Chapter Text
Caitlyn would consider herself a reasonable person. Doesn’t demand unrealistic things from others, expect miracles, ask for the world to be served on a platter. None of that. Just a little bit of common sense and decency.
Yet here she is, slamming open her sliding glass doors at 10 pm, at her wit’s end, getting ready to launch a rather passive aggressive note at her neighbor's balcony because, politely put, they’re a menace to functional members of society.
Let’s rewind a bit, about two weeks prior.
Things had been normal, a smooth and successful Friday afternoon. Caitlyn sat in her dimly lit apartment, lounged along her sofa, one ankle crossed over the other, feet perched on top of the armrest.
Flipping to the next page in her packet of papers, she scans it carefully before dragging a highlighter across some words, tagging a sentence bright pink for rework. From the scattered pile haphazardly balanced on her stomach, Caitlyn grabs a pen and jots a note in the margin before picking her trusty yellow marker back up. She tugs the slipping sleeve of her sweater back up her arm and twirls the marker between her fingers, tapping it against the essay a few times as she reads on.
Her eyes sting from reading and rereading each line over and over, a flurry of various colors and scribbles taking over the pages as she goes through.
Thesis revision is no joke; this is only her second draft, but it needs to be perfect.
A sudden shriek, shrill but joyful, startles her and Caitlyn almost jumps out of her skin at the noise. Papers falling to her chest, and she quickly props herself up on an elbow, trying to regain a sense of composure as her heart pounds against her ribs. Holy shit.
It’s not uncommon to hear commotion when you live in the city's beating heart, random strangers yelling as they pass by or the raging honks of horns, but that scream sounded far closer than any of those.
Pushing up from the sofa, she creeps towards the balcony door—the most likely source since it had been left ajar to let in the cool autumn air—trying to calm her unease and carefully reaches to crack open her curtains the smallest hint, peering out. To her surprise, Caitlyn sees a light in the apartment adjacent to hers.
Perhaps ‘adjacent’ is a bit of a misnomer. More accurately, the apartment in the building on the other side of the street. The building across from her is slightly older, a more classic style, brick painted a tannish brown, with white crowning accents. It’s five stories high, a typical black metal fire escape clinging to the wall, and a single pane window looking into the flat.
To contrast, her building is on the newer side, what was once a similar construction no longer stands, rebuilt more recently. It has a more modern look, sleek steel in black, white and every shade in between, riddled with large glass panes. It rises quite a few stories higher, with small glass balconies outside each room.
The structures don’t line up perfectly and despite seeming like complete opposites, neither building stands out, blending right into the city’s amalgam of architectural styles, a hodgepodge of contemporary meeting historical. They sit on the street corner, between them runs a dead-end street, filled to the brim with parked cars.
For the longest time, the apartment across from her had been vacant—something to do with reconstruction—and she had seen the realtor walk a few potential tenants through in the last week. Apparently one of them bit because this was the first time in a month someone was living there.
Caitlyn lingers at the window, keeping the blinds open just enough to get a clear view, but not enough to give away that she’s watching.
(It’s not as weird as it sounds, just a natural curiosity for the individuals that are now her new ‘neighbors’)
A few people come into view, scurrying by the window carrying cardboard boxes and holding up plastic bags. They go by enough times for her to get a decent mental image. There's at least four notable people.
Long hair, dyed bright blue, stands out the most. The girl, distinctively paler and shorter than everyone else, bounces around, pointing her finger in different directions, seeming to give orders rather than actually moving boxes. It doesn’t feel like a stretch to predict she’s probably one of the new tenants, also Caitlyn’s best guess for the person behind the yelling.
Then there’s the boy, white dreads a stark dichotomy to his dark skin, that unceremoniously shoves a backpack into the blue-haired girl’s arms. They argue for a minute before it ends rather childishly; the girl sticking her tongue out at him as he shakes his head, although they’re both grinning. The boy picks up a box from the ground and walks away with it.
Another guy, impressively with two big boxes in his arms, perched on his shoulders, passes by, stopping only to tilt his head inquisitively at the girl. He has goggles strapped to his face and a bit of baby fat still around his cheeks.
