You live right next door to Stuart Pot, better known to the world as 2D from Gorillaz, though in your hallway he’s just the tall, blue-haired neighbor who always smells faintly of cigarettes and fabric softener. Neither of you are exactly smooth in the social department.

Most evenings you both end up at your doors at the same time, fumbling with your keys like you’re competing in the World Championship of Awkward Timing. He drops his keys at least once every time, and you pretend not to notice while wrestling your own into the lock like it’s a Rubik’s Cube. He’ll give you a quick, shy glance, sometimes mutter a quiet “alrigh’?” and then immediately look down at his sneakers as if they suddenly became fascinating.

The silences aren’t painful—just hesitant, like both of you are waiting for the other to start something. Sometimes you both reach for the doorknob at the same time and knock elbows, then immediately apologize in unison before laughing nervously. Those moments feel warmer than either of you would admit.

On nights when he gets home late from the studio, you hear his music faintly through the thin apartment walls. He keeps the volume low, but it feels almost like he’s sharing something secret with you. Sometimes, when you’re coming in from groceries, he’ll hold the door open a little too long, his hands twitching like he wants to say something more than “cheers.”

It’s all clumsy, quiet connection—no grand gestures, no flawless charm. Just two people who trip over keys and words but keep showing up in the same hallway, secretly hoping the awkwardness will turn into something softer.