Two

The Hot Neighbor

Elio didn't end up seeing his new neighbor again until nearly a week later— at the worst time possible, too. He was just coming back from a morning at the gym, where he spent an hour embarrassing himself and proving how low his stamina was. The Hot Neighbor, as Elio and Marissa had been calling him, was exiting his apartment just as the exhausted man made his way up the fourth flight of stairs. Elio's hair was a sweaty mess plastered to his forehead, his shirt had wet spots, and he stunk like garbage. Combined with the soaked T-shirt clinging to all the wrong curves, and his face tomato-red, Elio was sure that he was quite the sight. The Hot Neighbor looked less than thrilled to see him — in fact, he looked downright saddened. 

What a great boost to his confidence, Elio thought. He just smiled awkwardly and tried to escape through his front door without looking like he was running away. Of course, he had to trip on the top step, falling face forward onto the carpet. 

If only it had been a Prince Charming moment and The Hot Neighbor had caught Elio. In reality, Elio banged his knee on the floor and hit his chin so hard that he was sure there was blood in his mouth. Elio resisted the urge to cry and contemplated staying there starfished on the musty carpet. Instead, he got up on his knees, only wincing slightly, and tried to stand. It was then that a large, callused hand came into view. 

Elio glanced up. The Hot Neighbor stood above him in a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. His black hair fell messily in front of his forehead, and there was a slight quirk to the corner of his lips. Elio swore he was about to drool. 

"Need help?" the stranger asked, his deep voice rough like gravel. 

Elio quickly took the offered hand, refusing to think about the warmth or how it completely swallowed his own. "Thanks. Wasn't looking where I was going, I guess." 

Once Elio was standing and obviously fine, The Hot Neighbor nodded and swiftly walked past him down the stairs. Elio stood there in the hallway, sweaty and bruised, for nearly a minute before his brain kicked into gear and he entered his apartment. 

"Oh my god, he must think I'm so stupid!" the curly-haired man muttered to himself. A bad first impression was one thing, but a bad second one as well? God, he was basically doomed to forever be an idiot in The Hot Neighbor's eyes. Or even worse, a pathetic idiot. 

Elio flopped down onto his couch and groaned about his poor fate. It wasn't until a little over ten minutes later, after a shower and the start of a cup of tea, that he realized he still didn't get his neighbor's name. He set down his mug on the coffee table and pulled out his phone to call Marissa. 

She picked up after the first ring. "Yeah?" 

"I didn't get his name!" Elio cried. 

"What? Who?" Marissa questioned, a mix of amusement and curiosity in her voice.

"The Hot Neighbor!" Elio moaned miserably. "I embarrassed myself in front of him again and he helped me up and I. Didn't. Get. His. Name." 

It didn't occur to Elio that he shared a wall with The Hot Neighbor, and that he was being loud enough that the paper-thin wall between them wouldn't stop the sound of Elio's despair. 

"So, you know where he lives right? Just ask," Marissa said like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

"I can't do that!" Elio cried. 

Marissa snorted. "Yes you can, just knock."

"Cause that's so easy!" the boy replied, distressed.

"Yes," Marissa mumbled on the other end of the phone. She sounded so done with him. 

 "So I can just walk up and knock on his door just to say 'hey, my name's Elio, what's yours?' and then walk away. That'll be totally normal right?" 

Marissa paused. "Um, yes," she said again. 

"You don't get it!" Elio groaned. "You're pretty and confident and don't have crippling anxiety! Some of us aren't as mentally stable as you, Marissa." Elio scoffed, but there was humor in his voice, and Marissa knew he wasn't serious. 

"Hey, I take serious offense to that! I am not just pretty, I am sexy. Hot, even. Pretty is for high school girls that wear pleated skirts and ponytails," his best friend joked. 

Elio laughed into the phone. "But you called me pretty?" 

"Yeah, and you'd look great in a pleated skirt," Marissa responded in a 'duh' tone. 

