There’s soot in my mouth. Copper on my tongue. The world sways in my vision, soldiers morphing from men in bronze breastplates and iron-tipped spears to camouflage and automatic rifles. Even as their shapes morph, the sounds stay the same, screams and death. There’s noise, constant and loud, ringing in my ears. Blasts that rattle my chest. Roaring flames.

Wake up. Wake up, I always cry in these dreams, hoping beyond hope that my mind will give me a moment of reprieve. But when I finally wake, throwing off the blankets and heaving giant breaths, the nightmares follow me into the waking world.

There he is.

Patroclus stands at the bottom of the bed.

A shadow of solid darkness, eyes cold and gray. He’s all I see. I wish to scream. To cry. To run into his arms. I reach for the light, hands shaking, eyes never leaving his. When I flip on the light, the darkness fades away, leaving me alone. Physically, at least.

I’ve been having too many of these nightmares lately. I should look into writing horror novels at this rate. But the sudden influx of dread has to do with the true terror next door; Harper. Loud music blares from his apartment again. Another party in the wee hours of the morning. The constant thrum in the distance puts me on edge. It’s too sudden, too reminiscent of sounds that plagued me for so long that, even after I’ve left them behind, they continue to follow me.

Groaning, I fall back into bed, but only for a short while. I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight so I head into the living room to watch TV, where I inevitably fall asleep and—shit, I’m late for work!

Somehow I slept past my alarm. Even with that extra sleep I’m an irritable monster, and I’m craving coffee, although the latter is nothing out of the ordinary, but I don’t have time for that!

Bolting out the door minutes later, likely a hot mess, I head down to the lobby when I run into the true culprit of this mishap; Harper. He’s finnicking with the camera bag at his waist, seeming to double check he has everything. I’m about to turn and hide in the elevator for a few minutes (I’m already late so whatever) when he raises his gaze, eyes meeting mine.

“Good morning, Adrian!” He smiles far too brightly for the morning, or any part of the day to be perfectly honest.

He’s sociable and a morning person? Clearly a demon. And wasn’t he up half the night? Where does this sort of energy come from? Tartarus, no doubt

“Are you heading off to work?” he asks, approaching me.

“Yes,” I reply. Obviously, I want to add, but I somehow restrain myself.

Harper waits, perhaps expecting me to continue the conversation by stating where I work or asking him a similar question. That doesn’t happen. He chuckles awkwardly, gently patting his camera bag when he says, “Me too. Not to brag or anything, but the first thing on my to do list today is to go to a photoshoot for a local magazine.”

“That sounds like bragging,” I say, slightly teasing, but also stating facts.

“Maybe a little bit of bragging.” Harper laughs, clutching the strap of his camera, squeezing tight. He rocks childishly on the balls of his feet, eyes shifting left to right.

“This is my first time going to a shoot. I’m a little nervous,” he continues, even when I bring out my phone to check the time. He doesn’t catch the hint. “Filming my own videos is one thing, but being photographed or filmed by someone else, particularly a company, is much more overwhelming than I thought. I keep thinking I’m going to mess it up somehow.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Harper beams in response. If I keep running into him I’m going to have to invest in some sunglasses.

“Thanks! I’m going to do my best!” he chirps, reaching for his camera bag. “After that, I’ve got some videos planned, wanna hear—”

“No, thanks, I need to get to work,” I interrupt him, holding up a hand to put a physical stop to his word vomiting. Harper pouts, reminding me of a puppy after being scolded. The pout shifts to wide eyes when I add, “And since I’ve run into you now, we need to talk about your parties. Throw as many parties as you want, but you have neighbors working nine to five jobs. We don’t make our own schedules and can’t afford to be continuously woken up in the middle of the night from your blaring music.”

Harper’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. His cheeks brighten, a flush of embarrassment, and for once he’s not sure what to say.

“When you have another party, keep it quiet,” I add, tapping my cane against the ground for good measure, like a badass James Bond villain. I need to invest in an overcoat. My last one was stolen by a flatulent paper boy whose stench was not worth following.

“Ri-right, sorry. I didn’t realize it was so loud,” Harper sputters, stepping aside. I strut past him.

There. That issue should be—

I freeze in front of the doors. It’s pouring down rain outside, with heavy winds that send it spitting against the glass like bullets. My umbrella is upstairs and it’d be useless in this weather anyway.

Harper shuffles up beside me. “Yikes, that’s a bad thunderstorm.”

“Yes. I can see that.”

“Let me give you a ride!”

“I have a car.”

“Yeah, but you’re clearly late for work,” he says, eying me slowly, chuckling when he lands on my hair.

I forgot to brush my hair, didn’t I?

“And, I have coffee!” Harper declares, holding up pure perfection in a cup. I raise a brow at that. “I have a long day so I made two cups of coffee to take with me, but I am willing to share. What do you say?”

I say this is a terrible idea, but I’m irritable and late and don’t want to get soaked so… “Let’s go.”