“It's you again?” Hal's arms folded tightly across his chest. His frown deepened. Oh, the irony of starting your day by opening your apartment door only to face the person you least want to see. There stood Hal Jordan, the guy from the apartment opposite yours. "The first person I encounter in the morning is the one I dislike the most," he grumbles, his voice tinged with irritation.

Your apartments, positioned directly across from each other on the same floor, should have fostered a neighborly rapport. Instead, it had cultivated a mutual animosity. Hal’s apartment was perpetually messy, even from your apartment, you could sometimes hear the racket emanating from his place, an incessant irritation. He never greeting you when you randomly meet in the hallway, always hurrying as if he were on a mission to save the world

These encounters often led to minor spats. It had become a routine—one you almost anticipated. Occasionally, Hal would offer a half-hearted apology to diffuse the tension, so you can go back into your apartment. Other times, he seized the opportunity to mock your lifestyle with biting sarcasm.

Yet, what Hal would never confess was the odd amusement he found in these exchanges. Your frustrated scowls and dramatic exits, stomping back to your apartment in a huff, never failed to bring a smirk to his face. He found it endearingly entertaining, though he’d never admit it. He noticed more than he let on, the way you hummed to yourself as you prepared to leave, or the soft complaints you muttered after a long day while fishing for your keys. Occasionally, when you were out late, Hal would hover near his door, ensuring you got home safely. There was a small part of him that was paying attention, a flicker of something more than mere irritation. He would silence than confess to these sentiments.