thinking about having frank castle as your neighbour...
ββ⬩†neighbour!frank, SFW, he has a soft spot for your dogβand for you, of course.
note: i wrote this in one sitting and didn't proofread a single word. just the purest of brain farts. 1.8k words.
you wholeheartedly thought his apartment was empty, when you first moved in. not once did you hear the rattle of his lock across the hall, or the open and shut of his door. he never rattled the floors with bass-boosted music, never cranked up the volume of his TV, never had obnoxiously loud sex in the middle of the dayβall things that neighbours of yours had done in the past; all things you had learned to expect no matter where you went.
in new york, nobody gets undisturbed peace. unless you won the lottery, bought yourself a house with a garden the size of a football field, noisy neighbours were just something you had to get used to.
frank castle stood out, in that regard. your first month in that apartment passed in near absolute silence, broken only by the occasional thudding of footsteps from a less considerate upstairs neighbour. it was weird; you'd grown so used to constant background noise that your life felt a little hollow without it.
so, you created your own background noise: constant music, played at a socially acceptable volume, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went to bed. it worked a charm, or so you thought; you had found a way to fill the silence, and you left your neighbours undisturbed.
and then you ran into him in the hall.
