Chapter Text
The apartment was supposed to be quiet at this hour.
Caitlyn had chosen it for that reason. Downtown, yes, but tucked just far enough away from the main streets to avoid sirens and nightlife, high enough up that the city softened into a distant hum. She’d toured it twice. Asked questions. Noted the thickness of the walls with professional interest.
It was nearly midnight. The lights in her living room were low, warm. Her laptop sat open on the coffee table, screen filled with neatly organized notes, timelines aligned with a precision that soothed her in ways sleep never quite managed anymore.
She had just underlined a sentence—something about behavioral escalation under prolonged stress—when it happened.
Thud.
Caitlyn stilled, pen hovering above the page.
A second later, metal clanged against metal. Heavy. Deliberate. The sound carried through the wall at her right, vibrating faintly against the glass of water on the table.
She frowned.
Her first thought was that something had fallen. An accident. It happened. She waited for the inevitable apology in the form of sudden silence.
It didn’t come.
Thud. Clang.
Rhythmic. Measured. Almost methodical.
Caitlyn leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as recognition settled in.
Right. The new neighbor.
She’d noticed the move-in a few days ago — boxes hauled in at odd hours, a battered truck double-parked outside the building. She’d passed her once in the hallway: tall, broad-shouldered, bruised knuckles, hair pulled back with careless confidence. The kind of presence that filled a space without trying.
Caitlyn had registered the woman as attractive in the same way one noted a striking painting — briefly, privately, and without commentary. Appreciated, then filed away.
She had not, however, anticipated this.
Another impact echoed through the wall. Caitlyn exhaled slowly and turned back to her laptop.
She typed for another minute. Then another. The noise persisted, unrepentant. She reached for her headphones, sliding them on with practiced ease. Soft instrumental music filled her ears, calming, familiar.
Thud.
The couch vibrated beneath her.
She removed the headphones again, jaw tightening — not in anger, not yet, but in disbelief.
This wasn’t music. Not a television. Not a social gathering that would burn itself out. This was exertion. Intentional. Someone repeatedly lifting something heavy and putting it down again, with no regard for the hour.
Caitlyn gathered her things and moved to the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind her. Sat on the bed, laptop balanced neatly atop her knees.
Clang.
The wall shuddered faintly.
She stared at the sentence she’d been composing, then closed the laptop with a soft, final click.
“All right,” she murmured, voice calm, controlled. “That’s quite enough.”
She checked the time on her phone. 12:07 a.m.
The woman next door — Vi, she recalled distantly from the name on the mailbox — was either unaware of the noise she was making or entirely unconcerned by it.
Neither was acceptable.
Caitlyn crossed to the balcony door, peering out into the city lights below. Somewhere nearby, a laugh drifted up from the street. A car horn sounded, then faded.
Behind her, the wall answered with another dull, relentless thud.
She pressed her lips together.
She would give it one night. That was reasonable. Civil. People deserved the benefit of the doubt, even when they were loud, inconsiderate, and apparently training for something that involved industrial equipment after midnight.
Tomorrow, she would say something. Calmly. Politely.
She turned off the light and slid into bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the rhythm continued next door — steady, relentless, impossible to ignore.
Sleep, once again, did not come.
By the second night, Caitlyn was no longer surprised.
The sound started at 11:46 p.m. — she noted it automatically, more out of habit than irritation. The first impact echoed through the wall with the same disciplined insistence as the night before, followed by the familiar metallic clatter that set her teeth on edge.
She closed her eyes. All right. So this was a routine.
There was something almost impressive about the consistency of it. The timing. The cadence. If Caitlyn hadn’t been on the wrong side of the wall, she might have appreciated the structure of it — might have even admired the commitment.
Instead, she set her pen down with deliberate care and folded her hands in her lap.
She had slept for exactly three hours and fourteen minutes.
Caitlyn rose from the couch, smoothing the front of her cardigan as she went. The irritation simmering beneath her calm was controlled, contained — a practiced thing. She had spent years mediating between volatile personalities, listening without reacting, responding without escalating.
This would be no different.
She paused at the mirror in the hallway, adjusting her hair out of reflex rather than vanity. She looked tired, but composed. Presentable. Reasonable.
Good.
Caitlyn stepped into the hallway and crossed the short distance to the apartment next door. The noise grew louder with every step, vibrating faintly through the soles of her feet. Whatever Vi was doing in there required a concerning amount of force.
She raised her hand and knocked. The sound cut off almost immediately.
There was a brief pause — a shuffle, a muttered curse, the creak of a door unlocking — before it swung open.
Vi stood there in a sleeveless shirt, skin flushed and damp with sweat, dark hair pulled back messily at the nape of her neck. Her chest rose and fell with exertion, breath not quite steady yet. One earbud dangled loose, the other still tucked in place.
For a moment, Caitlyn’s carefully rehearsed opening line dissolved into something unhelpfully blank.
She recovered quickly.
“Good evening,” Caitlyn said, tone polite, measured. “I’m Caitlyn. I live next door.”
Vi’s gaze flicked over her — quick, assessing — before settling somewhere just over Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”
Of course she did.
