The clock on the wall gave a chime, and then another. Then several more after that. Eyes still skimming the contents of your book, you count the tones, one after another. Ah, 7 o'clock. It was about this time that...
Distant movement out your window drew your peripheral attention, and you looked up to see a flash of blonde hair as the man walked out of view. A light flicked on, and you could see the shadow slanting across his wall as he set his hat on the hat stand in the corner.
Right on time, as usual. With the snowy weather, you'd wondered if he'd be late coming home. It seems your vague concerns were unwarranted.
He was so...routine. After weeks of the same behavior, it was easy enough to guess that he awoke at 8:00 am, showered and dressed by 8:20, and after having eaten breakfast and turned off the living room light, was off to work by 8:45. He'd then return home by 7:00. And, judging by when his lights typically darkened for the evening, he settled down to sleep around 9:30 or 10:00, depending on the day.
You knew his schedule inside and out. An odd thing to be able to claim, really. It was surreal, knowing so much and yet still so little about a stranger you saw nearly every day. You didn't even know his name, but he absolutely intrigued you.
It wasn't like you meant to spy. You weren't the nosy type--at least, you didn't think you were. The blond man simply lived in the 8th floor apartment directly across the street from your own, and never possessed the inkling to close the curtains in his bedroom. He'd been lucky so far that he hadn't accidentally passed by in his birthday suit while you were sat at your window reading.
What a sight that'd be to see, you muse to yourself...
Several times, he passes in front of his bedroom window, now missing his jacket and tie. He was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when he stopped, perhaps noticing you sitting in your usual place.
You can't help but smile as he gives you a little wave, and you return the gesture. Then, seeming to realize what he was doing in full view of you as an audience, he steps out of the way of the window, presumably to undress in his bathroom.
You look back down at your book, going back to what you were doing without prying. So far, you'd never interacted other than the occasional wave in greeting, noticing that the other was awake and looking their way.
But there was a strange comfort, knowing that he was there. You wondered if he felt the same.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another night, another book. It had been a particularly long and busy day for you, and there's no other way you'd prefer to unwind. You settled into read in your comfy armchair, a cup of tea set upon the table beside you. And with a contented sigh, you open the spine to begin reading the first page.
You're unsure how long you've sat there, fascinated by the story. Perhaps hours or only minutes. But something urges you to look up. A tingle on your spine, a jolt through your nerves, you don't know precisely what to call it. Whatever it was, your eyes pan up towards your window.
The man with long blonde hair is already looking your way when you look across the street to the window opposite of you. He seems caught off guard that you'd noticed his attention, leaning back a little from how he'd been slumped forward in his desk chair.
His expression is surprised, but then he gives an admittedly awkward wave, which you return with an amused smile. How long had he been watching you read? Oh, what you wouldn't give to find out.
But then, another motion makes you blink. Rather than walk off out of sight of the window, he mimes the action of writing something. You cock your head, confused by what he means, before he holds up a single finger to tell you to wait just a moment.
What on earth was he doing?
Your book forgotten, you watch as he reaches down for something. Several moments go by, before he looks up again and holds up a piece of paper against his window. You lean forward, squinting to make out the words.
Do you have paper and a pen? And can you read this?
Comprehension dawns, and you glance down at your book to memorize the page you'd last left off at. Setting it on your table, you stand and hurry out of your room in search of the mentioned items.
It takes several minutes, but you manage to return with a ball-point pen and several sheets of paper. You write out a rushed response and hold up the paper to your own window so he could see.
Yes!
His smile widens, and he looks down to write out what he'd wanted to say.
What book are you reading?
You glance at the title, then scrawl the answer on your paper.
Farewell, My Lovely. It's written by Raymond Chandler. Have you heard of it?
No, I'm not much of a reader. But, if the way you're so entranced by it is anything to go by, it must be interesting.
Your mouth opens, head tilting. So he had been watching you read. A chuckle escapes you as you write a reply.
Am I that amusing to spy on?
You see him scratch his head sheepishly, flashing you a rueful smile.
I don't mean to. Your curtains are usually open, and you're almost always there. I'm sorry, you must think me a creep now.
On the contrary, I've been afraid you found me to be the Peeping Tom all this time. If you'd like, we can keep our curtains closed?
