He had moved into the apartment on a hot august morning. The apartment complex seemed like a nice place; there were no boarded up windows, weird smells, and the police weren't constantly making an appearance. It was cheap, however, and he didn't initially understand why, just figured it was down to the quiet area around them. Just outside of the city, but it seemed easy to get to the centre by train.
He was alone, of course, so he had to carry all of his boxes up on his own. And, since the heat was nearly unbearable on that particular day, he found himself sweating after the second box. Three flights of stairs. He figured he would have to start hitting the gym again just to get up and down the stairs every now and again.
His job was, in his opinion, perfect. He was a composer, a musician, and so he spent a lot of time in his home, alone. Luckily, that worked with his particular physique and the stupid amount of stairs it took to reach the fourth floor. People in his old neighbourhood used to call him a recluse, but that was purely because he didn't see the light of day for weeks at a time, only resurfacing when he needed inspiration, or was craving his favourite type of chocolate cake.
Speaking of his old neighbourhood, he had left for a few reasons. Firstly, it was way too crowded- he lived on a main road, which attracted many cars and consequently, many people. Secondly, he disliked his neighbours, an old couple who shouted at him for playing his music far too late into the night. And, lastly, but probably the most prominent, the rumours.
The neighbourhood housed a lot of families, young couples with two and a half children looking for a nice, friendly neighbourhood with a large garden and sunny weather. In fact, he had just that family as his right neighbours, and the old couple as his left neighbours.
The children were afraid of him. A little boy and a younger girl. One time they had been playing outside and he had gone to shut the back window. As the fence was low, they saw him instantly. There was screaming, running, and he's pretty sure he got glares from the parents.
He wore a mask. It was as simple as that, and he had given up expecting people to see past it. After all, apart from his repeated black suit and white shirt number, it was the first thing people saw. He'd gotten used to the judgemental and fearfully curious gazes, and come to accept the fact that he wouldn't ever really have an amiable friendship with anyone. People had begun to talk about him behind his back, speculating about his past, his reasons for wearing the mask and never leaving his house. He tried to ignore them, but it still affected him in the worst ways.
As a musician, he obviously had a lot of instruments. And he had found it quite easy to pack them all into the moving truck, carrying them out efficiently and strategically placing them in exact places. However, his grand piano was a different story. Placed at the back of the moving van, so obviously the last object to be taken up to his apartment, proved to be a challenge.
Admittedly, he hadn't thought about it, which was truly unlike him. So, as he carefully slid his most precious possession down the metal ramp, he stared at it quizzically, trying to work out which method would cause him the least pain.
He must had been stood there for a while, because a young man with blonde hair and blue eyes patted him on the back and brought him out of a daze he hadn't realised he had been in. The boy was staring at the organ with a challenging look, seemingly sizing up the object like a man about to partake in a duel.
"So, which floor you on?"
He assumed he was talking to him and not he organ, so he answered in a shaky voice. "The fourth one."
The man nodded his head, and his shaggy hair fell in his eyes. He made no attempt to move it. He moved towards the piano carefully, placing his hands gently on it and testing for any safe handles.
"So, you take the front, I'll take the back?" He was raising an eyebrow at him, so he just decided to go ahead and do as the man said. He seemed to have more of a plan than himself, so he wasn't about to argue.
The piano was much heavier on the second floor than on the first. He found himself having to lean against the cool plaster of the stairwell just to catch his breath on the way up to the third floor.
"Come on, dude, we got this. It's too late to turn back now."
He could talk. He didn't even look tired. He seemed to effortlessly lift the piano, and he could see why when he glanced at the man's arms. The checkered shirt he was wearing seemed to be straining from the muscles in his arms, and his stomach seemed perfectly straight, completely unlike himself.
"You ready? It's not that far now, this'll be a piece of cake."
It was not a piece of cake. In fact, the reason he found it so difficult was probably because he had eaten too many pieces of cake. He felt embarrassed when he realised that the blond man seemed to be taking most of the weight yet didn't even seem to be straining himself.
Eventually, after a hard half an hour of laborious work, they reached the four floor and placed the piano gently down on the hard floor. He could barely breathe, but he could just slide the piano to his door now, which would be easy.
He awkwardly looked at the man who was leaning on the wall, an arm draped lazily over his eyes.
"Uh- thank you." He looked down at his feet. Not only was the fact that somebody had actually helped him completely new to him, but he didn't think he had uttered those two words in a very long time.
"'S'alright, man. I'm on this floor anyway. Which door you got?"
He checked his keys quickly, grabbing them from his pocket. "128."
The man seemed to nod his head idly, looking down the hallway. He looked bored, completely unfazed by what they had just accomplished, while he himself was still trying to gain the energy to stand up straight.
The man straightened and clapped his hands. "So, let's get this baby in then, huh?"
Despite the man's terminology, he took the drift and pushed the piano forward. It wasn't that far down the corridor until they got to apartment 128, a blue door with a gold handle.
"Hey, no way, dude. You're across from me!"
He looked up. The man was pointing to the door across from him labeled 138, the exact same door as his except for the number. He managed a small smile. At least he knew somebody. He wouldn't jump to conclusions and call them friends, but he would call the man an acquaintance.
"It seems so."
The man looked around, then held his hand out over the piano. "I'm Raoul, pleased to meet you."
He shook it, then retrieved his hand and placed it on his piano. "Erik."
"Well, Erik, let's complete this task."
It wasn't until his grand piano was safely inside his room and at least two hours had passed that Erik realised Raoul hadn't commented on his mask.
So I listened to I Never Planned on Someone Like You/ Don't Come A-Knocking from Newsies and Bonnie from Bonnie & Clyde for this. I kind of have a hazy plan for what's going to happen, but please- seriously, please- give me ideas. Reviews are so appreciated it hurts. Thanks for reading!