One Whole Hedonist

---

You stand there blankly and suddenly you forget the chill around you along with the situation you're stuck in.

"I'm s-sorry... Do I kn-now you?"

The doctor stiffens a little. Damn it... He's not quite the best at this whole socializing thing.

Briefly, awkwardly, he stutters and explains himself as your neighbor, "I'm sure you've been hearing me long before seeing me", he jokes. Brushing over the nervous interjection, he continues, simply stating that he heard you come in a while ago and thought he'd offer some hot food.

"I rather doubt you have an independent Bunsen burner on hand, after all", he laughs again, but this time it feels more genuine.

Truth be told, you were a bit afraid he was going to be all nervous, awkward energy but... Those little lines making up his jowls tell you he does rather like to laugh. You smile back, considering the offer.

You always pictured some sleek, James Bond style man of secrets when picturing your mysterious neighbor, but... This man seems so much more then that. More real. More friendly. Tall and broad and soft and warm. Even from across the threshold here, you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

Sure he's not at all what you expected, but somehow he's better that way.

Wrapping your blanket a little tighter, you decide to take a chance on a credible looking stranger.

It's a short walk next door, but just long enough to make introductions before you cross the neighboring threshold. The doctor's apartment isn't very remarkable, you'd almost dare say it's more plain then your own.

He invites you to make yourself comfortable. You follow him over to the countertop where a pot of soup sits over top of a gas powered nozzle. The flame is out by now, but the soup is still bubbling.

The doctor gets two bowls while you take a seat at one of the barstools.

He's a good host, you'll give him that. You do nothing but sit down while he serves up the soup and fetches you a drink. With the doctor busy, you take one more look around your surroundings. Little piles of papers and folders lay around in random places, accompanied by a few bits of chemistry utensils.

You figure he must have been digging through these to come up with his burner.

As you glance around, your eyes find the prize. Tucked away in a little corner sits the doctor's cello. You don't believe you've ever seen one in person, and it's far bigger then you imagined.

With a little huff the doctor takes a seat, food in hand. Despite your efforts to cover your tracks, the doctor catches you staring.

"It uh, it doesn't bother you does it?", he asks.

Before you can ask what he means, he corrects himself, "The playing that is. Me, playing. I know I only perform rather late at night after all...", he clears his throat nervously.

You laugh, "No, not at all! I'm usually up pretty late myself"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, lots of homework to keep me busy", you playful groan.

The doctor asks what you're studying and you reply. "It's a pain", you add.

He chuckles at that, "The sciences aren't too bad. I'm in the nuclear side of things myself"

That stuns you for certain. And to say it so casually... Not for lack of trying, you just can't hold back your surprise, "Nuclear sciences? And you live here?", you laugh, hoping against hope not to come off too rude.

"I know, I know... You're not the first person to say that to me", the doctor mixes his soup a little, "I figure I don't need much is all. Besides, it's close to everything I need... Why leave?"

"Hm, I suppose so. Sorry, it's just... I couldn't imagine wanting to stay in a place like this. I'm excited to move on one day"

"Move on? Didn't you just get here?", he laughs. Before you can interject, he beats you to it, "kidding, kidding... I understand"

Having reached a comfortable silence, you eat in peace for a little while longer. But... You keep thinking about that cello. You wonder if he even saw your note.

You also wonder if he knows who it's from...

"So, how long have you been playing?"

"Heh, almost my whole life"

Your eyebrows shoot up, impressed, "Makes sense... You're very talented"

The doctor smiles shyly at your compliment, "You think so? I'm glad to hear it... Honestly, it's been a while since I picked it up. Busy with... Work", he leaves it at that. No need to dump his office struggles onto a stranger.

You smile politely, "I would never have guessed"

Otto perks up a little at that, "Well, I suppose you're not the only one then! You know... I found the strangest thing this afternoon... Would you believe someone left me a song request under the door?", he huffs like he can't believe it while your heart jumps into your throat, suddenly very anxious.

Trying your best to keep it together, you make a polite little sound of interest in response. The doctor continues, "Well, normally I suppose I wouldn't be so excited, but... Well, this is my first time getting a request is all. It's quite the compliment, you know"

That give your heart a little flutter. His first request? You almost find that impossible to believe.

