Thats Not my Neighbor. (Francis x y/n 1st person)

Oh, he's a gentleman.

Waking up, I feel refreshed. Best night of sleep i've ever gotten, better then yesterdays. Maybe because there is a heat source sharing the bed with me, but I digress.

The dawning sun peaks through a window to the right of his drawer. Rays of light illuminate the floor in streaks. The little bit of light serves as a reminder to prepare myself for my job.

Right, i'm not in my house. Pushing myself up and leaning on the headboard, I glance over at Francis. He's dead asleep, though, isn't today one of his workdays? Maybe he gets up at the bare minimum, like me.

I sit up a little higher and lift up my head to search for a clock. I need to know whether I can stay in bed for a minute more or I have to get up now. I do spot a clock, though it's on Francis' side. I do my best to lean over and read the little portable time keeper.

On the verge of falling on top of him, I sit back and sigh. I didn't get a clear read, but it's around 5, almost 6. I attempt again and get a clear reading; 5:45.

Oh, so I can stay laying down for at least 15 minutes more, That's nice. Sinking back into bed, I pull over the covers as if i'm trying to hide myself and stare straight up at the ceiling.

The popcorn ceiling pokes out at certain points, like if it were trying to reach out to me. I've always hated the acoustic ceiling look, it makes me feel like i'm being watched by someone above my room. The strange and disorderly pattern of bumpiness creates an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe that's just me.

Don't get me started on the texture too. Ugh, it's so itchy. Or it looks like it'll feel itchy. I don't know, i've never touched it before.

I keep myself occupied with my thoughts. These clothes are really loose on me. It's nice, but i'll show up to work in a similar outfit. Maybe not professional... but hey, i'm sure people are more interested in getting into their apartments than seeing what outfit the security woman is wearing.

It won't hurt to get up a little early, right? I can't wait for this man to wake up, he'll take too long. Carefully, I rise out of bed and as silently as possible stand up. I refrain from making any sudden movements or creating loud sounds that could awaken him.

I toss back the cover to make it look like I never was there, and I tip toe towards the door to leave. I just need to use the bathroom ... and get ready for work. But how will I get ready without him? I'm not dependent on this man I formally met a week ago, I know, but I do need an outfit sorted out.

Making up my mind, I abandon my thoughts for the bathroom and make my way to his side of the bed. On the left side, he's flat on his stomach and holding a pillow under his head. His face is pointing towards the window, so i'm not sure how he isn't awake from the bursts of light peaking through.

At first, I tap him with my index finger. "Hey, Francis," No response. Annoyed, I turn to the door and contemplate leaving again. Getting ready would be so easy, right? But I have to wake him up.

I try again. Now with my hand in a slapping motion, but soft enough to not cause any pain. Maybe slight discomfort — if he were awake.

"Francis!" I whisper shout. No response again. I curl my fingers around his shoulder and lightly shake him, my voice volume increasing with every time I repeat his name.

"Francis!" How the hell is this man still asleep? Must I swing a frying pan at his face for him to even think about waking up? I mean, at least he doesn't snore.

And I thought I was bad about waking up. I resorted to gripping his shoulders with a tighter hold and shaking him with more force. This is the step I have to do before I find an air horn and start blaring it into his eardrums.