The soft bass line throbbing through the ceiling doesn’t bother him so much, nor does the heavy sound of feet pounding across the floor in awkward dance moves and sketchy drunk steps. He wonders how many of the college kids living in the apartment above him are wearing guyliner and black nail polish right now.
No matter; he’s got better things on his mind. Settling in with a beer and his camera, he waits at the window. Shadows draw long across his body as an hour passes, and the party upstairs rages harder. It may be Friday night, but she won’t be out partying. She’s too focused for that.
He glances at the wall of photos he keeps. Her smiling face dots every single picture, beaming out and inviting him in. But he’s not ready yet. He watches the redhead, always keeping a tab on where she is, who she’s with, what she’s doing. Like a clock, she gets up at seven sharp on her days off, Thursday and Monday, and is at the park down the street for a run by seven fifteen. She jogs for an hour, five times around the track, before heading back to her apartment for a shower.
The window he sits at looks straight to hers, one floor up and the next building over. He saw her one day, coming in from work. A chance meeting in the street out front, he’d fallen hard and fast and he knows they’re meant to be as one. Even if she doesn’t even know his name yet. From where he sits, he can watch her bathroom window fog up, and then see a glimpse of her glorious naked figure as she jettisons into the bedroom for her clothes.
And if she forgets to close the curtains altogether, well. Payday. She’s working tonight, and he waits patiently for her shift to end. Just as the party is getting unbearably loud, she turns on a light. He shifts, suddenly attentive, and prepares his camera. The lens zooms in and finds her tossing keys on the table and slamming the front door behind her.
Did she forget to lock it?
That wouldn’t do at all. He can’t have his lady standing in an unlocked apartment with all the frat boys hanging around. He watches for a few more moments, relishing in the way her hair swings around her shoulders when she removes the restrictive rubber band and how she leans against the bar while her messages play.
She seems angry as she slams a hand on the counter and stands. A large, fluffy cat winds its way around her arms on the counter and she absentmindedly scratches its ears. Turning, she looks out the window, seemingly straight at him.
He shrinks back into the shadows, knowing he’s well concealed, and begins snapping photos. Her cheekbones angle perfectly, catching shadows and light, and he smiles at how beautiful his candid shots will turn out. When she turns on the light in her bedroom and begins stripping, he leans forward.
The curtains are open. He watches the bra fall away, her back turned to him, and is mesmerized as she shimmies out of her scrub bottoms. She heads for the bathroom and he waits a beat before walking out his front door.
A chicken drumstick flies past his head, and he looks up for the source. A college kid is hanging half over the edge.
“Sorry about that, man,” the kid yells.
Shaking his head, he slams the front door and enters the warm night air. Summer is in full swing, coupling humidity and heat for an orgy of devilish proportions. He walks confidently into the next building, as though he belongs there.
Her complex is quiet and subdued, a place for single mothers to raise their children and late night workers to find peace. It’s in stark contrast to the party house he lives in. He makes his way up one floor and finds her apartment. 4B.
Carefully, he reaches for the doorknob and finds it unlocked. He smiles to himself and turns the knob, hesitating before he opens the door. The shower water is running and her voice is ringing through the apartment as she belts out a song.
He closes the door behind him and steps inside, looking around at her place. Neat and tidy, everything he imagined for her. The cat stares at him warily from the kitchen, and he ignores it and walks by towards the bedroom.
Her clothes are strewn on the floor, cast aside in a haphazard attempt to get in the shower quickly. He inhales, the scent of flowers walloping him in the gut. The thrill of being in the same room as she is sends a bolt of electricity down his spine. She’s so close, just beyond the bathroom door. He can see her in the reflection of the mirror, her hands running across her hair.
God, he just wants to touch her. She shuts the water off, and he panics, trapped. He dives under the bed and tucks his foot under just as she emerges from the bathroom. Her feet pad softly to the side of the bed and he watches, fascinated, as she slips into her panties. A moment later, she leaves the bedroom.
He has nowhere to go. The front door is the only escape, so he has to wait until she goes to bed. He doesn’t wait long; a mere half hour later, by his best gauge, she reenters the bedroom and climbs into bed before flicking the light off.
For safe measure, he waits until he hears the first snore to sneak out from under the bed. The sight that greets him is overwhelming. Her red hair splays out on the pillow, echoing pale skin. He reaches out to touch her cheek, and runs a finger down the side.
Gasping, she sits up and looks into the darkness with wide eyes, searching for the source of her nightmare.
Don't forget to check out the other great flashers this week:
Julie Hayes (m/m)
Heather Lin (m/f)
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)