"You're new, aren't you? Figured I'd introduce myself. Didn't mean to frighten you," he speaks in a deep voice and noticeably slow tone. You just now noticed his thick British accent. "I'm Mick." He moves a little closer, twirling a joint around his pointer and middle fingers as he does so.
"Throwing rocks at windows is actually a great way to frighten your new neighbors," you state, regaining a little bit of your composure.
"Don't you think I know that?" Mick chuckles, like you were the silly one. He leans down and picks up a dirty tennis ball, holding it up for you to see. "That's why I used this."
"Right, because that's so much better," you say sarcastically.
He tosses the ball to the side. "Certainly is." You watch him run his fingers through his hair a few times. He glances up at you, like he was waiting for you to speak.
"Okay, Mick, I've got to finish unpacking my things. Thanks for stopping by," you tell him. You didn't know what to say, and, frankly, you didn't really want him here. It wasn't that you didn't like him—you're just tired, and you have to unpack before you go to sleep. There was plenty of time tomorrow. He could talk to you then.
You reach up to shut the window, but Mick put his foot up on the window sill. "Don't I get a name at least? You know, before you kick me out." His smirk never left his face until he brought his joint up to his lips. He breathes in and turns his head to the side, letting out a puff of smoke, before turning his attention back to you.
"I have the right to kick you out if I never invited you in the first place," you explain, humored at his persistence. "But my name is y/n."
"Y/n?" Mick questions. He goes back to twirling the joint between his fingers. "Y/n, what a beautiful name. Y/n." His voice was almost teasing, but it made your face warm.
"Mick, I-I really—" you start to speak, but he cuts you off.
"You're really blushing, aren't you, y/n?" He speaks in a whisper. His blue eyes stare into yours, and his tongue traces his plump upper lip. "You like when I say your name, don't you, y/n?"
You stand there silently, mouth slightly open, shocked at just how bold someone could be within minutes of knowing another person. Is this how Mick acts with everyone he meets?
"Well, I'm sorry for wasting your time," Mick interrupts your thoughts. How long have you been silent?
He must think you weird now. And you couldn't blame him. You should've replied to his question. But how are you supposed to respond to that?
"Let me make it up to you—I'll help you get your stuff out of those boxes," he suggests.
So maybe he didn't think you was too weird after all.
His eyes trail away from your face and to the few things that you had inside. He even peaks his head inside to see the emptiness that was on the sides of the room.
"It's okay. I'll manage. Thanks," your voice was quiet—you were nervous. You seemed to only get more nervous the longer we talked. That's not how conversations should work.
Mick shakes his head and steps inside. For some reason, you didn't bother stopping him. "I insist," he tells you, placing his hand over his heart and bowing ever so slightly. You were standing closer now; only a few inches remain between you and him, and you had to look up at him to make eye contact. He was taller than you—by four inches, at least.
001: I Just Want To Make Love To You
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