Chapter Text
Alfred F. Jones, twenty-one, was in the absolute prime of his life. A college junior with a handsome face and a naturally winning charm, his only real mistake so far had been joining a frat his freshman year—which was exactly why he was currently in the miserable process of hauling his life out of the frat house to a new place three blocks away. It was a decently modern apartment building. He’d connected with a Japanese exchange student on Facebook Marketplace and agreed to take over his sublease.
Kiku—the slightly reserved Japanese guy—was being incredibly helpful with the move. Despite his quiet nature, Alfred could definitely feel the good intentions. "Hey, thanks, Kiku!"
The Japanese student merely gave a polite nod. Alfred remembered lying on the beat-up sofa in the frat's common room, scrolling through Facebook for used furniture, when he stumbled upon Kiku's sublet post. Reasonable rent, great location, fully furnished. He’d initially thought it was a scam until he read the small print: Due to unreasonable neighborhood noise, I have already secured a new apartment. If anyone does not mind the noise, please contact me. I would be extremely grateful.
Noise had never bothered Alfred. He was a cheerful, corn-fed Nebraskan boy through and through. If the noise actually got that bad, he wouldn't mind marching right up to his neighbors' doors and having a friendly chat. After all, he was a smooth talker. And if things ever got physical, he knew he was built tough enough to hold his own in a scrap; so far, nobody on campus could really match him—except maybe for this one gloomy, weird Russian exchange student in his major... He wouldn't elaborate on that.
He ran into his left-side neighbors on the very first morning. A young man with copper hair and honey-toned skin was holding the leashes of three dogs, clutching a few churros in one hand. With sugar and chocolate sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth, he was frantically fumbling through his pockets for his keys. He looked up and met Alfred's eyes.
"Oh, did you just move in? Ciao, I'm Feli—" The guy's voice carried a soft Northern Italian accent.
"Hey, you need a hand with—" Alfred blinked, gesturing at the three hyperactive large dogs.
"Oh! Sì! It would be wonderful if you could hold them for a second." Feli struggled to hand the leashes over to Alfred before finally unearthing his door key. "Thank you so much!" Feli beamed at him.
"No sweat, you're welcome! I'm Alfred, by the way." He reached out and shook the Italian's hand.
"Are you living here all by yourself? I heard Kiku already moved out. Me and my partner, Ludwig, live right next door. If you ever need anything, feel free to knock!" Feli took back the dog leashes, waved goodbye to Alfred, opened his door, and went inside.
Alfred figured his left-side neighbors were pretty chill. How much of a racket could a little Italian guy possibly make? Maybe the dogs barked—but he could easily tune that out. He maintained a sense of blind optimism, which only blossomed further when he met the neighbors on his right. Two blond guys—one tall, one short—stepped out of their apartment at the exact same time Alfred did, just as he was heading out to grab a Wendy's chocolate Frosty and a burger.
"Oh, hey! Are you the new neighbor? Hello, I'm Tino, and this is my husband, Berwald." The shorter man's eyes went wide the moment he saw him, the air suddenly radiating pure friendliness.
"Afternoon, I'm Alfred. Nice to meet you guys!"
He chatted with Tino for a bit. Turns out, Tino and Berwald were Nordic—Finn and Swede, respectively. Tino excitedly mentioned that Berwald loved doing woodwork. Ah, Alfred thought, maybe that's where the noise comes from? The Finn was outgoing and talkative, while the towering Swede—whoa, the dude was actually broader than Alfred—kept a total poker face. His eyes barely drifted to Alfred, staying locked instead on his husband's softer features. Though he did offer a stiff little wave to Alfred before they left—which was probably the maximum amount of friendliness he was physically capable of expressing.
At ten-thirty that night, Alfred was lying on his nth-hand mattress, humming an off-key tune. Hey, everything seemed... pretty great so far. Earlier, he had crossed paths with the Italian's partner, Ludwig. That guy is a typical "Ludwig"—a stern, hulking German. Great, another blond guy who was somehow chunkier than him! He hadn't reacted at all to Alfred's joke about increasing the building's ethnic diversity but just shook his hand, knocked on his own door, and was affectionately ushered inside by his Italian partner.
What noise problem? Kiku was probably just way too sensitive, maybe a little high-strung, right? Those Japanese can be a bit too demanding sometimes.
He was dead wrong.
Fourteen minutes later, a sharp, high-pitched sound pierced through the left wall. Alfred, who was in the middle of season three of some satirical cartoon, paused Netflix and pressed his ear against the bedroom wall.
"Oh—Luddy—oh—right there—don't stop—sì, sì, you're fucking me so good dio... suck my nipples more... gonna cum—"
Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin. It was unmistakably the bed-noises of the auburn-haired Italian from earlier that day.
Blushing furiously, Alfred bolted for the bathroom—his apartment was just a single bedroom and a bath. Holy jumping Jesus, no wonder that introverted Japanese guy couldn't take it. Agitated, he stared down into the bathroom sink, catching his flushed reflection in the mirror. And then, he heard a rhythmic, continuous thump-thump-thump coming from the right wall.
Alfred remembered Tino mentioning his husband's love for woodworking—but woodworking in the middle of the night?
Three seconds later, to his absolute horror, he realized it was not woodworking. The heavy, guttural grunts of Berwald and the lighter, breathless gasps of the Finn filtered straight through the bathroom tiles. Fortunately, the relentless, steady thudding of the headboard drowned out most of their actual voices. But that didn't do anything to stop Alfred's spiraling thoughts. Clutching his head in his hands, he trudged back to the bedroom, collapsed onto his mattress, and tried desperately to focus on literally anything else—
Bang, bang, bang, ngh—
"Ve—Lud—love your cock so much—ah, ah—"
Alfred really started to pity Kiku. The guy had lived here for like how long, three months? But mostly, he pitied himself. He wouldn't usually mind knocking on doors (okay, he was actually mortified), and he wouldn't normally mind getting into an argument (usually, yes, but the German and the Swede were exceptionally huge and he wasn't feeling particularly physically confident).
But he couldn't just let this go. He had to figure out a way to resolve this nightmare without completely destroying his neighbors' dignity.
He opened his contacts on his phone, thumb swiping down to the letter "I"—but he didn't find the name Ivan Braginsky. A minute later, the screen of his phone lit up with the contact name: Cyka Blyat.