A writer in the making? A dreamer with no set path? You pondered what you were really doing as your fingertips tapped the side of your laptop, tired eyes fixed on the flashing cursor that seemed to be taunting you.

It wasn't easy trying to get noticed, let alone actually writing something in the chaotic environment that was your apartment.

With two roommates and a dog, it grew tough to take a few moments for yourself. Getting work done at home was out of the question during the winter, and that's why you thanked your lucky stars and whatever gods may be looking down at you as the weather warmed up and your balcony became once again useable.

Lost in thought, your mind had grown used to filtering out city bustle, noisy neighbours, and those obnoxious, god-awful Canada geese. And that's why when a new sound was thrown into the mix—a much more pleasant one, for that matter—you took notice.

The soft strumming of a guitar floated into earshot, the solemn chords carrying over to your balcony and getting lost somewhere in the great beyond. It caught you off guard but somehow filled you with a warm, fuzzy feeling, and you couldn't quite describe it. So, you listened.

Story long-forgotten, your laptop faded to a dark screen as your eyes fell shut, the gentle plucking of an acoustic retracting any progress you had planned on making.

And as quickly as it started, you were left surrounded by silence. A door shut, a light flicked off, and the sounds of the city streets brought you back to reality.

____________________

He'd noticed you before. Using his balcony for some down-time only to be disrupted by frantic keyboard clicks that frustrated him at first.

But he soon grew used to it.

Shawn found comfort in the sound of her fingers typing away and he wondered what she could possibly have been writing about.

Eventually noticing a pattern in when she'd be outside, he made a point of sitting outside, too.

He'd caught glimpses of her in the hall before. Locking up her apartment, stepping out of the elevator, even through the tiny crack in the glass barrier when she'd slip back into the house. It was never creepy. He was just curious.

And the more he wondered, the more he wanted to know.

One night, he made a point of bringing his guitar out with him. He didn't know where he was going with it--if anywhere--but he felt like it was right.

Shawn wasn't sure if he needed to be heard or just wanted her to hear him.

So he played, soon finding a tune that eventually made her stop typing. Shawn smiled to himself when she didn't go back in the house.

____________________

A few moons and barely any chapters later, you found yourself in the same position, writing the same story, listening to the same gentle chords. The mystery musician was back at it, except this time he'd added in a few hums.

The sound of his voice had you shutting your laptop in an instant, not a care in the world if your work had saved or not. It was gorgeous. Fucking angelic, and thoughts were racing through your mind at a thousand miles a minute.

What did he look like? Did he have any other songs? Was he, too, escaping roommates that just couldn't seem to shut the fuck up?

You needed to know.

The chords got repetitive and quick with a warm, chipper air to them. You audibly gasped when his soft hums transitioned into words.

"I'd be lyin' if I said,

It'd be a lie to say I'm not stuck on you"

You had to sit on your stupid hands to keep from breaking into a full-blown applause.

He'd stopped playing. A large sigh escaping his lips could be heard over the black glass wall, and you wondered who hurt him. Or what was bothering him. Or both.

A loud noise caused you to jump a little, soon realizing with the muffled "fuck" coming from the next balcony over that he'd knocked over what you assumed was a glass. That was it for his strumming that night.

____________________

Two weeks. Two weeks straight of these little dates passed—and by "dates" you were referring to your neighbour writing a song and you consistently invading his privacy by eavesdropping—and the tune was finally finished.

Gentle notes floated into your ears as you took a deep breath, unwinding from the long day you'd had. What you didn't expect was for Shawn—you'd learned his name a few days prior when one of his roommates popped his head outside to ask him if he wanted another beer—to say something. To you.

"I've noticed you, y'know," he spoke softly over the strings, hoping he was speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry over the barrier but quietly enough not to freak you out.

It still freaked you out.

At first you didn't respond. Figured you could assume he wasn't talking to you. Maybe he was on the phone. Or talking to himself. Fuck.

"Hey," he reiterated, "I know you're over there."

Fuckfuckfuck.

"Oh," you started, "me?"

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

He chuckled.

"Yes," you heard some rustling as the strumming stopped. Shawn had put his guitar down and tossed his blanket out of his lap, scrambling to his feet, "you."

His head of curls popped up over the opaque glass, and you met his curious eyes. Finally, you could match a face to his voice.

"Hi!" he grinned, reaching to stick a very long arm over the barrier, "I'm Shawn."

"Hello," you spoke quietly with a cheeky grin, embarrassed to have been caught but too invested in this guy to deny your curiosity. You stood and reached up—pretty high, considering you weren't very tall—and met his rough hand with a shake.

He held on for a second too long and you cleared your throat in slight discomfort, arm growing a bit sore from holding it above your head.

"Sorry," he giggled, gripping the top of the glass with each of his hands, "you're a writer."

"So are you," you grinned, shoving your hands into the kangaroo pocket of your double-extra-large hoodie that your small frame was swimming in.

"Ah," he pursed his lips, still smiling, "what do you think?"

"You're really good," you nodded.

"You have to say that," he replied, "but thank you."

He stumbled a little, the fluffy mess of chocolate curls disappearing for a brief moment before coming back into your view.

"You okay over there?" you giggled.

"Yeah," he smiled, "just standing on this stool-box-thing, it's a little wobbly."

"Oh," you nodded, pondering inviting him over. He beat you to it.