Caitlyn inclined her head slightly. “I wanted to speak with you about the noise. It’s a bit… loud. Particularly at this hour.”
Vi snorted softly, not unkind, but dismissive. “It’s not that late.”
“It’s nearly midnight,” Caitlyn replied, still calm. “And the walls are quite thin.”
There was a beat of silence. Vi shifted her weight, arms crossing over her chest, muscles tightening in a way that seemed almost reflexive.
“I’ll try to keep it down,” Vi said finally. Not apologetic. Not defensive either. Simply a statement.
Caitlyn studied her, noting the lack of pushback, the easy concession that felt more like an end to the conversation than a solution.
“Thank you,” she said, because civility demanded it. “I’d appreciate that.”
Vi nodded once and reached for the door.
Before it closed, Caitlyn added — gently, carefully — “I understand people have different schedules. I’m only asking for a bit of consideration.”
Vi paused, eyes sharpening as they met Caitlyn’s properly for the first time.
“Yeah,” she said. “I get it.”
The door closed.
Caitlyn stood there for a moment longer than necessary, listening as the lock clicked back into place.
The noise did not resume immediately.
She returned to her apartment, feeling cautiously optimistic — a foolish thing, she would later realize.
For exactly twenty-three minutes, the silence held.
Then: Thud.
Caitlyn closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. So much for understanding.
Vi shut the door with more care than she usually bothered with.
She stood there for a second, forehead resting lightly against the wood, listening to the quiet hum of her apartment. The music had cut out with the knock and hadn’t come back on yet. The air felt heavier without it — like the room was holding its breath.
“Midnight,” she muttered. “Right.”
She rolled her shoulders, stretching the tension loose, and glanced toward the corner where her setup waited: barbell, bench, plates stacked with almost military precision. Jinx’s latest “upgrade” sat welded onto the rack like a challenge.
Vi exhaled slowly. She’d meant it when she said she’d try.
She swapped the heavier plates out for the lighter ones, wincing at the metallic scrape even as she did it carefully. Slid rubber mats beneath the rack, adjusted the bench so it wouldn’t rattle. Small concessions. Reasonable ones.
This wasn’t her first noise complaint. But it was the first one delivered like that — calm, composed, eyes sharp enough to take her apart without raising her voice.
And, annoyingly… attractive.
Vi grabbed her phone, hit play, and slid both earbuds in properly this time. Low volume. Something steady, controlled. Something that wouldn’t push her too hard.
She lifted. Careful. Controlled. No slamming. No theatrics. For a few minutes, it worked.
Her muscles burned pleasantly, breath evening out as she found her rhythm again. The kind that didn’t need noise to feel real.
Then the song changed. The bass hit hard, sudden and deep, bursting through her ears like a shot of adrenaline. Her pulse spiked with it, instinct kicking in before thought had a chance to intervene.
Vi grinned despite herself.
“Well,” she said, under her breath. “There it is.”
She pushed harder. Faster. The bar came down with more force than she intended — not a slam, but close enough. The metal sang in response, alive, eager.
The beat drove her forward. One more rep. Then another.
Her focus narrowed, world shrinking to motion and breath and the familiar burn that drowned everything else out. The noise faded from her awareness entirely.
When she finally racked the bar and pulled the earbuds free, sweat dripping down her spine, the apartment had gone quiet again.
She checked the time. 00:41. Vi huffed a laugh, scrubbing a hand through her hair.
“Shit.”
She leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling — which, she realized with a faint twist of amusement, was Caitlyn’s floor. The woman next door with the careful voice and the tired eyes. The one who smelled faintly like soap and something sharp and expensive.
Vi had noticed her the first day, too. Hard not to. Tall, put-together, the kind of pretty that didn’t try to sell itself. The kind that made flirting feel like a bad idea and a tempting one all at once.
She’d considered it. Briefly. Something easy. A smile, a line, see if she could make those cool blue eyes narrow in irritation or amusement.
Later, she decided. When things weren’t so… loud.
Vi toed off her shoes and flopped onto the couch, muscles humming, adrenaline still slow-fading through her veins. She’d try harder tomorrow. Adjust the routine. Maybe talk to Jinx about the equipment.
Maybe.
For now, she stretched out and closed her eyes, already drifting — unaware that twenty-three minutes of silence had just bought her a place firmly in Caitlyn Kiramman’s thoughts.
By the third night, Caitlyn had stopped pretending this was a misunderstanding.
The noise began at 11:52 p.m.
Not earlier. Not later. As if it had been scheduled.
Caitlyn stared at the clock on her phone, unimpressed by the precision. She was tired — not the dull, manageable kind, but the sharp-edged fatigue that made small things feel intolerable and large things feel personal.
The first thud came through the wall, followed by a familiar metallic clatter.
Her jaw tightened. She did not knock. She did not sigh. She did not close her laptop with dramatic finality. Instead, she reached for a pen.
The notebook in her lap was filled with case notes and observations, margins crowded with careful handwriting. She flipped to a blank page at the back, smoothed it once, and wrote:
Hi —
I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the noise from your apartment is extremely disruptive late at night.
