A/N: For day six of Caesar's Palace shipping week. Living across from each other AU. (Also is there a record for the amount of references in a less than 500 word fic, and have I broken it, because oops.)
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It's 9:59PM on a Tuesday night, and Laura Hollis is about a door and three pages away from a meltdown. The pages are because she's got a long submission due for her work tomorrow, and it's only around 60% complete because in an entirely predictable turn of procrastination, Laura binged Grey's Anatomy instead of finishing it over the weekend. The door is only in the equation because it leads to an apartment adjacent to hers. She's never met the resident, but she – and probably the entire rest of the building – feels as if she knows them far too well from only their music taste. The music is loud and obnoxious and goes on until the early hours of the morning, and Laura really should have made a noise complaint some time earlier than the night before her work's due.
Just as Laura's about to call it quits and go off to dig her earbuds out of storage, the door unlocks and – finally – swings open. Leaning against the doorframe is the elusive floor-mate, a girl about Laura's age and height, with dark curling hair and a jawline sharp enough to cut.
She's also not wearing pants. Laura looks down inadvertently, sees underwear dark against an expanse of pale skin, and jerks her eyes up, fast. The girl is smirking openly at her now.
"Hi," Laura says. She swallows fast and fights the blush that threatens to rise. "I'm Laura."
"Hey." The girl is still looking far too amused for someone half-clothed. "Carmilla," she adds when Laura doesn't answer.
"We're neighbours. I live–" Laura gestures vaguely down the hall.
"Yeah?" The picture of complete disinterest, Carmilla inspects her nails and picks idly at a cuticle.
"And okay, so I work in investigative journalism, and this is sort of a busy time …"
"As much as I'm interested in hearing about your career, Lois Lane, I'm kinda busy here." Carmilla sounds anything but interested, and there are clothes strewn on the floor behind her, which, no. Laura stops looking. "Was there something in particular you needed?"
"Uh," Laura says eloquently, still carefully not-looking at the clothes. "Yeah. I've got heaps of work to do for tomorrow, and I was– hoping you'd turn the music down?" She's now also hoping the pounding drumbeat won't be replaced by something ... else, which was not a concern she'd had coming into this. Ugh.
Carmilla rolls her head to the side, stretching her neck and managing to look even more disinterested. "And why exactly would I do that, creampuff?"
"Because," Laura starts, then sighs. "God, I don't know – I have to get this crap done? And," she adds, because it's late and she's not above bribery and other forms of corruption after 10PM, "I make really good cookies when I'm not stressed over work?"
Carmilla lets out a burst of laughter, fast and sharp as if it's been shocked it from her. "You're going to bake for me if I turn the music off?"
It does sound ridiculous when she puts it like that.
"Well," Laura starts, because she's obviously already lost and it's not as if she can improve the situation at all. Might as well go all out. "The offer's there."
"I would have picked you for a stress baker, cupcake." She shrugs. "But, yeah, sure. I mean, I can manage without it for one night."
"Really?" Laura says, the note of sarcasm evident in her voice. Then, remembering what the other girl's just agreed to, "I mean, uh, thanks?"
Carmilla smirks, not taking the bait. "Good luck with your report, Lauronica Mars." She winks, then shuts the door in Laura's face.
(But the low sound of the music she'd turned down to talk is shut off abruptly, and it doesn't turn on again for the rest of the night.)