The last person, at least that she can distinctively make out, has his arms full with a box and a bag stacked on top, probably blocking his vision, which is why he bumps right into his friend. This kid is lanky, with wild hair that must be full of gel. Items go clattering to the ground and the trio starts to bicker, jabbing accusing fingers about.
She thinks she sees the figures of one or two more people shuffling in the background, but it’s hard to be sure through such a small window.
So far, her first impression is that they all seem rather… young. Alarmingly. Arguably fresh out of highschool, maybe first or second year college kids? Which, sure, is only a few years younger than her, but the difference in attitude is still there. Caitlyn’s chest constricts as the troubling thought comes to mind: they can’t all be tenants. If memory serves her right, it’s a two-bedroom apartment. Not even college kids would be that ridiculous, right?
Oh fuck.
Caitlyn draws her curtains closed with more force than necessary, eyes squeezing shut, dropping her head into her hands, pretending that not seeing the scene in front of her will make it disappear. She does not need noisy neighbors at a time like this. The fewer distractions she has, the better.
But maybe she’s jumping to unfair conclusions. Reasonably, not all of them are going to live there. It’s just family or friends helping one or two of them move in. And they’re probably just excited about moving into a new place and the noise won’t last, Caitlyn tries to reassure herself. She shouldn’t be too judgemental; everything will be fine.
And she’s right—at least about her first worry. All those kids do not live there, only two.
Or at least, she thinks. The blue-haired girl certainly lives there; they run on similar timetables, both up at the crack of dawn for classes. Caitlyn has spotted her some mornings, standing on the fire escape with a plate of breakfast, even made awkward eye contact a few times.
The other person? Caitlyn has no clue. Hasn’t seen them in the mornings—or rather any time before ten am, what a luxurious sleep schedule that must be—nor at nights (which is to say she’s not in the habit of staring in her neighbor’s windows very often). But sometimes she notices the shadow of a bigger figure that walks around out of the corner of her eye or swears she hears a distinct voice when the window is left open.
Her second concern is incorrect. Or rather, the worry was correct, and she was wrong to brush it off. Caitlyn makes a new resolution to always trust her gut; it’s right more often than not. Her neighbors are noisy.
And that's just the tip of the iceberg.
‘Everything will be fine,’ she told herself, deciding to write off the first week as move-in jitters. Caitlyn considers it to be a very generous grace period. But after the first week, the poor neighborly habits don’t stop.
To name a few: the light problem. There are no rules or laws about having them on at night, to each their own, but these aren’t just lights; It’s the constant flickering of them. Like they’re doing science experiments or something ridiculously random. Sometimes it’s steady, slow pulsing light, other times it’s flashing in unsteady bursts. It’s seriously distracting, especially at night.
Then, they have people over, a lot—her original fear of baby college kids is well founded at this point. Again, not a crime, but more people bring more rowdiness. Voices come through pretty clearly when traffic is on the lighter side. Sometimes when those boys come over and everyone in the apartment yells, it practically feels like she’s a part of their conversations. Caitlyn has picked up a few names: Jinx, Ekko, Claggor, Mylo, Vi, Powder (these are supposedly all real names), although she has no idea which belongs to whom.
And to continue on the point of noise, they are constantly loud. Constantly. If it's not a group of yelling idiots, its music being played continuously through the day, always right on the boundary of noise ordinances. Or these off putting bangs and clangs of some god forsaken machinery. It’s not so bad when the window is closed, just dull noises that occasionally startle Caitlyn, but her neighbors almost always keep the window open.
There are a million other small things, and maybe that makes her a critic, but they’re all utterly infuriating. It’s been two weeks, on the dot, she can’t take any more of this.
Which leads back just prior to the current situation.
Caitlyn is sitting on her bed, legs crossed, laptop on her sheets, and a notebook in hand. She’s been taking notes—writing them out helps her memorize better—on the recorded lecture her professor posted after he canceled class yesterday due to being under the weather.
Or trying to take notes. Only fifty minutes into a two-hour lecture, her page is scarcely filled and she can hardly focus. Specifically, because the people across the street have been blasting music nonstop. Once again.
Sure, it’s only nine pm on a Friday, but still, who needs to listen to music that loud? It can’t be healthy.
