Chapter Text
"The air i'm gulping down rejects from my lungs, given the fact there's no way to breathe without you."
.
.
..
You've never been the greatest with commitment, to put it shortly. Whether it be with friends, any sort of intricate hobby—or moving to a shady, dejected cul-de-sac town in northern America.
Not even for any reason that was interesting, really. Your aunt, Alina, had taken you in whilst your mom prattled along with her new boyfriend back home.
It's not that you minded her sister, she was nice. More or less a friend, rather than a parental figure. She was loud for her age. A roaring thirty something with her bleached hair and her red, red mouth. All the things you weren't. Opposites attract, you hope.
The reality of just having to succumb to the fact that the weather in this little town was almost always droll and depressing, and that you were going to be stuck here for two years.
So after a horrendous three hour flight from Toronto to Minnesota, hauling around boxes the entire day and wrapping the blisters on your hands, —you ended up at a rundown, disconcerting apartment complex.
It wasn't much better than your last flat, equally as unsettling as the last. But it was doable. For the stretch of time you'd be there, at least. Though you weren't totally psyched about your last two years of school having to take place here.
The building was fucking cold, that was one thing. Frigid air biting into your skin, feeling like thin blades of ice slicing at your cheeks. You involuntarily shuddered, almost immediately feeling homesick. It's not that Canada was any warmer, you had just never pictured yourself moving to the states.
With a sigh, you set down the last of your things, slumping down onto the coloured wooden table placed smack in the middle of your new apartment. The rest of the room devoid of anything else, stray boxes scattered all across the green shag carpet flooring. It was quiet, so quiet you could hear your own brain. You didn't like it.
Alina had popped out to grab a few things for the apartment, leaving you in the comfort of the empty space.
Your eyelids felt heavy buried into the crook of your arms, threatening to shut and not open until the next day, to summarise your exhaustion.
Although you suddenly jolt into an upright position, an abnormal shrieking ringing through your ears. The gears in your brain had barely finished shifting before you recognised that it was an electric guitar— and that it was coming from next door.
Great. You mumble a frustrated curse under your breath, impulsively rising upwards (and immediately feeling dizzy doing so) to go and tell whoever next door to turn it down cause god—you've had a long day, and this was just the cherry on top.
Before you know it, your feet think before you do and you're already at your neighbours door, rapping your knuckles against the wood that read '402.'
After a moment, the screeching stuttered, before stopping altogether. Anxiety churned in your stomach— What the hell were you even doing?
It was almost as if you had lost sense of your whereabouts because the second the door swung open, you froze.
.
Oh. It was.. blue. Like, stupidly blue.
His hair, you meant. An electric colour that stood out far too much against the dull atmosphere of the hallway. You barely had to tilt your head upwards to meet his eyes— milky opalescent that bored right through yours, the rest of his face shielded by what you could only assume, an impassive prosthetic mask.
There was silence as he stared at you.
"Hi—" You manage to choke out, staring back.
"I'm your neighbour." you gesture stupidly to the next door, resisting the urge to scrape a palm down your face.
"Hello." He reciprocates awkwardly, shifting his weight. Clearly not expecting this either. "You're from 401?"
"Yeah."
He blinks, from what you can tell. "The new tenants?"
"Yeeep," You drawl. That'd seem to click in his head.
"Oh—" The boy exclaims, seemingly embarrassed from his lack of understanding. A half smile pulls up at your lips. "Sorry, I just didn't think anyone would move in there until tomorrow."
Ah, so that explains the heavy guitar. He probably expected the place to be empty for at least another day.
"Nah, It's cool." You laugh shyly, dragging your foot against the floor.
Another silence breaks out between the two of you.
You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it. "Sorry—" You blurt, wanting nothing more than a tornado to come out of nowhere and wash away the building with you in it.
"N-No, it's okay. You go first." He insists, tucking a strand of blue hair behind his ear. His ears are double pierced. You note.
You'd feel almost bad for calling him out about the guitar, so ultimately, you switch up the subject. "Uh, I didn't get your name."
His shoulders tense, peering at you through his lash fringed eyes. "Sal."
Your heart jumps. "Nice to meet you, Sal." You say his name pleasantly, telling him yours.
"You too," He murmurs shyly, the mask shifting on his face.
Just as soon as you thought the ice had been broken, a voice calls out for you from across the hallway, and your head darts towards the source. It was your aunt.
"Oh, hi auntie." You watch her walk over, hands filled with bags. Sal clearly feels out of place as he watches you speak with your relative, shifting his weight, which you assumed was a vice of some sort.
"Lets head back inside, help me put these away." She tells you, giving your neighbor a smile, thankfully. You nod, coming to the conclusion that you were going to have loads of encounters like this.
Without a proper parting, you head into your apartment, waving him bye. Which he reciprocated, a little more comfortably.
You kick off your flats, letting go of a breath you barely knew you were holding. "Who was that?" Alina inquires the obvious, setting the stuff onto the kitchen counter.
"Uh— our neighbour." You conjectured, not quite sure what to label it as for now. 'Acquaintances,' perhaps.
She hums in acknowledgement. "I see. He seemed like a good boy. Whats up with the mask, Kiddo?" She laughs, watching you flump back down onto the chair, resting your face in your arms.
"Dunno," You murmur. This guy was an enigma, for sure.
You had expected that same abrupt shrill of a guitar filter through the walls, but there was nothing. He must've known, you echo.
Tomorrow will bring whatever the hell it may.