A/N: Wrote this for my creative writing class as a flash fiction. I like making my entire class read this gay shit. Please enjoy!
Nothing is worse than being ripped out of your sleep, especially at 3am. Why the hell are you up?
"God dammit!"
You hear the shout through your paper thin walls, and immediately scowl. You debate whether or not to go back to sleep or go deal with your neighbor's ruckus, but your decision is made when you hear another particularly loud yell.
With a grumble, you throw off your sheets, feet finding their correct slipper, and head out of your shitty apartment. In the hall, you pause for a moment to see where exactly the sound is coming from.
"FUCK!"
Left it is, then.
Your knuckles rap against the worn wooden door, irritation getting the best of you. You got home late last night because the gig at the club ran over time (not that you're complaining about the extra pay), and you're tired as hell. You shouldn't be standing out in the middle of the hall, pink fluffy slippers and a pair of boxer shorts and all, and yet you are.
As the door finally the door swings open, you have your complaints ready on your tongue but they die in your throat. Holy hell, your neighbor is hot.
"Yes?" he asks in a cautious voice. He's shorter than you, fluffy black locks sticking up every which way, and giant blue orbs hidden by rectangular lens.
"Uh-" you say smartly. "I was just- I couldn't help but overhear that you're having trouble with something?" You cringe. You came over here to give your neighbor piece of your mind, and now you're some kind of good samaritan?
"Oh! Yeah, sorry." Little Mr. Hottie plays with his hands nervously. "I was trying to put together my new bed frame, but I'm not very handy with these things."
"That explains all the swearing then," you reply with a small chuckle which he mimics. You're about to turn away and go back to bed when an idea strikes you. "You know, I could help you with it if you want," your lips move before you can stop yourself. You two are complete strangers, he doesn't know anything about you and yet–
"Yes! Please! God, thank you," the little stranger exclaims, and gestures you inside.
The next thing you know, you're inside this cutie's apartment, standing side by side as you look at a bunch of wooden parts strewn haphazardly across his bedroom.
"I'm John, by the way. Figure you should know my name since we're gonna put my bed together, huh?" he laughs, and you want to cry at how beautiful that simple noise is.
"Dave." You internally fist pump at being able to keep an even tone.
John smiles. "Well, let's get to work!"
So the two of you go about assembling his large bed frame, trying to figure out the directions from the pictures on the instructions.
"See, this is why I don't buy furniture from IKEA," you say, earning another laugh from John.
You continue to make idle conversation, John complimenting your slippers, which you pose dramatically for. He asks about your work, so you tell him that you're the DJ at a local club. You ask John about himself, and you learn he's a university student. He even has a part-time job at Starbucks. You tell him you'll definitely stop by the next time he works.
Finally around 4am, the construction is complete. "You know, since we went through all the trouble of putting your bed together, why don't we test it out?" you suggest with a sly grin.
John laughs and thanks you for your help. You leave his apartment with a dumb smile on your face, the tingling sensation of his lips against your cheek, and his number written in Sharpie on your hand.