Chapter Two

Over the next few weeks, I rarely saw Mr. Danny Jones except for those sporadic times when we'd meet up in the laundry room, or make small talk on our respective balconies. But despite the fact I only saw him half a dozen times, it was amazing how much I learnt about my next-door neighbor. They should really make apartment walls thicker.

One of the first things I noticed was that he was ridiculously nocturnal. Ninety percent of the time he wouldn't head to bed until three in the morning, and I don't think I ever heard a peep from his room until midday when he tended to crash around his kitchen like an elephant on a rampage.

He played his guitar and sang a lot. And they were always songs I had never heard before which I decided probably meant he was writing songs for McFly's new album. Most the time he played on his acoustic guitar but a few times I nearly jumped out of my skin with fright when he started playing his electric guitar at ridiculously loud levels.

He took the longest showers in history (stole all the hot water) and tended to go out every Friday and Saturday night (coming home blind drunk). He was a terrible cook (if the burning smell had anything to do with it) and politely accepted Mrs. Blair's cookies (which she baked for him every three days).

As far as next-door neighbors go, he was all right. We built up a tentative friendship.

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It was early Sunday morning, several weeks after the reappearance of Mr. Room 302, and I found myself participating in a bit of a Muscrove Apartment tradition. I don't know who started it, but for the past few months around 10am on a Sunday, every resident would sit on his or her balcony for a bit of "resident bonding." It was a time where I usually spent most of the time in a yelling conversation with Mrs. Blair (who lived in the apartment directly opposite my own) or admiring Mrs. Thomas's most recent knitting work.

That morning however, I found myself drinking my weight in orange juice and carefully painting my fingernails black as I listened to several residents shouting at each other. It was very noisy and I was feeling vaguely sorry for Danny who had returned home just before sunrise and was most likely trying to sleep through this racket.

That is until he emerged on his balcony. I think all the old ladies nearly had a heart attack at the sight of him stumbling out in his red boxer shorts and not much else. I watched as he rubbed his hand over his face and looked around at everyone in utter confusion.

"What in the world?" he murmured.

I smirked at him, "good morning sunshine. Late night?"

Danny looked at me and ran a hand through his messy hair "is there a social call going on that I missed an invitation to?" he questioned walking towards me and leaning against the railing.

I shook my head, "just a regular Sunday. I can't believe you managed to sleep through it the past few weeks."

Danny looked around, "neither can I." He groaned and shielded his eyes against the glare. "This is karma isn't it, for all my late night playing? I haven't been that loud have I?"

Yes, I thought inwardly. Outwardly I shook my head, "I haven't heard a thing."

Danny let out a deep breath, "do you know any hang over cures?"

"Sleep?" I suggested innocently.

Danny glared at me.

I laughed, "Well other than sleep, greasy food is always good. I was going to go get some take away if you wanted to come."

Well, I wasn't really planning that at all, but now that I thought about it, hot chips sounded brilliant.

Danny pondered it before nodding, "yeah that sounds good, give me five minutes to get some clothes."

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True to his word, five minutes later we were out on the streets of London walking towards the local shops to find the greasiest food imaginable.

As we walked, I surveyed Danny's clothes before asking, "do you get recognized a lot?"

Danny shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets, "from time to time."

"Does the beanie and sunglasses actually help things?" I asked curiously.

Danny grinned, "not really. But I feel like a rock star when I wear them."

I chuckled, "by the way all the stuff you've been playing and writing sounds pretty good."

Danny looked at me in confusion, "I thought you said I wasn't noisy."

"Your not," I replied stopping at a crossing and grabbing Danny's arm to stop him as well, "but I can still hear you through those thin walls between us."

Danny shrugged, "Well I guess that's ok because I can hear you too."

I blinked and stared at him, "you can?"

I don't know why it never occurred to me. Clearly if I could hear him, he could hear me too.

"Yeah, you sing ridiculously loud in the shower," Danny replied.

My mouth dropped open in horror, "I do not."

Danny laughed, "Yeah you do. You did a really good version of Five Colors in Her Hair the other day too. I was impressed."

