Septiplier one shots

Bustle

By Starryeyedboxes

Jack could hear it again.

As he rubbed his eyes, he could hear the soft tunes of an acoustic guitar strolling through his studio apartment. When he glanced out his open window, the wonderful lights of New York met his small room, strange hues of random lights cascading themselves against his walls from still-open businesses outside. It was only midnight, but for some reason, that beautiful melody of the instrument flowed through as if it were daytime.

Jack sat up and gave a small huff as he listened to the tune. He couldn't tell what song it was as it was slightly muffled likely due to the walls separating the two of them, but the harder he tried to listen, the more he found himself softly swaying to the music. It was easily one of the most interesting songs he had heard in so long. Soon enough, he felt himself padding across the wooden floors to the window to see if he could better depict where the tune was flowing from.

It didn't take long. In fact, he realized that the person playing the music was readily right above him, playing his heart out on such a wonderful instrument. Jack tried calling out a few times, but it seemed that the guitar was too loud.

So, for the time being, Jack sat on his knees, rested his arms on the windowsill, and placed his head on top as he listened to the busy streets below bustle behind such strong music. He let the melodies flow through him, easing his mind of the long work day behind and ahead of him, and allowed himself to get lost in the romantic song.

He couldn't help but smile.

The next night wasn't much different. Once again he was woken up with the music echoing slightly against his walls. It was a cheap apartment after all-- the acoustics weren't that great. But he could hear the skill that came with that kind of steady rhythm. The person playing was no amateur by far.

So once again, Jack found himself walking to windowsill to listen to the song again. It was around midnight as usual, and no matter how many times Jack tried calling out, he still received no response.

Another night progressed where he fell asleep at the window listening to this mysterious music.

A week passed of the same event. Wonderful music would wake the young man up as he wandered to the window and fell asleep listening to the beautiful song this stranger would play. It bothered Jack that they only lived a floor apart yet he had no idea who was the face behind the song.

But one night, Jack awoke in the morning, the sun greeting him through the window he continuously left open. How had he managed to stay asleep through the music when it had woken him up so many times before? It didn't make any sense.

However, soon enough, it dawned on him that maybe there hadn't been music playing. He surely would've woken up to it-- there was no way he wouldn't have.

So that night, Jack waited up for once. He was normally stirred around midnight, but eventually forty-five minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two. No music was flowing through his studio apartment like it had been the last two weeks.

It worried him. The night was completely devoid of that song he often fell asleep to, and before he could help himself, Jack felt himself changing into some jeans and a shirt before slipping on his shoes and exiting his apartment. He escalated the stairs two at a time and in no time, found himself standing in front of the apartment right above his.

But he hesitated as his knuckles hovered over the wooden door, ready to knock at any moment. He found himself wondering if this was even the right apartment at all, or what he would say if it was and the person with the guitar answered.

Jack quickly rushed back down to his apartment, swiped a pen and paper from his desk, and scribbled a quick note on its face:

Hello, Stranger--

I'm not sure if this weird or anything, but your music is really lovely. The last two nights I haven't had the pleasure of listening to it anymore. I miss it.

I hope this isn't too odd, but I just wanted to let you know your music is wonderful and I hope to be able to listen to it again sometime.

You're really skilled.

Sincerely,

Jack McLoughlin, Your Neighbor Below You, Apt #43

Jack made his way back up and slipped the note underneath the door he assumed was the correct one before returning to his bed and resting for the remainder of the night.

The next night came, and Jack found himself grumbling softly as he was stirred from a deep slumber. He was astonished to hear the guitar again, strong music flowing through his studio once more. It felt like home.

He sat up, and after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he noticed a note sitting in front of his door on his floor. The young man rushed over and unfolded it with greedy fingers.

Dear Neighbor Below Me, Apt #43

I was very surprised to find your note. Actually, it scared me when I first saw it in the morning. It took me a moment to realize it had actually been slipped under my door and someone hadn't broken into my apartment.

I'm really happy to know you like my music. I've been feeling a little down lately and writing music cheers me up often. It makes me ecstatic that someone else enjoys it as much as I do.

I stopped because I feared it was keeping the neighbors up at night-- which clearly by your note, I was correct. But if you're actually happy with me playing, then I'll easily pick it back up.

Hope you like this next song.

Sincerely,

Mark Fischbach, Your Neighbor Above You, Apt #53

Clutching the letter in his hands as he rushed to the open window, Jack listened to a different melody for once, but one that was still as beautiful as ever. So as always, Jack sat on his knees, rested his head in his arms on top of the windowsill, and drifted off as the New York bustle and extraordinary tunes of Mark Fischbach lulled him to sleep.