current events on your phone since you barely have a life outside of working and clubbing.
The monster stops by a door - the door next across from yours - and stands there for a few seconds.
“... Do you need help?” You offer and the skeleton looks back at you, and you noticed he's wearing an adorable blue scarf and a brilliant wide smile.
“Oh! Hello, there human neighbor!” Oh geez, he's got quite the voice. It's not loud, but it certainly does have a presence. “Do not concern yourself, as I have everything under control. But the magnificent Blueberry appreciates your kind offer.”
He then shuffles around, trying to figure out how close he can get to the door. It was cute to see his boney brows knit together as he contemplates if he can balance all the boxes in one hand while using the other to open the door. He probably could, since he can carry that much in the first place, but judging from the way that many of the boxes are littered with the words 'fragile’ you're sure he doesn't want to take the risk.
“I just thought you standing there meant you were hoping the door would open?” You shrugged as faint blue dust the cheeks of the skeleton man. Is he blushing?
“n-no, not at all! I was merely wondering what I should do to get inside while carrying all these boxes. I consider it a puzzle for real-life situations,” the skeleton insists as you chuckle.
“I kinda like puzzles, too. But sometimes a puzzle requires two brains instead of one, so…” You go around the skeleton man and go to his door, taking the doorknob. It wasn't locked, so it opened without much trouble.
“You are very kind, human. I do suppose that a helpful hand would be good for certain puzzles, however, I must insist that it will not happen again if it hadn’t been for my lazy brother not keeping the door open like I had asked him to do,” Blueberry huffs before slowly turning and taking big steps towards the door. He stopped, humming thoughtfully. “Perhaps I have carried more than will fit through the door? This will not do!”
If he stepped through the door, then the box at the top would hit the door frame and most certainly fall, smashing whatever was inside.
“Here, lemme take a box,” you say as you reach up and carefully slide two boxes off the top of the pile he's carrying. Blueberry kneels down a bit so you could reach easier. It wouldn't hurt to be nice to your new neighbors, even if they aren't exactly human.
You wish you didn't offer to carry anything because these boxes are HEAVY-!
“Wh-What's in here?” You gaped, startled as Blueberry happily walked into the apartment. You slowly walk into the somewhat empty apartment, seeing Blueberry set the boxes down with ease onto the kitchen table. You do the same, nearly weeping in relief for your jelly arms.
“It is filled with many, many plates for taco consumption!” Blueberry says as he turns to look at you, and when he does, his eye sockets widen just a bit. You don’t really notice as you view a few of the boxes having the same label as the heavy one you just carried.
So he likes tacos a lot, huh?
“Well goodness, you’re pretty strong. I could barely carry one, and you carried like what? Four? So cool,” you crack a smile before your phone goes off, not noticing the blue glow on the cheekbones of your blue scarf wearing skeleton neighbor.
Your friends are already waiting outside the apartment, waiting for you in their car. Texting a quick reply, you give the skeleton a wave. “Well, I should go. I'll see you later?” You say as you're already turning around and hurrying off as best as you can in those heels of yours.
“It is nice seeing - I mean, meeting you, human neighbor. Perhaps next time we shall exchange names as most neighbors would do when they first meet - and she is gone like the wind. dashing!” Blueberry sighed with an admiring gaze as he watches the human scurry out the door.
You promised yourself not to think too much about the skeleton you met in your apartment. He was a skeleton, and now you’re just wondering what had happened to your previous neighbor.
That asshole owes you a couple of dollars and a new mop.
Literally, how could you not think about your new skeleton neighbor? On the way to the club, you told your friends about it, and they didn’t seem to be shocked that monsters were moving into your apartment.
“So...monsters are a thing now?” You ask and got a few tissues and candy wrappers tossed at you in response.
“Monsters have been living with us for the past two years, (Y/N)! What were you doing?!”
“I don’t mean it like that. I meant, the apartments around here. They weren’t keen on renting to them or something,” you shrug as one of your friends, Cathy, pass you a piece of candy. Score , you thought as you take it and unwrap it. “Well, good for them for finally taking their head out of their ass.”
