Title: Muscrove Apartments
Author: Jodie
Rating: M
Summary: Caught up in her career, Amber doesn't think much about that vacant apartment next to hers. Until it's resident returns…
Ship: Danny/OFC
Authors Note: Not my best piece of work, but I wrote it to feed an addiction rather than make a literacy masterpiece. The story was originally going to be about Tom, but I changed my mind at the last minute and thought what the heck, Danny will be fun.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Don't be upset if I portray Danny in a way that you don't like. I don't know anything about the guy. This comes from the deepest darkest corners of my imagination.
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Chapter OneI fell in love with Muscrove Apartments the moment I stepped over the threshold. At the time I had just turned 22 and was fresh out of Australia just about to start my new job in Public Relations. Hence, I decided I needed somewhere quiet and relaxed, and Muscrove Apartments proved to be just the place I was looking for.
Structurally the building was shaped a bit like a U. All the rooms face inwards and all have a balcony that overlooks the garden in the centre. Room 301 was small yet cosy and consisted of only two rooms, a bathroom and a joint bedroom, kitchen and living area. But its large windows reminded me of Australia and my next-door neighbour seemed nice, so I moved in right away.
Never did I expect one apartment could bring me so much love and excitement.
"Good morning, Amber."
I looked up from my organizer and smiled at my landlord Lewis as I strolled into the foyer, "good morning Lewis, how are you?"
"Oh, I'm having a bit of trouble with my knees, but I cant complain." Lewis replied from his position behind the reception desk, "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Not too bad," I replied stepping up to the counter and resting my elbows on the hard marble, "another Monday morning."
Lewis smiled, "I'll give you a piece of advice lassie, work hard, save your money and retire early."
I grinned. Lewis gave me this same piece of advice every morning. Well into his 60s and still not retired he was patiently bidding his time until he could retire with a comfortable amount of money in his pocket. "I will," I assured him, "have a good day."
"You too lass. Taxi should be here soon."
"Thank you."
I waved him goodbye and strolled out of the building onto the streets of London. Stopping at the curb I fished through my bag for a piece of gum and patiently waited for my taxi. My work was only a walking distance away, but I was running a bit late this morning considering I spent most of last night awake at my computer working on some campaigns for this mornings meeting.
Working in Public Relations is brilliant and all I have ever dreamed, but it is certainly a lot of work. Especially since I am keen for a promotion by the end of the year.
As I was waiting I let my eyes slowly drift along my street. It was pretty much deserted as usual, occupied only by the sporadic person who would smile and wave on their way to work. Within the space of five or so minutes a taxi pulled up in front of me and I was just about to open the door and get in when I was distracted by a blue mini cooper pulling up across the road.
I watched curiously one hand still on the door handle as a young man jumped out of the car. He looked to be in his early twenties, although it was difficult to tell considering he had a gray beanie pulled down low on his forehead. I don't know why he had caught my attention, but I couldn't look away as he pulled a large suitcase, and guitar case out of the boot of the car before slamming it shut and making his way across the road towards me.
"Miss?"
I dragged my attention away from the young man and looked at the taxi driver, "oh sorry," I murmured opening the car and sliding inside, "I was a bit distracted."
"Where to?"
"Um," I watched the young man walk up onto the pavement and begin searching through his pockets. He was quite tall, and rather slender, a few locks of brown hair were peaking out from underneath his beanie.
"Miss?"
"Oh sorry, to Moorhead Drive thanks."
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I was in a crappy mood by the time I got home from work that afternoon. I managed to make it up to my apartment, pull on some pajamas and consume a Tim Tam before I fell into a exhausted sleep before it even hit 7pm. Funny how lack of sleep catches up on you from time to time. I was awake again by 3am and was just groaning to myself about how tired I would be at work when a sound made me pause.
It sounded like… a guitar?
Nonsense, I'd been living here for six months and I was pretty sure none of the elderly residents could play guitar. I shrugged, ignored it, and jumped into the shower instead.
Emerging into a steam filled bathroom I took the time to cleanse my skin and nearly drown myself in moisturizer before pulling on my jeans and jumper. I was just booting up my computer when I heard it again. That steady strum of the guitar.
Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the sliding door and stepped out onto my balcony. The cool early morning temperatures hit me immediately and I crossed my arms across my chest. I didn't think much more about the cold weather though, once I realized the balcony to my right was occupied.
Room 302 had always been a bit of a mystery to me. I had never met the person who lived there but from gossip around Muscrove Apartments I gathered it was a young man who travelled a lot. Mrs. Blair told me over tea one afternoon that he was pleasant and very much liked her chocolate chip cookies. But other than that Mr. 302 had always been quite the mystery.
A mystery no longer, Mr. 302 was right there in the flesh, playing the guitar. And playing it rather well if I do say so myself.
"Hi," I greeted him.
He paused playing and looked at me with a polite smile, "hey, sorry did wake you?"
I stared at him, I knew that voice, and I knew that face. I just didn't know where I knew them.
"No," I replied with a wave of my hand, "I've just got some crazy sleeping habits at the moment. I'm Amber, by the way. And you must be the infamous, Mr. Room 302."
"Mr. Room 302?" he repeated with a smile placing his guitar aside and standing up.
I shrugged, "I don't think anyone in this building has ever met you before."
"Well that's not true," he replied walking over to the far end of his balcony and leaning against it, "you have. I'm Danny."
"Danny," I repeated, leaning across and shaking his offered hand. Our balconies were only a few feet apart, "you look familiar, and I cant place where I've seen you."
He chuckled, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
"You're not going to tell me?" I questioned with a raised eyebrow.
He shook his head, "what would be the fun in that?"
"It's going to drive me insane," I replied with a grimace, "well welcome back anyways."
"Thank you." Danny replied politely, "So I'm assuming you moved in recently? I like your accent, Australian?"
"Yeah, I moved here about six months ago."
"Six quiet peaceful months," Danny smirked, "I'll try to keep my noise down."
"If your referring to your guitar," I replied gesturing towards it, "then don't, I love the sound of the guitar."
"Really? Do you want me to play you something? It might jog your memory as to where you know me from?"
I shrugged, "sure."
I leant my elbows on my balcony and watched as Danny picked up his guitar and began strumming out a tune. After a few moments there was no mistaking it. How many times had I heard this song on the radio a few years ago? "Five Colours in Her Hair," possibly my favourite song back when I was a teenager.
I rolled my eyes. How in the world did I not recognize bloody Danny Jones? With his beanie off that hair was unmistakable. He wouldn't be home much because he was touring all the time. I felt like smacking myself in the forehead.
"Oh," I drawled, "you'd think I would have recognized you straight away since I've been living here for six months. McFly are huge here."
Danny laughed, "ten points to you."
I'm living next door to Danny Jones… what are the chances?
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To be continued...
