House Calls
This was written for the lovely thebluewolfhowling over on tumblr as part of a pay-it-forward promo.
John glared at the ceiling in disdain, snapping his book closed as the sound of a pounding bass resonated through the room. Hadn't they ever heard of common courtesy? He had a dissertation to write!
If this were the first time that this had occurred, John would have been understanding, patient, forgiving even. But it wasn't the first time, nor even the second; no, this was a recurring event. At least four times a week, he'd had to endure the cacophony of music and shouting and the unmistakable noise of two people vigorously having sex. He had grown exceedingly weary after the first week
He'd been patient the first time it had happened. The morning after, he'd gone up to the fourth floor, to the room directly above his, and had asked the resident of said room to try and keep the noise down.
A tall, burly man with disheveled blond hair had answered the door, and right behind him was a beautiful young woman. She seemed embarrassed to see John, but the man seemed indignant. He set John's teeth on edge, and it took every ounce of patience to continue a civil conversation with him.
The woman, Rose, she'd introduced herself as, apologized profusely and promised him they wouldn't be a problem again.
That interaction had happened nearly a month ago, yet nothing had changed. Every time he saw Rose around the building, he would, once again, convey his annoyance and frustration with her and her boyfriend's antics. Every time, she flushed bright red and mumbled, "I'll talk to Jimmy."
Presently, John angrily stood from his place on the sofa where he'd been attempting to make it through a hefty physics tome, and made his way up to the fourth floor. He was livid; he had exams to pass, papers to write, sleep to have. He could hardly accomplish any of those with those two living above him; he'd taken to staying later and later at the university, and napping in the library (though he'd been told off about that at least half a dozen times).
He made it to room 416 and was about to knock, when he heard the moaning begin. From somewhere inside the flat, a rhythmic banging began. Heat rushed to John's face. He couldn't interrupt them during that. Well, he could…he didn't want to.
He made a hasty retreat, grumbling under his breath the whole time.
That was his life for three long months. He'd taken to flat-searching, desperate to be away from the noisy, ardent couple from the fourth floor. He was coming up with nothing. A friend of his from uni had offered John his spare room in his flat. John had reluctantly declined. Jack was a great friend, but he knew he was regular Lothario; John would be moving into the same situation from which he was trying to escape.
Just as John had resigned himself to living in this hellhole (at least until the lease was up), he detected a change.
The noise hadn't changed (if anything, it was louder) but something about the atmosphere had. The music stayed on longer, and was louder, and had a harsher edge to it. He heard raised voices and thumping. Not the good kind of thumping and shouting he'd grown used to, but it sounded like arguing, and furniture being shuffled around and heavy footsteps. The amorous noises were fewer and farther between, being made primarily by a man. Rose was becoming more and more subdued.
He always seemed to run into her as they were getting the post, and they'd used to stop and make idle conversation.
He learned that she worked a department store a few blocks over, and that she always wanted to go back to school; whenever he asked her why she didn't, she deflected and always left shortly after. John, meanwhile, told her about his work at the university, how he was nearing in on getting his Doctorate in physics.
"So not a proper doctor then?" she'd teased, giving him that tongue-touched smile that made John's insides do funny things.
"I am so a proper Doctor!" he squawked indignantly. "Just you watch, Rose Tyler, everyone will be calling me 'Doctor'!"
After that conversation, that was all she ever referred to him as, and it made him smile every time.
But he hadn't talked to Rose in days, and when he did see her, she always fumbled for excuses that she was busy and had to go.
The change made John uneasy.
Until one day it all stopped.
For an entire week, he didn't hear a peep from his upstairs neighbors. He didn't see Rose at all, not even in passing. It worried him. He liked Rose; he didn't like her boyfriend, nor did he particularly enjoy how she acted around her boyfriend.
But perhaps they'd simply moved out. Perhaps the landlord evicted them for too many noise complaints. Not that he would be sad to see them go, but he would miss Rose and their nightly conversations in the mailroom. He hadn't realized how fond he'd grown of Rose until she was gone.
After another week had passed in which he hadn't seen nor heard Rose or Jimmy, he finally resolved himself on going upstairs and checking in. If the flat was empty, he'd know not to look for Rose anymore; but if she were there, he at least wanted to make sure she was okay.
He brought a peace-offering gift: chips from the shop around the corner. During one of their little talks, she'd revealed she adored chips, but she hadn't had them in awhile. Apparently her boyfriend didn't want her "spoiling her figure". John had nearly gone up to punch her boyfriend in the face for that comment. Rose was beautiful, in John's humble opinion, and he'd blurted that out to her after she'd told him she wasn't eating chips anymore. Rose looked startled, and John was about to quickly backtrack, until a slow smile lit up her face. She was breathtaking when she smiled, and John had quickly excused himself, lest he embarrass himself further.
Shifting the takeaway bag of chips from hand to hand, he finally knocked on her door.