“Say that to their face next time,” the friend driving the car, Sam, snickers.
You pop the candy into your mouth, rolling your eyes. “I’ll say it when I find a new place to live. I don’t want to be homeless.”
“Not that it matters since they’re letting them move in,” Cathy says, while Sam grumbles wheel.
“Still woulda been funny,” Sam says as she nearly zooms into the parking lot near the club and successfully snatched a parking space that two other cars were trying to get to. She glances to you and Cathy with this big grin, “who’s ready to get waaaasteeeed~?”
“Not really feeling it.”
“You guys are so hilarrrrrious, really,” Sam grumbles blandly as she turns off her car and gets her keys and small wallet. “Let’s get this over with. I can’t be sober around you two.”
“You’re the designated driver tonight anyways.”
She slams the car door while you and Cathy laugh, getting out the car and continuing to laugh obnoxiously at her as a joke.
You spent a wild night at the club with your friends and came home around three in the morning just a bit tipsy.
Okay, you came home flat out drunk, fully aware of the fact that in the late morning you’ll have an intense headache. Heels in your hands, you walk up to your door barefoot. You didn’t really notice someone behind you. Unaware, you reach into your purse with a sway in your step, pulling your keys as you dropped one of your shoes. C’mon, you can do this.
With a deep breath, you blew out a huff of hot breath against the cold door as the key still continued to miss the hole. Eventually, it went in, and you turned it, letting out a triumphant laugh as you nearly stumbled in, dropping your other shoe inside the apartment.
Keys tossed onto the kitchen table, you’re already at the fridge and pulled out a half-empty carton of milk.
“ ‘ereal, where ya at?” You slurred as you feel around the top of the fridge, successfully grabbing a box of cereal. Shout out to Aldi’s for having corn flakes at ninety-nine cents. You nearly break a bowl when you went to grab one and ended up getting a fork instead of a spoon, but finally, you were finally at the table eating a bowl of cereal.
Ahh, corn flakes. Tasty bland flakes of cardboard. Definitely not a good snack for a drunk you, but you learned better than to make macaroni in this state.
But macaroni sounds so good right now.
Another forkful of corn flakes gets shoved into your mouth.
“hey there, bud.”
You were already too invested in your bowl of cornflakes to register the fact that there’s a tall skeleton wearing an orange hoodie at your open door. He’s holding the other missing heel you didn’t realize you dropped.
The skeleton must have realized that you were in corn flakes heaven that he shrugs and harmlessly tossed the shoe where the other shoe sat on the floor. The sound of the heel hitting the floor caused your head to shoot up and spot him.
“Wha-?” You shoot up from your chair and almost fell, catching yourself on the edge of the table. “Holy crap! Did you grow?”
“what?” The skeleton asked as he raised a bony brow, looking at your pathetically drunk self.
“Nooooo! You were cuter when you was tiny!” Already, you’re swaying as you approach him and even held a hand out to demonstrate how short the skeleton apparently was a while ago. “Tiny and cute and oh so blue!”
“ah, you mean my bro?”
“You, oh! Oh wow, I am soooo sorry!” An audible gasp escaped you as you felt extremely bad for mistaking this skeleton for the cutie pie who loves tacos. “I didn’t know he had a brother! Ah!! Wait, he did mention he had a brother,” you gasped again as you pointed a finger at the skeleton’s face as best you could, “then that means you, ah… An’...an’ you! You didn’ leave the door open for blue boy!”
He responds with a low chuckle. If you weren’t so drunk, you might have found it sexy, but literally, all you had on your mind was the fact that you weren’t getting an equal ratio of cereal and milk tonight with your spoon… ah, no you were using a fork.
Forks are okay for eating cereal with, right?
“eh. i don’t think i a- door the idea of missing out a nap. know what i mean?” The skeleton watches as the pun flies over your head. Your drunk addled mind is nearly steaming. “you should probably drink water in between shots if you don’t want ta get super wasted.”
“Ahaaaaa! No,” you grin as he shrugs.