"Do you wanna, maybe," he searched for the right wording, "come over? Sit over here, instead?"

Your stomach twirled as you considered the idea, wondering if it was a wise thing to do. You found yourself nodding involuntarily.

"Okay," he grinned nervously, tugging his lower lip between his teeth for a fraction of a second, "do you need directions?"

You laughed, "I think I can figure it out."

____________________

You knocked on the door of unit 1013, nerves building as you heard footsteps on the other side of the wood. It swung open, revealing a very tall, very muscular young man that you recognized as Shawn. Same awry curls. Same curious eyes.

"Howdy, neighbour," he smiled, rejecting your outstretched hand to opt for a hug instead, "sorry," he chuckled, "just feels like I know you."

He led you through the kitchen and past the living room, where two large young men shot you a wave as you walked by. Before you knew it, the crisp evening air was tickling your nose as you looked out over the balcony you knew all too well—well, imagined.

"So," you broke the silence as he fluffed up a cushion for you, beckoning to you to join him on the outdoor love seat, "two weeks to write one song. Must be a special one."

Shawn sighed but the smile didn't leave his lips. Looking out over the skyline, he spoke, "yeah, it was super real for me for a while, there," he paused, tilting his head against the back of the furniture, "but once I realized someone was listening, I needed it to be better, you know?"

"Sorry," you frowned, "didn't mean to make you self-conscious or anything. I just liked to listen," you reassured him, looking at the railing as you felt his gaze on you.

"No, I'm glad you did," he said quietly, "I remember coming outside one night to clear my head, and I could just make out the sound of you typing away on your keyboard. It was nice," he paused, "being with someone, without really having to do anything. Or acknowledge it. We just existed."

"It's a nice escape," you nodded, feeling a bit better about listening-in on his intimate writing sessions.

"So," he began, "what is it that you write?"

"M'working on a novel," you mumbled, cheeks turning rosy as you failed to mention it was a romance about a character with a certain musical neighbour. Your story's description of him didn't do his face justice, though.

"I see," he hummed, "maybe I can give it a read sometime."

"I don't know about that," you giggled, holding in a soft gasp when you felt his knee brush up against yours.

"Why?" he asked, "You've heard my song."

"You didn't have to sing it out loud, Shawn," you teased, "that was your choice, completely."

He chuckled, "I guess you're right. Maybe sometime I'll catch you proofreading into the void."

You talked for hours. The sun dipped below the horizon behind your building and left the two of you laughing in the darkness, having scooted a little closer together as the night grew chilly.

Somewhere along the way he'd grabbed your hand and was still holding onto it.

"Play me something," you spoke, butterflies taking flight in your stomach as his caramel eyes flickered down to meet yours.

"What do you wanna hear?" he asked, barely a whisper. It sent a chill down your spine.

"Something that's yours," you hummed, "something that's so unapologetically yours that if you don't sing it to me right now, you might explode."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned down at you, so fucking over-the-moon in the moment that he might have, in fact, exploded.

"Comin' right up," he spoke, voice like butter as he reached for his guitar, settling the instrument in his lap.

You pressed your back against the armrest, prodding his thigh gently with your fuzzy-socked toes under the blanket you'd been sharing. You watched his fingers pluck at the strings, searching for the right tune when it hit him. Cheeks rosy with a shit-eating grin, he began to sing.

"I know a girl,

She's like a curse,

We want each other,

No one will break first,"

And it kept going. He sang so softly and so beautifully, and you were sure he meant every lyric. You thanked your lucky stars to be there with him, listening to his voice plead with the guitar as if he was asking it why.

The gears started turning in your head when he wrapped it up, making sure his captivating gaze met yours as he sang the last lyric: "you."

You squinted your eyes a little, wondering if he meant that or if it was just a natural instinct.

There wasn't much time to think, though, because he was already placing the guitar on the ground and leaning forward, only a few inches from your face.

"Shawn-"

"Kiss me," he whispered, and he didn't need to tell you twice.

You met him halfway, crashing your full lips against his as he tugged you into his lap, hands tangling themselves in your hair as your mouths remained pressed together. It was sweet and gentle, and everything you expected kissing him would be like.

Shawn opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted, leaning in for more and he obliged. His soft lips worked against you, pulling a moan from your throat as his hands took purchase on your thighs.

You came up for air, detaching your mouths and resting your forehead against his own. The blush creeping up his cheeks was radiating heat and you giggled, threading your fingers through his curls. They were far softer than you'd imagined.

"I should get home," you whispered with a grin as Shawn littered a few soft kisses on the skin of your neck, "Hey?"

"Mm," he responded, snapping his head up to meet your eyes. He couldn't keep a smile from stretching across his lips.

"Gotta go," you hummed lazily, patting his firm chest as he sighed, shivering a bit as your warm body climbed off of his.

"Maybe we can do this again?" he asked with a smirk, "Your balcony next time?"

"Only if you promise to sing me another song," you grinned, disappearing into his apartment to let yourself out.

Shawn was smiling up at the sky, mind running over the events of the last two hours when you popped up over your balcony wall, standing on a chair you'd brought outside from the kitchen.

"Oh, and Shawn?"

His head snapped up toward you and he was at the barrier, climbing onto the wobbly stool once again. He raised an eyebrow, his face only a few inches from yours.

"You're welcome to read my novel," you spoke softly, closing your eyes as he leaned forward for one more kiss.