Next Door

Thin Walls

You learn pretty quickly that the walls of your apartment are thin.

Very thin.

Not the kind of thin that lets the occasional television show or the slam of a door bleed through.

No.

The kind of thin that regularly reminds you you're not alone in this building.

You hear the pipes whenever one of your neighbors takes a shower.

The footsteps from the apartment above.

The elevator groaning when it comes up too fast.

The front door downstairs slamming every time someone comes home late.

And, over the past few months, you've learned to recognize certain sounds without even thinking about it.

The third-floor neighbor's kids running up the stairs when they get home from school.

The keys of the couple across the hall.

The engine of your downstairs neighbor's car.

And Frank.

You'd recognize his footsteps anywhere. Which is probably a little ridiculous. But you've gotten used to having him around.

Frank Castle lives in the apartment right next to yours. You couldn't tell anyone exactly when the two of you started talking.

Maybe it was a package he'd picked up for you.

Or the lightbulb he'd replaced after hearing you swearing in the hallway. Because apparently you'd been loud enough to wake up half the building and needed his intervention.

Either way, somewhere along the line, running into each other became a habit.

In the lobby.

On the stairs.

By the mailboxes.

Sometimes at the little coffee shop around the corner.

And, almost every time, it ends the same way. You annoy him. He pretends you annoy him. And you do it all over again the next day. Obviously.
Somewhere along the way, it became a sort of ritual. You just haven't realized yet how much Frank actually likes it.

That morning, you make your way down the stairs with your bag over one shoulder. You're late.

As usual.

You spent ten minutes looking for your keys when they were in your damn pocket the whole time. Then another five looking for your phone when it was already in your hand.

A perfectly. Normal. Morning.

You reach the lobby just as the front door opens, revealing Frank with two coffee cups in his hands.

He's wearing a dark sweatshirt and jeans, with that vaguely unimpressed expression he seems to have permanently attached to his face.

He sees you. And you can't help looking him over.

Just a little.

Promise.

Then your eyes drop to the two coffees before lifting back to his.

"You get me one ?"

He looks down at the cups.

"No."

"Liar."

"Didn't."

You step closer.

"Then why've you got two ?"