"Who is it?"
"Uhm, it's me…uh, John…the Doctor…y'know, from the third floor," he managed to stutter out, cursing his usually-reliable gob for failing him.
Several moments passed, and he was sure she was ignoring him. He was just about to turn away and go back to his flat when the door finally opened. Rose stood before him, arms crossed, a wary look on her face. She looked exhausted.
"What do you want?"
John tried not to flinch at the harsh edge to her voice. He instead held up the container of chips.
"I brought dinner," he said cheerily, smiling amicably at her.
Rose just lifted her eyebrow at him.
He slowly lowered the bag and scratched at his neck
"I, uh, I noticed your boyfriend hasn't been around as much," he hedged. Upon seeing a sharp flare in her eyes, he hastily continued, "And, well, I was just worried. I haven't seen you, either. Or heard you. Didn't know if the two of you had moved on... Anyways, I just wanted to check up on you. And bring chips. You said they were your favorite."
Finally, a small smile crossed her face, and she backed away from the door to let him in.
The flat was barren. There was a lone two-person sofa and a coffee table, but that was it. Nothing hung on the walls, no personal touches, no knickknacks.
"Not the homiest of places, I know," Rose said apologetically, a faint blush staining her cheeks.
John just grinned brightly and strolled over to her sofa, plopping down as he opened the Styrofoam box of chips. The smell of grease and salt and potatoes wafted through the air; they smelled heavenly. He patted the empty seat next to him in encouragement.
She sat, and immediately dug into the food, moaning as she chewed. John swallowed thickly; what he wouldn't give to hear that sound in another context…
He quickly halted that train of thought before it got him into trouble.
They continued to eat in silence for a few more minutes.
"Are you alright, Rose?" he finally asked softly.
Rose stopped chewing and stared at him for a long moment. She finally swallowed and gave a sigh.
"My boyfriend left me," she said. "Pulled a runner. He took most of our stuff with him. I'm almost a thousand quid in debt now, and can hardly afford the rent by myself."
Rose looked so defeated in that moment that John couldn't help but wrap an arm around her. She stiffened for a moment before relaxing into the embrace.
"Sorry," she mumbled into his chest, trying to ignore how good he smelled, or how natural it felt to be in his arms. "You probably didn't want to hear all that."
John frowned.
"Don't apologize," he said. "I asked; I wanted to know what's going on. And if I ever run into that bloody ex-boyfriend of yours again…"
Rose giggled, pulling back slightly. John was relieved to see that familiar sparkle to her eyes again. His stomach swooped and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth.
"You'll what?" she teased. "You look like a stiff wind will blow you right over."
"I'm stronger than I look, promise," he defending, puffing out his chest slightly.
Rose laughed again, and John joined in with her. It felt so natural to be around her; she was a breath of fresh air in his otherwise stifling life.
They sat in a companionable silence together for a few moments before Rose checked her watch.
She sighed as she stood, saying, "Sorry, but I've got to get to work. I've been trying to take extra shifts."
John nodded in understanding, quickly gathering up their empty containers to throw away in the communal rubbish bin down the hall.
Rose walked him to the door, but before he left, he turned to face her. He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it more than it already was.
"I, uhm, I was wondering if we could do this again sometime, maybe go for a coffee?" he managed to stutter out.
Rose's face became guarded again.
"Look, you're a nice bloke John, and I like you, but I don't think I'm ready for…"
"Oh, no no no!" he said quickly, suddenly realizing how the words came out. Well, not that he'd object to going on a date with Rose. The exact opposite, in fact. It was ridiculous how eager he was to spend time with her. "Not like a date. As friends. Because I quite like you, too, now that I've met the real you. And I'd like to get to know you better. If you want."
Rose smiled shyly and said, "I'd like that."
John suddenly rooted around in his pockets, sifting through all of the rubbish he inexplicably kept there, until he found his mobile. Rose, likewise, went and fetched hers from the kitchen counter.
"Right, here's my number," he said, rattling off the familiar string of digits. "Call me whenever you've got a free moment, so we can do this again. Or even if you just want to talk."
Rose beamed radiantly at him, a weight seemingly being lifted from her shoulders. John swore that he'd make her smile everyday like that if he could.
"Right then, Rose Tyler, I'll be off," he said brightly. "Until next time!"
He beat a hasty retreat from her flat, his heart beating too quickly in his chest and his hands feeling clammy. Bloody hell, he felt like a bloody adolescent pining over his first crush. He was almost thirty, for God's sake! This behavior was embarrassing!
His mobile was still in his hand, and he nearly dropped it in surprise when in vibrated.
He checked the message: Hi, it's Rose.
He smiled to himself as he saved her number.
A few moments later, it buzzed again. Again, it was a message from Rose.
Thank you.
A goofy grin split John's face, and he walked back to his own flat feeling lighter and giddier than he had in years.