“i should probably leave. i just wanted to give you back your shoe you left in the hall,” the skeleton explains as you audibly gasp for like the millionth time.
“Oh wow, you’re so nice! That lady across the hall would throw my shoe at me in the mornings and call me ah… dang you and your bro are such nice people, I am so lucky,” you place a hand over your chest, feeling tears building up. Ugh, today is such a good day.
The skeleton watches the drunk human before sighing, “would you say the same thing when you’re sober?”
“you should probably eat your cereal with a spoon, not a fork.”
“Ugh! No wonder I wasn’t getting enough milk with each bite! You’re a geen-eee-uuuuus!”
The skeleton grinned.
The door closes and you wondered if you had any honey to sweeten that mushy bowl of cardboard flakes. It tasted amazing and your drunk addled brain thought that tall skeleton is a genius.
Waking up to this moderately painful migraine, you groan and reach over to grab that bottle of water you kept nearby for late mornings like this. Twisting the cap off, you chug it down in several gulps. Ah, bad move -
You slide out of bed and slowly make your way to the bathroom, feeling your stomach churn painfully. Oh no oh no oh no -
The toilet is your best friend for the next five minutes. Great, there goes like, three bowls of corn flakes.
Brushing your teeth, you were searching your medicine cabinet for the aspirin pills, barely finding it behind the half-empty package of q tips. Tightly clutching it, you rinse your mouth and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing another bottle of water and taking the pills. Time to wait for the next hour for them to kick in.
Checking the time, you were a bit amazed to be awake before one in the afternoon. Whelp. Time to change and relax the day away since it’s your day off.
Raiding the kitchen, you made yourself a glass of fresh grapefruit juice with the grapefruit you found in the fridge. Squeeze out the sour juice, dilute it with water and sweetened with honey and voila, a perfect glass of juice. To accompany it, you threw together a bowl of sliced fruit and drizzle some honey onto it.
For the finishing touch, you drown the sweetened fruit with plain yogurt.
You’re honestly excited to get through this fruity snack since it’ll balance out with the fast food you’re planning to gorge yourself on later.
Grabbing a spoon, you turn around and spy your shoes, wallet, and phone near the door. The battery’s probably dead, you think as you tap the spoon against the rim of the bowl absentmindedly.
Through your hazy recollection of last night, you remember about a skeleton in an orange hoodie who came to your door with your heel.
You laugh. More at yourself. He must have had to witness your stupid drunk self. Gosh, that’s so embarrassing. You’ll have to come around to their apartment and thank him for bringing you heel.
It’s a nice change from the usual old woman throwing your shoe at the door.
Plopping down on the couch and juice on the coffee table, you shove your spoon into the bowl, ready to dig in when there’s a knock at the door. You groan, tilting your head back. Ugh, really? You’re not really in the mood for guests. Hungover and still in your clubbing outfit isn’t a good combo for being seen by others.
The bowl is placed on the coffee table and you get up to make your way to your bedroom. You want to throw on a hoodie or something, but the knocking continues and it’s sort of loud and sort of hurts your throbbing head, so you spin around and go straight to the door.
Opening the door, you find Blueberry standing there with a plate of tacos.
“Oh, hello there, Blueberry,” you find yourself greeting and Blueberry’s eye lights flicker as his skeleton way of blinking.
“Have I already introduced myself to you? That’s impossible, for if I have, then why don’t I know your name, human?”
Your hangover irritation melts away as you watch Blueberry knit his bony brows together in confusion.
“You referred to yourself as the magnificent Blueberry, so it seemed like that must have been your name,” You say as you leaned against the door frame, crossing your arms and grinning down at him. “Looks like I’m right.”
Blueberry blinked again, staring at you with this wide gaze. “It seems like my magnificence has gotten the better of me. Still, there is no harm in reintroducing myself to you,” Blueberry sticks his gloved thumb out and points it towards his chest, “I’m Blueberry, your new excellent neighbor with an offering of tacos I set aside from lunch. My guide to greeting new neighbors says to bring a gift for a successful introduction.”
