UK Men One Shots

12-Andrew Garfield

"Good morning, Boston! It's going to be a beautiful September day with temperatures still climbing to the 70s! Don't pack away those light clothes; summer is sticking around!"

The deejay's voice is blown away by a sudden burst of crashing drums, pounding guitar, and screaming vocals. I look at my watch: 8:00. He's right on schedule.

Reaching into my purse, I dig out the expensive earbuds I bought specifically for this occasion. Stuffing them in my ears, I will Beethoven's fifth symphony to cover up whatever shit he's listening to. For a second, the melody fills my brain and calms me down, but his music sneaks in and ruins in. In disgust, I throw off the earbuds. I'm not letting him get away with this again.

Balling my hand into a fist, I bang against the wall. The music plays for a minute and then the volume is lowered a mere decibel.

"Good morning, my Bostonian neighbour!" A cheerful British voice calls from Apartment 215. "How are you this lovely day?"

"Don't be an ass!" I shout back, feeling an angry flush rising. "You know why I'm upset! Turn down the damn music!"

"I did! To talk to you!" He yells back and I can hear the self satisfied smile on his face.

"I'm going to call the landlord on you!" I threaten.

"From what I've heard, you already have," he laughs. "Don't you have a job you should be going to about now?"

My eyes flick to the clock on the stove. "Shit!" I murmur to myself. "Don't think this is over!"

"Not for a minute," he laughs loudly and the music goes back to its previous volume. With a grumble, I shoulder my purse and sprint out the door. Dealing with that prick is going to make me late. I run the block to the subway station as fast as I can in my hight heels and slip in just before the metal doors hiss closed.

The neighbour moved into Apartment 215 a week and a half ago and it's been hell. He is constantly playing deafening music at all hours, talking to himself loudly, and just being an all around horrible neighbour. Three days ago, I saw him sneak a blonde girl into the apartment. I've personally called the landlord twice, but he's done nothing. I have yet to meet him personally, but I'm sure he's nothing short of awful.

A cheery voice announces my stop and I join the herd of morning commuters in the streets of Boston. I've lived here forever, but the same high rises, polluted air, and insane Bostonians are starting to drive me crazy.

The skyscraper I call my workplace rises in front of me and I break into a run again. I cannot be late for morning rounds again. Even though my boss is my father, it wouldn't look professional. I manage to fling myself into my seat and straighten my pencil skirt before he walks up.

"Good morning Opal," Dad greets, his wrinkled face smiling warmly at me. "How's my gem today?"

"Just dandy, Dad," I mutter with a fake grin. This company has been in my family for generations and ever since I could understand, Dad has been telling me how I would one day work for him. I would always remind him that I was young and try to subtly let him know that working at an investment firm is not what I want to do with my life. But, here I am.

"That's fantastic. Say, can you pull up those numbers for the Caan company? I need them, stat!" I sigh and give him another fake smile.

"Sure, Dad. I'll fax them over to your office as soon as I can." He pats me on the back and I swivel back to my desk. I can already tell it's going to be shitty day at my shitty job.

"Hey Opal," a nasal voice greets me. Another person right on schedule. I turn to see my "boyfriend," Jeff From Accounting leaning against my cubicle in an obvious attempt to be suave. I sigh inwardly, smile, and stand to give him a hug.

"Hi Jeff," I lifelessly greet, stepping back as soon as the the necessary hug is finished. "How are you?"

"I'm great!" He chuckles, leaning against the cubicle again. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to lunch with me today?" He adds, straightening his tie. I bite down a chuckle; this poor man has watched too many episodes of Mad Men.

"I'm sorry, but I've got a huge workload on my plate so I think it's going to have to be a working lunch." I try to put as much disappointment into my voice as possible so he won't think I don't want to go at all.

His face falls slightly, but he keeps smiling. "Thats alright. Are we still on for dinner at my place on Thursday?"

"Of course," I hear my mouth saying, while my brain is screaming "not ever!" "That sounds great."

"Alright. See you later, Opal," he smirks and saunters away. With another sigh, I fall into my chair. Jeff From Accounting is another product of my father's incessant pushing. He thought he had "promise for a relationship and beyond." I have no idea what the hell that means. Jeff From Accounting isn't going to be another other than another responsibility to Dad.

I resume my typing, looking up meaningless facts and figures, connecting them to people I have never and will never meet. Life at MacArthur and Richards is not one of fun and games. Don't let The Wolf Of Wall Street fool you: investment banking isn't like that at all.

As the day slowly ticks by, people trickle past my cubicle: papers need to be signed, figures found, and investments accounted for. I have no idea why I decided to work here.

The minute the clock hits 5:00, I shoot up from my desk. "I've got to get out of here," I murmur to myself, throwing papers haphazardly into my briefcase. With a wave back to my coworkers, I practically sprint from the elevator. Thank god it's Friday.

I drag my weary bones up the two flights of stairs to reach my apartment and let myself in. The only one to greet me is Florence the cat. And the still roaring music from Apartment 215. An uncontrollable fury wells up within me and I throw my briefcase down on the table.

"I have tolerated this shit for too long," I mutter through gritted teeth to Florence. "I'm going over there."

Spending a couple seconds in front of the mirror (I don't want to look completely insane) I slam the door behind me and march to his door.

"Hey!" I scream, pounding at the door with my fist. "I need to speak with you!"

The volume does nothing. As far I can detect, there is no movement on the other side. The well of fury explodes and I pound even harder. "You had better answer the goddamn door or I will-"

With a lurch, the door is yanked open under my hand. The music is shut off suddenly by remote. My mouth drops open as I am brought face to face with the occupant of Apartment 215.

His unruly hair is sticking up around his head, like he just ran his fingers through it. Even though he is simply clad in jeans, a Radiohead t shirt, and a hoodie, he has an undeniable air of sophistication. A simple pair of black glasses are perched on his nose, continuing that aura of sophistication. An unlit cigarette dangles from his lips and bounces in a grin when he catches me staring.

"Hi. I'm Andrew."

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Special thing about this one shot is that it is also the first chapter to my new story entitled Apartment 215. I would be extremely grateful if you checked it out. I give all credit to MishamigoLoverSpn because she came up with the idea. Thank you! I take suggestions, so send them in!

CAST-
Jenna Coleman as Opal Richards
Andrew Garfield as himself

I'm so glad that you decided to read these one shots. I hope I won't let you down! As per the norm, comment, vote, share, follow! Thanks for reading! There is another one shot waiting for you!

The game is on!

-Stella