The next song queues up, some heavy bass rhythm in the never ending pop punk medley, and Caitlyn almost wants to cry. She doesn’t need to finish this now, but she’d prefer to.
Yet it’s thrown off her night because Caitlyn just isn’t in the mindset to get anymore work done and that’s probably the biggest sin her neighbors have committed. Her fingers wrap tighter around her pencil, digging into the heel of her palm. In a moment of frustration that bubbles to the surface, she flips to a blank page and writes.
It just so happens to come out in the form of a passive aggressive little letter, lead pressed hard against the paper, emphasizing all her anger. She’s no poet, but getting the emotions out feels good, a light catharsis. Caitlyn reads it over once, twice, and bites her lip. The immediate thought is to deliver it to her neighbor and hopefully knock the simple notion of politeness into their heads. But she shouldn’t send a note like this—her mother would say something about taking the high road—although she wants to.
She can’t, though. With a sigh, she tosses the notebook back on the bed and grabs for her phone on the nightstand, which has multiple texts awaiting her.
Quickly she scrolls through the group chat, a wall of messages from her friends creating plans for the night. One of the more recent texts is from Jayce, which makes her roll her eyes, insisting Caitlyn will ‘burn out from working’ and questioning if she’ll ‘grace them with her presence.’
Her thumb twitches with the urge to deny it; Caitlyn should finish things up, save herself the stress tomorrow. But the thought of unpausing her lecture and trying to pay enough attention to create usable notes sounds like the least appealing thing possible. In the rarest turn of events, maybe Jayce is right. She has been working a lot.
What’s life without the occasional indulgence?
She shoots them a text back and almost immediately gets a series of cheerful messages from her friends that bring a small smile to her face. Jayce, seemingly prepared for this answer, is already on his way to come pick her up.
Forcing herself up off the bed, Caitlyn takes a quick shower, washing off the imaginary layer of stress and unfounded worries from her skin. When she steps out and in front of the mirror, drying off her hair with a fluffy towel, Caitlyn can see the dark eye bags and stress lines that her mother is always so insistent about. This is definitely needed.
It’s not until she’s picked out and pulled on her outfit and done her makeup, does Caitlyn realize something is different. It takes her a second, pausing to sort out all the thoughts running through her brain when it hits her.
Silence. The music had stopped.
Caitlyn checks the time on her phone. The numbers blink almost mockingly. 9:54.
Of course it stops now, as they’re minutes away from a noise complaint once the clock passes ten, when she’s about to leave, and not two hours ago when she could have used it. Of course.
All her feelings swell back up and in a moment of fiery emotion, she makes a decision, ripping the page from her notebook.
Forget being the bigger person.
It’s a little later than usual when Vi gets back home and considers smacking her sister upside the head. She had guessed as much when she pulled up to their building, but was sure about it as she stepped out of the elevator on their floor: Jinx was blasting music again. Vi quickly checks the time on her phone—about a quarter to ten.
They’re gonna get in trouble one of these days.
Unlocking the entrance, she goes straight to her sister’s room, poking her head past the door. Jinx is hopping around the room, practically bursting with energy, in the middle of putting on mascara with one hand and trying to comb through her hair with the other.
“Yo, Pow, turn down the music.”
The girl doesn’t even acknowledge her existence, so Vi raps her knuckles on the wall before deciding to just flick the light off and on. That sufficiently scares her sister, whose head whips around to stare at her with wide eyes.
Jinx blinks a few times, tapping her phone to pause the music, before throwing a thumbs up in her direction and turning back around to lean in front of the vanity. “Jeesh, ‘ou coul’ jus’ knock.” They make eye contact in the mirror and her sister spits the eyeliner pen from between her teeth to speak more clearly. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over my music.”
Vi bites her tongue to keep from pointing out how that is the problem. She pushes her shoulder off the doorframe, far too tired to start a back and forth. Instead, Vi waves off her sister’s questioning eyes and laughs out the words over her shoulder, “invest in headphones, you menace.”
Retreating to her own room still feels a bit weird. She’d never lived with someone while also having her own private space. Everything about this still takes some getting used to.
