ꜱᴏʟᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

Can't Help Falling in Love

Can't Help Falling in Love- Elvis Presley

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Nico groans when he hears the voice come through the walls once again. The walls were thin, so it wasn't uncommon to hear one of his neighbors. He usually heard the elderly lady on his left talking to her sister, her dog, her imaginary friends. He could hear the people above him, stomping around and banging on furniture. (He honestly wasn't sure what they were doing, but he did have some idea.) And then there was his neighbor to the right.

Nico has never met the guy, but he knows plenty about him just by sitting at the kitchen table. His neighbor played piano and sang and always had people over (though Nico wasn't sure who would ever want to come over to such a crappy apartment building as theirs). He seems to have quite a taste in music, always singing something different.

Tonight, it seems to be musicals. His neighbor was currently attempting his own rendition of "Defying Gravity", and Nico is about to turn up his own music when he hears the water shut off. He sighs. His neighbor's singing was the worst when he was showering. Every other time, it seems like his singing is relatively decent. Which makes Nico slightly annoyed. If he can sing at least decent, he should sing at least decent.

Nico turns back to his computer, frowning at the blinking cursor. It seems to mock him, alerting him to the fact that the Word document is decisively blank. Nico huffs, typing something. He reads it over, glaring at his computer. He deletes the sentences, ending up back where he started. He looks at the clock. He's been sitting at his kitchen table for a little over an hour, and he has yet to even have a decent sentence.

Nico wants to bang his head on the table. He's about to when there's a knock on his door. He groans, standing up. His bones crack, and he pops his neck just for effect (even though no one is even there to appreciate it).

"What?" he asks. There's a tall blond guy standing in his doorway.

"I needed some sugar. Do you have any?" Nico blinks. Was this guy flirting with him? "Just a cup or so. I'd say I'm borrowing it, but you probably won't see it again." He tilts his head a little.

"Oh, yeah," Nico says, finally understanding what the guy's asking. He holds up his finger, moving into his kitchen. He measures out a cup of sugar into a plastic bag, handing it to the guy.

"Thanks, man. Really saved me there." He grins, saluting. Nico just shrugs, shutting the door. He has no idea who that guy is, but hopefully, he'll put that cup of sugar to good use. He makes himself a cup of coffee, wondering if he should order pizza for the second time this week. He knows how to cook, and he used to enjoy doing so. But it's really depressing to cook a full meal for just one person.

Nico ruffles through his coupons, deciding on Chinese take-out. It wasn't pizza, so he didn't have to feel guilty about anything. Chinese take-out came with rice and vegetables and meat. That was most of the food groups, right? Nico dials the number, giving them his order. He wonders what that blond guy is doing with a cup of sugar.

He sits down, his computer in front of him again. It's mocking him again, that cursor. Nico closes out of Word, not even bothering to save the document. There wasn't anything there worth saving anyhow. He doesn't understand why he can't write anything. He's not lacking inspiration, he doesn't think. Or maybe he is. Since graduating, his life has become monotonous and routine.

It's so routine that all of his (two) friends know exactly what he'll be doing at almost any given time of the day. He has a day job to pay the bills, but it's boring and doesn't require any thought whatsoever. It's all about taking orders, welcome-how-may-I-help-you?, that'll-be-nine-fifty, thank-you-have-a-nice-day.