They talked for another hour, going over anything and everything they deemed gossip-worthy, before Elio realized that it was almost 10 AM on a Wednesday and he worked at 11. 

"Shit, I'm gonna be late for work. Gotta go babe, love ya," Elio said quickly. 

"Love you!" Marissa responded before disconnecting the call. 

Elio ran his hands through his curls and sighed. He didn't want to have to go to work and socialize, but his rent wouldn't pay itself. The brown-haired boy dragged himself through getting ready for work; his only motivation was the 15 minutes he'd have to stop for coffee if he got dressed fast enough. Elio was rushing himself out the door, his hands full of a number of random things because he didn't own a bag, when he stumbled and ran into something. Or someone. The items in his hands scattered across the floor, and Elio nearly went down with them. 

Scatterbrained, Elio quickly knelt down to gather his stuff before he lost his time for a coffee break, muttering apologies to himself. A pair of large, tan hands soon joined his own in gathering the stuff. Surprised, the boy glanced up and found himself face to face with The Hot Neighbor. 

"S-sorry. Thanks, sorry," Elio rambled nervously. 

The Hot Neighbor's lips quirked up to form the smallest smile in history. "You're welcome." 

Elio lost his breath at that small smirk of a smile. This man wasn't the type to be called beautiful, but when he smiled Elio questioned that thought.

The Hot Neighbor passed Elio the assortment of items he'd dropped- including a water bottle, a pack of gum, a notebook, and more. Their hands brushed, and Elio died. His brain short-circuited for a moment. When he came back to the present, the other man was already walking away. 

"Elio!" Elio shouted suddenly. 

The Hot Neighbor glanced at him curiously.

"My name. It's Elio," the curly-haired one explained. The Hot Neighbor nodded with another tiny, toothless smile, and walked away. 

Elio was halfway down the stairs before he realized The Hot Neighbor hadn't given him his name in response. 

Elio groaned loud enough for the old ladies passing him on the stairs to look at him funny. 

⟡♡⟡

Come 8 pm later that day Elio was finally finished with work and thoroughly exhausted. It had been a long shift of smiling at rude customers, getting ketchup on his apron, and nearly breaking down. Now, 9 and a half hours and one hastily-eaten burger later, he was at home in his bed. Finally. The only problem was that, despite the fatigue he felt down to his bones, he couldn't seem to fall asleep. His mind kept replaying all of his interactions with his neighbor over and over again. Elio had given The Hot Neighbor his name, but he hadn't received one in return. Which was, in Elio's opinion, actually understandable. The curly-haired man hadn't asked for a name, just shouted his own into the void. 

Which was why, after careful deliberation, he decided to take Marissa's advice— kinda. He was too chicken to knock, so he decided to leave a note. Yes, very cowardly of him, but he didn't care. He had already embarrassed himself too many times, and didn't feel like opening up the opportunity for another. Elio rolled over on his bed with a groan. He brushed a few loose strands of hair away from his eyes and reached over to his nightstand. Piled under a few hair-ties, a granola bar, and an assortment of pens, he found his sticky notes. The normally energetic man snagged the stack of pink sticky notes and a matching pink glitter gel pen before collapsing backwards onto his bed. Now, what to write. 

Elio absent-mindedly doodled a cartoon cat while he thought. It was actually quite cute, with big round eyes and a chubby face. Elio pulled up the sticky note and pressed it against a notebook on his nightstand for safe-keeping. Then, he got back to brainstorming.

What's your name?  No, that was too straight forward. He pulled off the sticky note and crumpled it up.

I'm Elio, you?  No, The Hot Neighbor already knew Elio's name. Another ball of paper thrown across the room.

Finally, Elio got it:

Thanks for helping me.  P.S. What's your name?

– Elio (AKA your clumsy neighbor)

Elio yawned, his body satisfied with his efforts and finally ready to sleep. He switched off his lamp, got under the covers, and fell asleep almost instantly. 

𑁋⟡♡⟡𑁋