Moving to the city was a process. She’d lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere all her life, where most people never left. Jinx getting college scholarships was a blessing for the both of them. Her sister had plentiful options for places to go, and Vi didn’t have an obligation to stick around. They left that shitty place in the rearview mirror and never looked back.
While Jinx chose to settle in the big city and do her first year of classes, Vi went where life took her.
But the journey wasn’t so important as the end point; about two months ago, after a four-hour phone call with her stressed out sister, Vi made the executive decision to join the girl in the city.
It was a big change, from working odd jobs and traveling cross-country at a whim to finding a long-term job and apartment hunting. She settled on personal training, a solid mix between her interests and reality, and after a couple weeks of certification and interviewing, found a good gym to work at. Flexible hours, friendly environment, and good money, enough to comfortably fulfill that silly dream she and Jinx always talked about and get their own place.
Even after the whole family helped them move in—mostly Jinx’s things from her dorm and the odd few items Vi had left back home—they’d found a routine, and lived here for two whole weeks, she still had trouble wrapping her head around it.
Vi trails a finger along her dresser, eyeing the framed photos that provide a few odd glimpses into her childhood. It’s weird, she decides, when the nostalgic pang hits her, but that's okay because it's the good kind of change.
Throwing off her jacket and giving her shoulders a much needed stretch, she settles on some sweatpants and a hoodie to lounge around the house in. It’s not super cold yet, but chilly enough for her to validate her want to weary comfy clothes.
She’s three steps into the kitchen, about to ask Jinx if she wants food when stomping footsteps sound from the hall and a few passing words are called out to her as the door slams shut.
“Be back later. Bye!”
Well, there goes her sister. Vi already had dinner with some people from work, so there’s no need to make anything, yet she still has the craving for a small snack. Opening the fridge and staring into it for a few moments too long—the coolness starting to seep through her clothes—Vi grabs an apple and forgoes cutting it up.
Taking a bite of the fruit, Vi drops herself onto the couch, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her fingers hover over the screen, unsure of what to do. There are a dozen unread texts from a group chat, some work emails, even a few Facebook notifications. But she’s not really in the mood for any of that, just mentally drained and still trying to get used to the newness. Vi pulls up Instagram instead, taking another bite as she scrolls through her feed, liking random pictures: dogs, sports, girls, whatever catches her eye.
It can’t have been more than a few minutes of her mindless scrolling when something smacks against the window, a dull thud resonating like thunder through the otherwise silent apartment.
Vi’s head snaps in that direction, frozen, trying to put her thoughts together, staring like she might be able to see through the closed blinds if she looks hard enough, praying to fucking god that wasn’t a bird or anything that just smacked into it.
Tossing her things onto the coffee table and stumbling up from the couch, Vi shuffles over to the window and adjusts the blinds with her finger, peering through. Thankfully, it's not an animal, nor does the window seem cracked.
As her eyes adjust to the darkness fogging up her vision, Vi is able to pick out a faint outline, a dark shape taking form. She blinks, trying to figure out if her mind is playing tricks or not, but it looks like… a ball?
Curiosity gets the better of her caution. Raising the blinds and pushing up the window, Vi pokes her head out, quickly checking for any signs of someone lurking in the shadows before shimmying out onto the fire escape. A breeze rushes by, even colder on an October night, chilling her bones, pushing at her clothes and rumpling her hair.
She picks up the ball, inspecting the object; it almost reminds her of a hacky sack, filled with some kind of small pellets except it's made with different material, maybe a stress ball if she had to guess. Admittedly, a pretty smart thing to throw, moldable, lacking any bounce, perfect to land. Clearly purposeful, but why? Where the hell did it come from?
If it was from her neighbors, they would have just knocked on the door—a few around had already come to welcome them last week, the person upstairs was never home, and the guy below them waved at her a few times by the mailboxes. Throwing something at her window would be a convoluted way of gaining her attention, not to mention seemingly impossible.
Judging from the trajectory that the object hit her window…
Vi’s eyes flick towards the apartment opposite them on the other side of the street, surveying a small balcony adorned with plantlife and the dark, heavy curtains pulled tight behind the glass.
It couldn’t be.