You see him shake his head, the smile he sported indicative that he was laughing. Perhaps at you, perhaps to himself. You wished you could hear it. What would he sound like?
I'd be awfully disappointed if we did. You're a welcome sight after a long day of work. Why spoil the view?
Oh dear. He had you tittering to yourself like a prime school girl! He certainly had a way with words, you supposed. You shake your head to yourself as you write your next note.
Promise me you'll give the book a try, and maybe I'll consider it.
That sounds like a deal worth making.
You glance at the book in question, before a thought comes to you. You hastily write your question, holding it up for him to see.
How rude of me. I haven't even asked your name. What should I call you?
My name is Killer. And you?
I'm Y/N.
It's lovely to finally meet you, Y/N.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You didn't tell your friends about your new pen pal. They'd ask too many questions you didn't have the answer to. Besides, you'd only just begun communicating regularly in the past week, setting aside a little time each evening to exchange messages from your windows.
It was the most exciting part of your day. Perhaps it should have concerned you, how quickly it had become what you most looked forward to after finishing up your work and returning home. You barely knew the man, but he could certainly hold a conversation.
Killer was quite humorous, you'd come to learn. Funny, curious, and humble. All the makings of an attractive man. Sure, he looked rather handsome too, you wouldn't deny that fact, but so many men could turn out to be a bad apple underneath the good looks. You were pleasantly surprised that the blond seemed the exception to the rule.
Again, that Friday evening, you found yourself seated in your armchair. Before you'd arrived home, you'd stopped at the local shop and purchased a large stack of paper, as well as a few pens to write with in case one ran out of ink. Killer had laughed when he'd seen it on your table.
That's a lot of paper. Are you writing me a novel tonight?
Hardly! I just don't want to run out mid-conversation.
Pity. I bet a story written by you would be worth reading.
We've passed a few notes, and now you're certain I'd be a famous author? Such faith in me!
Well, your taste in books lends some evidence to that.
It takes you several seconds before you understand what he means, and your expression lights up.
You started reading the book!
I did. I'm not very far, but I picked it up from the library last night.
What do you think so far?
He pauses, propping his head on his hand as he thinks, before looking down to write his answer.
It's...slow.
It has to build up the suspense, Killer. You can't rush a detective novel.
I see. I'll keep reading. Not sure I can promise to finish it, but I'll give it a go.
I'm glad. I think you'll enjoy it.
You really like books, don't you?
Yes, very much so. It's easy to get lost reading one, sometimes I lose track of the time.
I've noticed.
You squint, intrigued by his answer. With a tilted head, you write out something you've been wondering all this time.
How often do you catch me reading? I don't think I've ever noticed you looking before.
His response is a bit of a ways in coming. You think you see him start and stop several times, before he finally holds up the paper.
Almost every day. You're just...always so enthralled. The way you smile at the pages, or make these silly faces, even sometimes when you cry, it's...fascinating to see.
Before you hold up your reply, he's already written a follow-up message to his first.
I swear I'm not a creep!
I make faces when I read?
You do. Maybe I'll take a photograph one day to prove it.
Hmm, I'll just have to make sure I give you my good side from now on. I'd hate to take a terrible picture.
You don't have a bad side, from my experience.
He knew just what to say to send your heart fluttering. You hoped your parting goodbyes didn't come across as too nervous.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You're surprised to find an envelope in your mail a week or so later. On your way up to your apartment, you open it up, seeing no return address or even any postage at all.
Your eyes take in the sight of your own visage, gaze firmly locked upon the book in your hands. You're seated upon your armchair, lounging in comfort, but gaze solely focused on the words you read.
You were smiling. Well, somewhat. One side of your mouth was twitched up in amusement, fingers steepled on your jaw. While you didn't really know how to feel about being confronted with a picture of yourself when you don't realize you have an audience, you can't deny the way Killer had described it before: enthralled.
It's then you notice a scrawled caption at the bottom of the picture, written in now-familiar writing.
"Best View In The City, 1941"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were nervous. After months of conversation, and the unspoken agreement that to meet now would ruin some of the 'thrill' of your nightly communications, your curiosity was absolutely killing you.