I’d appreciate it if you could keep it down after 11 p.m.
Thank you.
She read it over. Considered the tone. Polite. Clear. Reasonable. Too reasonable, perhaps.
Caitlyn folded the note neatly, slipped on a cardigan, and stepped into the hallway. The noise grew louder as she approached the neighboring door — less violent than the first night, but persistent enough to be maddening.
She taped the note to the door at eye level, smoothing the edge once more for good measure.
Back in her apartment, she waited. Five minutes passed. Ten. Then the noise stopped.
Caitlyn allowed herself a small, vindicated smile and returned to her work. It lasted precisely four minutes.
The thud returned, sharper this time — almost pointed. Caitlyn stared at the wall. Unacceptable. She stood again and opened her door fully intended to confront her neighbor then her gaze dropped.
The paper lay on her welcome mat. She bent to pick it up. Below her own careful handwriting, scrawled in thick black marker, was a response:
Trying. Promise.
— V
Caitlyn stared at it. Once. Twice. A laugh escaped her before she could stop it — sharp, incredulous, and entirely unwelcome.
She straightened, closed her eyes briefly, and breathed. Unbothered. Entirely. Fine.
Caitlyn retrieved her pen and added beneath Vi’s message, in elegant, precise script:
Your definition of “trying” is… generous.
She placed the note back outside Vi’s door without ceremony and knocked.
The noise ceased again. For seven minutes this time.
Then came the unmistakable sound of something being carefully placed on the floor — followed by a distinctly not-careful clang.
Caitlyn’s eye twitched. She needed air.
The apartment felt smaller than it had an hour ago, the walls closing in with every dull impact from next door. She shut her notebook with more force than strictly necessary and crossed to the balcony doors, sliding them open with a sharp tug.
Cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant sounds of the city — traffic murmurs, laughter from the street below, the low hum of life continuing without her permission.
She stepped outside and leaned her forearms against the railing, closing her eyes. Just breathe. The quiet lasted exactly three seconds.A lighter sparked to life to her right. Caitlyn stiffened, turning slowly.
Vi stood on the neighboring balcony, close enough that Caitlyn could see the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin, the relaxed sprawl of her posture as she leaned against the divider. She brought a cigarette to her lips, the flame briefly illuminating her face — sharp lines, easy confidence, entirely unapologetic.
Of course.
Caitlyn straightened. “Do you ever stop moving?”
Vi glanced over, unfazed. “Only when I’m asleep.”
“That’s… difficult to believe,” Caitlyn replied coolly.
Vi huffed a quiet laugh, exhaling smoke out over the city. “You come out here to get some air, or to pick another fight?”
Caitlyn folded her arms. “I came out here because you seem incapable of understanding that other people live in this building.”
Vi’s gaze sharpened slightly — not hostile, just attentive. “I said I’d try.”
“And yet,” Caitlyn gestured vaguely toward the wall behind her, “here we are.”
Vi took another drag, eyes flicking back to the city. “You ever consider that some people don’t run on banker hours?”
“I am well aware that people have different schedules,” Caitlyn snapped, patience thinning. “What I am not aware of is why that excuses being inconsiderate.”
Vi turned fully toward her now, resting one elbow on the railing. “I work in a gym. I train at night. It’s kind of my job to be loud.”
Caitlyn scoffed. “It is absolutely not your job to disturb your neighbors at midnight.”
“Sure it is,” Vi said easily. “If they’re training too close to bedtime.”
Caitlyn glared. “That is not how apartments work.”
Vi grinned, slow and irritating. “You’d be surprised.”
The smoke drifted between them, curling lazily in the space they shared. Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. “Do you mind?”
Vi glanced at the cigarette, then back at her. “You allergic?”
“No. I simply don’t enjoy it.”
Vi shrugged and flicked the cigarette over the edge of the balcony, crushing it under her shoe. “There. Considerate.”
The gesture caught Caitlyn off guard.
She hesitated — only a fraction of a second — then pressed on. “I am asking you to be mindful. That is all. I have work that requires focus.”
Vi studied her, head tilting slightly. “What do you do, anyway?”
“That is not relevant.”
Vi smirked. “Kinda is, if you’re gonna keep showing up at my door like an exhausted school principal.”
Caitlyn bristled. “I am not—”
She stopped herself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled with control. “I am simply asking for quiet after eleven.”
Vi’s gaze softened — just a notch. “And I’m saying I’ll do my best.”
“You said that last night.”
“Yeah,” Vi admitted. “And I meant it.”
The city hummed below them, the tension stretching thin and taut between irritation and something else Caitlyn refused to name.
Vi pushed off the railing. “I’ll switch to bodyweight stuff. No drops. Deal?”
Caitlyn hesitated, surprised again.
“…Deal,” she said finally.
Vi nodded once, satisfied, and stepped back inside without another word.
Caitlyn remained on the balcony, heart beating a little faster than before, irritation tangled uncomfortably with the realization that Vi had, in fact, compromised.
She stared at the empty space where Vi had stood and thought, against her will:
This is going to be a problem.