He holds it out and you reach out to take the plate wrapped in aluminum foil.
“Please heat them up. Without the aluminum foil, of course!”
“Oh wow, thanks. This is great,” you say before looking back at your coffee table. “Just a minute, Blueberry.” You step away, setting the plate on the table and grabbed your bowl of fruit.
It’s hilarious to you that you’re offering fruit to your neighbor named after a fruit.
You return to the door, holding the bowl towards him. “Here you go, a glorious gift for my equally glorious neighbor.”
The apple of Blueberry’s cheeks flushes with blue. Skeleton blush. He must like the praise. “For me?” Blueberry asks as he takes the bowl and looks down, seeing the fruits drizzled in honey and yogurt. “A fruit salad! How healthy. Thank you!”
It’s not healthy with all that honey and yogurt , you think as you grin at him. “No problem, Blueberry. The name’s (Y/N), don’t wear it out.”
“I do not plan to wear your name.”
Cute. “That’s a figure of speech, Blueberry.”
“Oh. O-Of course! I knew that, for I am very great, (Y/N)!” Blueberry grins as he looks down at his bowl of fruit. He looks pretty excited to try it. You can only smile.
What a cutie.
Your empty stomach pinches you out of your appreciation for the adorable skeleton, reminding you that a meal is in order. Great, thanks tummy.
“You should - ”
“I better - ”
Both you and Blueberry look at each other in surprise before chuckling.
“What were you going to say, Blueberry?” You laugh as Blueberry recovers from that small blunder.
“I was thinking you should come over for a meal sometimes. The tacos taste better when they’re freshly made, after all.”
Freshly made? Are they corn tortillas?? You feel yourself growing excited. You LOVE corn tortilla tacos. Fajitas? Lengua? Barbacoa? They will all be consumed in seconds.
“Yeah, totally. Next time, though. For now, I think I’ll go give these tacos a try,” you nod to the coffee table, giving him a smile. “Thanks again, Blueberry.”
“No, human, I should be thanking you for returning my gift with a gift. Enjoy my magnificent tacos of friendship!”
“Thanks, Blue.” You close the door and lock it. What a nice guy. Cute. Polite. And he made tacos. Definitely a step up from your previous neighbor.
You sit on the couch, grabbing the plate and immediately peeling off the aluminum foil. And what you found nearly broke your heart.
They’re the crunchy shell tacos you used to eat in elementary school. The ones stuffed with ground beef and lettuce. You’re heartbroken.
“Nooooo,” you whine as you pick one up and shove it into your mouth, muffling your heartbroken cry. Oh well, American tacos are good for what they are.
(In your opinion, Mexican tacos are far superior)
You crunch down, and you’re surprised by the different textures this taco is giving you. “Mmmmmpphhhh??!”
The ground beef is tough and chewy and crunchy?? The lettuce is fine? You think? Same for the tomato, possibly? The cheese, you can’t even tell. The sour cream is distracting you because there’s something flaky and gritty in it. What is that? You run your tongue across the roof of your mouth, and the flaky pieces just smear all over your mouth. It’s plastic-y….??
Your eyes widen and you feel your gag reflex begin. You’re feeling sick. Quickly running to the bathroom, you spit it out into the toilet. What did you just eat?
A quick check in the toilet bowl and you see glitter mixed into the sour cream.
What the actual fuck.
You flush the toilet and brush your teeth for the next ten minutes to get out the glitter in your mouth. You have to throw out your toothbrush since the bristles are forever ruined by glitter. There’s a spare in the medicine cabinet at least.
Those tacos go straight to the trash can and you make another fruit bowl with extra honey and yogurt.
You’re this close to calling up Cathy and telling her you found someone as bad as a cook as she is, but you’re not in the mood to get her ‘enchiladas’ shoved down your throat. No, you’ll be shoving fruit salad down your throat instead.
“Why are all my friends bad at cooking?” You wonder to yourself as you dig into your snack before reaching over and chugging down half of the grapefruit juice. You let out a satisfied sigh when you pull the glass away.
...maybe you’ll take Blueberry out for some really good tacos.