You had to hear his voice. You had to know the pitch and timbre, the rise and fall of each and every word. Was it rough? Gritty, like sandpaper? Or was it smooth and warm, like honey? Something so inconsequential felt like the most important piece of information you'd ever learn.
You wanted to say it was simply because of curiosity, but that would be far from the truth. It was a secret you'd never admit to him, neverin your life. The lustful dreams you often experienced weren't complete without the accuracy of how he'd sound as he breathed and groaned and grunted in your ear.
And even most important...how would your name sound on his lips? Your heart beat faster in your chest just imagining it.
You don't think you could pinpoint exactly when things began to take a turn in the more...romantic direction. But you couldn't deny how much Killer meant to you. You'd grown so close in such a short period of time. And yet, despite it all, you felt like you knew each other better than any other person in your life.
Could we try something different today?
You could see the way his brows raise from the window across from you, and he gives you a quizzical glance as he holds up his reply.
Alright, what do you have in mind?
Do you have a telephone?
The surprise in his expression confuses you, but you take it in stride as he hurries to write a response.
Yes...you want to speak?
I do. Is that alright?
It's more than alright.
Smiling at his enthusiasm, you lean over and scribble down your dial number, holding it up for him to see. He's swift to write the digits down, before he stands and disappears from view of the window.
You bite your lip, waiting anxiously for the ring of your own telephone to sound. You stared at where it was fixed to the wall, waiting with bated breath in the silence of your apartment. Each second felt an eternity, the air still and heavy.
The blare of the ring several moments later made you jump, and you look back over to see Killer once again seated in the window, the handset pressed to his ear.
You hurry over to the wall, and pick it up from the receiver. There's silence on the other end until you sit back down in your armchair, mouth slowly forming into a smile as you looked across to your neighbor opposite.
"Hello?"
Killer's face splits into a satisfied smile as he gives an amused huff, and he leans forward on his desk, propping his face in his hands.
"Y/N."
Oh, no. You can't help but close your eyes as the sound of your name is rasped into your ear. It's strong and clear, and it's all you can do not to visibly show how much it affects you to hear it. You open them again and smile, doing your best to compose yourself when he can clearly see your expression in the window.
"Killer."
"Your voice is even more beautiful than I imagined."
"Oh..." You place your hand over your heart, laughing nervously to yourself at his words. "You...imagined the way I'd sound?"
"How could I not? I just knew you'd sound as lovely as you look, but...wow."
You can't help but twirl the cord of your telephone around your finger, bashful at his compliment. "I don't know what to say..."
"Anything at all, please. I think I could listen to you talk all night long."
So that's what you did, recounting your day, divulging more information about yourself, before eventually switching to the topic of your various books. Killer interjected where he could, but for the most part he was content to just listen to you speak.
You watched the way he leaned at his desk, listening with so much rapt attention to you from behind his window. The way he looked at you...good lord, you'd never get the image of that expression out of your mind.
He looked at you like you were the moon, and all the stars combined, a constellation of light and beauty. No one had every looked at you that way before.
Saying goodbye that night was more difficult than it had ever been. Feelings you couldn't push away any longer begged you to listen to him forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were incredibly tired. It was increasingly harder each minute that passed to keep your eyes open. But you were loathe to sleep just yet, wanting more than anything to keep listening to the sound of Killer's voice.
But even he began to notice your exhausted state after too much longer.
"Y/N, why don't you get some rest?"
"I...don't want to hang up just yet."
"Why not?"
"I like listening to you speak." You admit, wondering if perhaps your fatigue was making you more liable to speak truths you weren't yet prepared for him to know. "It's comforting."
There's a pause, before he gives a sigh. "We'll speak tomorrow, and the day after that, you know. I wouldn't miss a day of getting to hear the sound of your voice."
"If only you were here with me..." You say with a yawn, head leaning against the back of your armchair. You couldn't even keep your eyes open at this point, the draw of sleep too heavy on your eyelids. "Then you could talk until I fell asleep."
You think you hear him sigh, or groan, or something else, but it sends a tingle up your spine.
"I don't...think we'd be talking if I was with you, Y/N."
"Hmm...you're right." You say, mind unsure if you were yet dreaming or if you were still awake. But the familiar sound of Killer's voice in your dreams made you smile. "We'd certainly be doing other things."
