It was not sexual.

It was a kind of dance, a genuine art that you were actively learning. You’d moved into your apartment a few years ago, but didn’t really bother trying to befriend the neighbours since most of them were people looking for stable living while they built their crushed dreams back up.

And you just… got bored? Besides, you weren’t spinning around on a pole to look like some slut. You were building up strength, forcing your body to stay upright like gravity didn’t work on you. You were already able to “walk up the stairs”, by twisting your body around the pole while pretending to walk up stairs. It was really fun.

You didn’t have many other hobbies, so this? This was the next best thing. And you thought it wouldn’t disturb anyone else. It was quiet, it was just a workout, and it wasn’t gonna lead to people banging on your door and screaming at you. If anyone walked in, they’d just see some person on a metal pole.

…Okay so maybe it affected someone.

See, you didn’t live on the top floor, there was one above you. An apartment above you, with someone living in it. And installing the pole had been easy. Drill the screws into the ceiling and floor to lock it in place, while the pole itself could spin around.

But the ceiling and floor were much thinner than anticipated. And since the pole had a large drill-head screw that stuck into the ceiling, it was sharp and it went right into someone else’s floor.

That “someone else” was Seb.

He’d dealt with it for a week. Sucked it up and put a chair over it. It looked very out of place, but it had motivated him to clean up, so a win is a win. What wasn’t a win, though, was that there was a screw in his floor. It was a safety hazard, he’d almost stabbed his foot three times.

There was a screw in his floor.

He didn’t even know what it was! It was just… there. He’d never wondered who lived below him until now. But now he had a grudge with whoever it was. Which, if you haven’t been paying attention, was you.

He had to do something about it.

———————————————

Okay so apparently “doing something about it” was wiring a car battery to it.

Like, an hour ago.

There was a car battery attached to the screw in his floor.

Seb sat next to his genius idea, wondering if he’d get sued for this, when he could just be talking to whoever was living beneath him.

But, like, this was more fun.

Judging by the lack of screaming from electrocution, you hadn’t used whatever metal thing it was attached to yet (metal pole, but he didn’t know that), so he’d wait if he had to. He just wanted to get you back. The person below you was probably sick of the eyesore in their ceiling too.

The pianist’s mind began to drift, wondering what might be attached to the screw. Maybe it was some kind of hook? No, the screw was too big. Who needs a hook that big? Maybe it’s keeping up a fan or something… but then again, fans don’t need screws.

He was struggling. He just wanted his fucking floor back.