Confused, she glances down at the ball again, turning it between her fingers before noticing the small, neatly folded sheet taped meticulously on each side to the ball. Clearly, the person who threw this really wanted to make sure the note made it over.
Vi peels the tape and unfolds the sheet—lined, torn from a spiral notebook. Her hands shake, fingertips almost as pale as the paper, a flush across her wind bitten nose and cheeks. She grips it tight in her fist and reads it over.
Dearest Neighbor,
I hope your move into the building went smoothly. From what I've heard, it seems you’ve enjoyed settling in quite a bit. However, not everyone runs on the same late night schedule, many of us have daytime commitments. We can hear you, even from the other side of the street. It would be much appreciated if you could be more courteous with your late night activities.
Thanks
To the right, a few feet away, a street lamp flickers; The roar of an engine crescendos before fading into a hum as a motorcycle whips through the empty intersection; The shine of moonlight dims, hiding itself behind the nighttime clouds, breaking her trance.
“Damn,” she says to nobody but herself.
A swirl of mist snakes from her lips and gets lost in the world as Vi huffs out a small laugh. Figures a letter like that would come from someone living in the building across the street. What has she even expected?
She runs her tongue over her teeth and reads it again, trying to figure out how she feels about the less than subtle call out. Like a scolded toddler, for sure, but her emotions are mixed.
On one hand, they aren’t wrong; Jinx is loud. Vi is entirely aware of that, she grew up with the girl.
But somewhere in their time together, that loudness became like a background noise, not something that bothers her, a comfort almost. And they’d never broken any laws or breached any tenant rules. They’re in the green.
So, yeah, the girl is loud but that’s also her sister.
And, really, isn’t that all the thought that needs to go into it? Vi settles on the proper feeling.
Annoyed.
Tucking the ball and paper into her pockets, she steps back into her apartment, rubbing her hands together, trying to gain some feeling back, as she marches back to the kitchen.
Digging through the drawers she finds a sharpie and tape. Pulling the cap off with her teeth, she takes the paper back out, balancing it all in her hands, and fits her response in big bold letters at the bottom of the page.
Once she’s satisfied, Vi folds it back up and strings out the tape, wrapping it around the object multiple times, obnoxiously secure, and admires her handiwork.
Ball clenched in her hand, she makes her way back out to the fire escape and lines up the throw.
Vi doesn’t need a long-winded essay or thesaurus of words. Less is more.
Screw off
To her surprise, and maybe slight disappointment, their neighbor’s curtains are still closed the next morning when she gets back home around eight.
Vi had slept weirdly that night, a rush in her brain and a tingle dancing under her skin, so she got out of bed at five—an hour earlier than usual, and took a longer morning jog. Then she hit the gym for another hour, hoping to forcibly burn the energy out, and it worked well enough. She’d called in some food from a diner nearby and picked it up on her way back.
She fumbled with the bags and her keys, trying to get inside once she reached their door; but it wasn’t a struggle, her hands twitched with another emotion, a simmering excitement at the thought of getting a reaction from their neighbor. An unexpected variable in this monotony that Vi was trying to get used to.
It figures that for the first time since they’d moved, their neighbors' curtains weren’t already opened by the time she got back, even if this was earlier than usual.
A body bumping into hers steals her attention away from the window as Jinx sleepily stumbles back.
“Mornin’ Pow,” she snorts at her half awake sister. The girl looks, in the nicest way, a mess. Jinx had been out til 3 last night, doing who knows what, and crashed as soon as she got home. Blue hair sticks out wildly, make up still smudged on her face and a bleariness in her eyes.
The girl seems to notice her presence for the first time, sluggishly surveying Vi, muttering through her yawn, “sup.” Jinx claps her palms to her cheeks a few times, waking the rest of the way up. Her focus closes on the bags of sweet smelling food in Vi’s hands. “Is that all for me?”
Grinning at her naivety, Vi is aware they haven’t been living together long enough for her sister to know every tradition and quirk. She wraps an arm around Jinx and leads them to the counter, correcting, “first Saturday of the month is a cheat day.”
“I’ll be damned.”
They don’t bother with plates or proper cutlery, using the foil containers and shitty plastic utensils, a silent agreement that neither wants to do dishes this early.
