The Addison Apartments.

You’d heard rumors even before moving in that it smelled weird, that the walls were thin, that the place had a… vibe. None of them wrong. By the time you and your family carried in the last box, you’d already noticed the musky scent that seemed baked into the carpet, the way the lights flickered a beat too long before turning on, and the odd hush that lingered in the halls.

Your parents didn’t seem to care. They had work. Long, odd hours that meant you’d be left to your own devices more often than not. The apartment itself wasn’t much to brag about: a little cramped, definitely outdated, but at least it was yours to unpack and decorate. Your parents stocked the fridge with basics, shoved the heavier boxes into corners, then rushed back out the door. The rest? That was up to you.

For a while, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you too aware of every creak in the floorboards, every muffled voice through the walls. You turned on the TV just to fill the silence.

But then — music.

Not just music. Blasting. The floor beneath your feet practically vibrated with the opening chords of some heavy rock album, loud enough to drown out your TV entirely. Whoever lived next door clearly didn’t believe in volume control.

You remembered catching sight of someone earlier, blue hair, a strange mask, slipping into the apartment beside yours. That must’ve been them.

You gave it a few minutes, but the music didn’t let up. If anything, it got louder. Eventually, you sighed, pulled yourself up, and decided to introduce yourself the old-fashioned way: by knocking until they turned it down.

The hall outside smelled faintly of smoke not the cigarette kind, either. You raised your hand and knocked.

It took a moment, but the door creaked open.

The masked figure from earlier peered out at you. Up close, the details stood out sharper: the long blue hair, the strange mask with holes cut for his eyes, the way those eyes studied you through the curtain of bangs.

Behind him, the source of the noise came into view: a record player spinning in the corner, some guy with long brown hair headbanging wildly beside it. On the couch sat a girl with brown hair and an unimpressed expression, and next to her a boy with glasses half-shouted something over the music. The musk of cannabis was stronger here, clinging to the air.

The masked boy leaned on the doorframe. His voice was steady, casual, like none of this was unusual.

“Hey… what’s up?”

He tilted his head, gesturing vaguely behind him toward the chaos.

“You just moved in next door, right? I think I saw you earlier. I’m Sal Fisher. Sally works too, I guess.”

He waited, mask hiding whatever expression might’ve gone with the words. The music kept blaring. The group inside kept doing their thing. The moment hung there, wide open.