"...Such as?"
"So many...delightful things..." You mutter, before drifting into a restful sleep in your armchair. A spike of warmth in your core drags a breathy little moan from your mouth. You don't even realize it.
You think you hear him speak your name. Or maybe that was your dreams taking over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You're sat in your armchair, glancing between the telephone, the clock, and the window across from yours, concern mounting.
He's late. Killer is never late.
You remember waking up that morning in your chair, painfully aware that it was likely you'd fallen asleep while still speaking with Killer. You couldn't quite remember the last bit of whatever you'd been speaking about, but hopefully you hadn't offended him by your fatigue. The work day had really taken a lot out of you.
But now, with this unusual absence from your blond friend, you're biting your lip in worry. Had you ruined the friendship--and perhaps something more--that had been growing between you? Had you said something incredibly moronic and not realized it? Was he tired of you?
Your mind swirling with increasingly negative thoughts, you're startled at the sound of a knock on your door. Hesitant to leave your seat, in case Killer happened to come home and find you not here, you decide to see who was at your door and send them on their way quickly.
Your mouth opens as you swing the door open, intent on telling whoever it was that now wasn't a good time, but the words die in your throat.
Killer. At your door. You'd never seen him up this close.
"Killer." You say in confusion, eyes roving over his form standing in front of your door. "Is...something wrong?"
"No, Y/N, I just..." He took a deep breath, head shaking as he gazed at you. There it was again. That admiration so blatant in his eyes as he looked at you. "I...practiced what I'd say when I got here, but now that I'm here I've...forgotten."
"Why don't you come in? You can...think about what you wanted to say." You swallow, holding your hands close to your chest. Your fingers want to fidget, to reach out to him, to touch him in some way...they want to do many things that wouldn't be appropriate as friends. You still with with a pinch to your thumb.
"I can't."
"You can't?"
"Not unless...you meant what you said last night."
You frown in confusion. "...What I said?"
His brows lower into a disappointed frown. "You don't remember?"
"I...was fairly tired. I'm sorry. " You admit with a shake of your head, and he looks down at the ground, eyes closed.
"Of course. I shouldn't have assumed." He takes a step back, no doubt deciding that it would be best to leave. "I should return to-"
"Don't go." You insist, stepping into the threshold of your own doorway. Your hand reaches out to grab his wrist, stopping him from going any further. "Please. Don't go."
"Y/N-"
"Tell me what I said." You say, putting as much strength into your voice as you can. You're terrified of what your fatigue-ridden brain had said to him, but given Killer had worked up the courage to meet you in person for the first time, you didn't want this opportunity to go to waste.
Your heart wouldn't let it slip from your fingers so easily.
Killer stares at you for a long moment, before he turns to face you completely again. "You said...that if I was here with you...we'd do so many delightful things. After that you fell asleep, so you didn't specify what exactly you meant..."
He takes the beat of silence between you as embarrassment, and rushes to backtrack before you can even get a word out.
"Forgive me if I've misinterpreted your words. I...thought there was something more between us, but I understand if that's not what you wish to be-"
"Killer." You say, interrupting his downward spiral. Your heart is still a painful drum against your chest, but a rising excitement is now accompanying it. "If that's what you understood, then...I meant what I said last night."
He's silent, watching your expression as if you weren't telling him the truth. You were all in at this point, and reached down to take his other hand with yours.
"Come in. Stay with me." You whisper, pulling him towards you. He gives an inch. And then a few more, until he's inside and you've shut the door behind him.
Without any guiding from you, his arms have wrapped themselves around you, keeping you tight to his chest. You can't help but gasp at the closeness.
"You've no idea...how long I've wanted to just...hold you like this. To feel you in my arms." He breathes beside your ear. You shiver at the sound.
"I hope that's not all you want to do." You say back with equal husk.
"Y/N..." He lets out a pent-up breath, lifting your chin with a hand to make you look at the lustful gaze in his eyes. His breath fans against your lips. "Show me all the delightful little things we'd do together. I want to hear you gasp the way you do in my dreams."
As you lead him to your bedroom, you do the one thing you never thought you'd do. You closed your curtains.
No need to give the other neighbors a show...
ns 15.158.61.40da2