I shoved him playfully and blushed, "shut up."

Danny laughed and grabbed my arm to get me walking when the little man turned green, "you have a lot of bizarre little habits actually. And you never told me you played guitar."

You call that playing? I thought inwardly, "It never came up."

"When did you start?"

"A few years ago now, I went out and bought it on a whim one day. Decided to teach myself how to play."

"Do you write your own stuff?"

"Sometimes," I replied carefully.

"Would you ever play it for me? Or is it personal?" Danny questioned curiously as we stepped off the pavement into the shopping center.

I wrinkled my nose, "its not that its personal its just that its not very good."

"It sounded alright to me," Danny replied maneuvering his way through the thick crowd to the food court. I stuck close behind him. Danny seemed to have a natural tendency to clear a walkway. Without even knowing who he was, everyone just stepped out of his way.

"How about we make a deal," he suggested, looking over his shoulder at me, "I'll play you some off the stuff I've been writing and you can play me some of yours. Deal?"

"Yeah ok," I agreed reluctantly, "but you have to promise not to laugh."

"Amber if you get rid of my hangover I will promise you anything," Danny replied. "Oh thank god," he blurted when we reached the mouth of the food court. He opened his arms wide as though embracing it before grabbing my wrist and practically dragging me to Burger King.

Another thing to add to my list of "Things I Know About Danny Jones" is that he likes to eat. A lot. I watched in bewildered fascination as he munched on a large meal, inwardly cursing his fast metabolism and wondering why I wasn't blessed with the same luxury.

As he ate I also marveled at how chatty he was. Even though he was hung over like a bitch he still managed to keep conversation flowing and comfortable. He was interesting to talk to. Conversation with Danny was kind of like running a marathon and trying to keep up with the runner in front of you. He tended to bring up different subjects at random and go off on a tangent all of his own until I couldn't remember what we were originally talking about. But he was very articulate, and expressed himself well.

"Right," Danny said screwing up all his rubbish with a flourish, "I have to admit that I feel much better. What should I promise you?"

I tore my attention away from a bunch of thirteen year old boys with straws up their noses, "what?"

"Well I said if you could get rid of my hangover I'd promise you anything. So…" he prompted me.

I laughed, "anything?"

He shrugged, "anything."

"Well…" I murmured slowly an idea forming in my mind, 'if your not busy next weekend, I have a work party and would love a date."

Danny pointed at me, "done."

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"So what's this party for again?"

I glanced at Danny who was reflected in the mirror I was applying my make up in. He had strolled into my apartment ten minutes prior fully dressed and ready to go, settled onto my bed and hadn't moved since. I nearly had a heart attack when I walked out of my bathroom-dripping wet with only a towel wrapped round me to find him there. While I gaped at him like a goldfish he'd just raised an eyebrow and said something about how I should lock my doors. Bastard.

"Every once and a while someone at the office will decide we've all been working to hard," I replied as I smoothed foundation into my skin, "hence we all get together at some over priced club and get absolutely slaughtered."

"So should I organize for some take away to be delivered tomorrow?" Danny questioned, picking up my stuffed bunny I'd had since birth and examining it curiously.

I shook my head, "last time we had one of these parties I couldn't eat for days. I was so hung over. It was ridiculous."

"I see," Danny murmured before holding my bunny out towards me, "whose this?"

'That, is Long Legged Bunny," I answered.

"Long Legged Bunny?" Danny repeated, "What kind of a name is that?"

"Hey shut up, you'll hurt his feelings," I accused him not bothering to look away from my reflection, "Long Legged Bunny is awesome. He dances."

"Does he?" Danny held him up and jiggled him around a bit so his long limbs moved, "hey he does to."

I shook my head in amusement; "Danny is there any reason you are here in my room and dressed ready to go so incredibly early?"

Danny shrugged and set my bunny aside, "I was bored."

"Well give me half an hour then we can go get some food or something before we leave. Sound good?"

"Sounds fantastic. I don't know why I didn't think of it myself," Danny replied shedding his jacket and settling back against my pillows.

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