Cutting up her food, she questions her sister between bites, “how was your night? What’d you nerds get up to?”
“None ya,” the girl snaps back before gulping down her orange juice. Vi doesn’t even get a chance to argue back because Jinx is contradicting herself, spewing out answers. “Okay, fine, but only ‘cause I wanna brag. The university has this low-key bot fighting club, and we went to check it out.”
They have a what? She thought her sister was going out to, like, a party. That sounds a thousand more nerdy.
Jinx keeps on, “Ekko, Claggor, and I are sure we could kick ass easily. Those scrubs won't know what hit them.”
Vi tries to bite back her laugh but voices her first thought, “losers.”
Rather comically, Jinx’s jaw drops, brow pulling tight as her eyes narrow, like she can’t fathom Vi’s reaction and spits a comment back. “Oh yeah? What did you spend the night doing? Mooning over pretty girls on Instagram?”
That’s something she wants to deny, but almost chokes on her breakfast when Vi realizes that’s exactly what she had been doing. “Fuck off.”
Avoiding the question, while also touching on the thought that’s been taking up space in her brain all night, she gracelessly switches topics. “Actually, something kinda funny happened.” When she gets a look of interest, Vi continues, “you know the apartment across the street from ours? The dude over there sent this pissy note basically saying we’re too loud at night and shit.”
“God,” Jinx draws out an agonized groan, nose scrunching as her eyes flicker towards the window. Her fork digs into her pancakes with a bit more force. “I should have expected that.”
Through a mouthful of food, Jinx rambles more, “be careful, I bet she’ll petition to get us kicked out or something, she looks the type.”
Vi pauses, placing her glass on the counter, lips parting and closing a few times before speaking. “She?”
There’s no way to determine someone’s gender through handwriting; Vi supposes she assumed one because it’s easier to conjure some snotty white dude with a stick up his ass to be the target of her annoyance. Although a stuck up, middle-aged woman who hates fun isn’t hard to imagine either.
But then her sister shatters Vi’s mental image with a sentence sharper than knives.
“Y’know the chick across the street—miss tall, dark, perfect, and always opens her curtains like she’s some fucking Disney Princess in the morning?” Jinx rolls her eyes like it’s a chore to even talk about it, muttering, “she’s given me a judgey ass glare a few times.”
At Vi’s blank stare, Jinx waves her hand reassuringly. “It’s fine. I guess you’re usually out for your morning run before either of us, and then we’re gone by the time you get back.”
Tall, dark, perfect. Those words unsettle her, they’re almost haunting. Surely, her sister is being mocking with her description. Vi wants to chance asking, but a pointed finger is flying past her face and Jinx cackles.
“There she is now. Go figure, even a priss like her sleeps in on the weekends.”
Her eyes flick over, and the words spill from her lips without permission.
“Holy shit, that’s our neighbor?”
A few feet back from the now open window stands a woman, as Jinx so aptly put it, tall, dark and perfect. Vi can’t make out the finer details of her face from this distance, but that’s not entirely necessary to get the idea of sharp features and a flawless figure.
Vi is starting like an idiot, undoubtedly, but like, wow. The woman pulls her navy hair up into a ponytail as she moves around, brushing the loose strands from her face. Dressed like she’s ready to leave for a workout—running tights that cling to long legs like a second skin, a black sports bra covered by a half zipped dark blue windbreaker, and some fancy-looking sneakers—yet something had stopped her from leaving.
Next thing Vi knows, the woman stops, standing there radiating the utmost confidence with her posture, hip cocked, holding her phone in one hand, typing away at it and… the same ball Vi had thrown back last night containing her rude response, in the other.
Fuck.
That clears the temporary haze from her mind, remembering her slight grudge. It’s so unfair. Their neighbor is not allowed to be annoying and hot.
Like really, really hot.
Fuck.
No. No, Vi will not give a pass to their stupid neighbor just because she’s pretty.
Jinx smacks her arm, and Vi snaps back around to stare into her empty container, lost for words and thoughts and the steps of breathing properly. Her sister grimaces and clears the table with a huff.
“You’re so typical.”