You join him in his excitement and encourage him to keep talking. He does.

"I was actually going to play it once and for all after dinner", he smiles and points a thumb over his shoulder, "you're welcome to stay and listen if you like! Uh, that is... If you're not too busy with classwork", he does that same nervous laugh again, but you comfort him with the information that, unfortunately, you won't be getting any work done at all tonight.

No power means no wifi, after all.

The doctor sheepishly agrees that you are indeed correct and quietly hopes he hasn't shown too much of his age.

With the food all gone, Otto clears up for you both and invites you to have a seat out in the living room. While the apartment itself may be a little drab, you must admit, his furniture is far superior to yours. Although... You suppose that's not saying much.

The fine leather is cold, even through your clothes, but the support and cushion is nice. Soon enough, the doctor comes around and finds a seat of his own there on his pedestal of a stool. He takes a few moments to warm up, playing some scales and chords with a skill that impresses.

You watch and wait in quiet anticipation for the doctor to play your request. The first song he performs is something else entirely. While it may not be the one you asked for, nor are the two after it, you recognize the songs as ones that he plays frequently. You mention it to him.

"Hm? Oh yes... They're some of the very first songs I learned on this instrument. I like to use them for warming up", he explains.

"Those are some of the first you learned? That's incredible, those seem so complex!"

"Well... I suppose they are really", he confesses, "But this wasn't my first instrument. I actually started out on piano", he starts up a fourth song as he finishes his statement.

"Ah. Do you not play any more?"

Hardly distracted, the doctor talks and plays at the same time perfectly, "Not really, no. I haven't touched a piano in... Quite a while, actually", he laughs, "Don't get me wrong, it's a very fine instrument of course... It was just never really my thing"

You nod politely and listen in silence as the doctor finishes his current song. After he saws the final note, he takes a moment to pull back and roll his shoulders, "Well... I have no way of knowing if our mysterious requestee is listening, but I suppose now is as good a time as any for that song"

Your heart skips excitedly and you perk up a little in your seat.

At first, you were rather frustrated indeed that you weren't able to work and listen in the comfort of your apartment like usual, but... You have now seen the truth. There truly is no better listening experience than this.

The here and now, face to face.

Otto clears his throat once and then again, a little more forcefully, "I hope you'll forgive me... This song requires vocals and, well, I'm no Basso cantante"

All it takes is those first few notes... Plucked by hand, then strikingly transitioned into passes of the bow, and you know you've been struck by his spell.

Any excitement or enjoyment you felt for the song before is amplified far beyond your wildest expectations now that you're hearing it live and in person. The imagined vibrations you felt at the highs and lows of the scale of chords pales in comparison to the gentle trembling of your very core sewn by this fantastical instrument.

All you can do is sink back into the leathery cushion, melting in a state of bliss. You close your eyes in utter enjoyment and a new world over takes you. Not one of sight, but of feeling. Of emotion and passion, unlike anything you've ever beheld.

You've been so instantly and so strongly entranced by the doctor's performance so far, that you'd nearly forgotten your favorite part.

The doctor's deep, rolling voice starts off quietly, then builds and builds every bit as deep and rich as the original vocalist until it surpasses even that lofty standard. Only... this feels much much more impactful.

You hardly even realize he's singing in a different language... The thick timbre of his voice penetrates down to your very essence. So much so that a frivolous thing such as language and meaning both become irrelevant.

This is what music is...

Powerful. Emotional. Universal.

It transcends the barriers of thought and reaches all the way to the too often ignored heart.

The doctor's performance leaves you star struck. Never before have you had such an experience with music, and you don't believe you will again for a long long time.

Otto seems rather unphased as he utilizes the room's natural reverb to his advantage, sustaining the final chord until its very last echoes. At last, the room goes quiet. You hardly notice, you're so deep in your head with wonder.

"There, I hope our friend got to hear that...", he clears his throat and gives a nervous laugh, "And that my singing wasn't too terrible", he adds humorously. He turns to you, "Well, what do you think? I don't usually play contemporary but, well, I can hardly turn down my first request"

His speaking voice snaps you out of your daydream. With a confused hum, you take just a moment to process the question, "That... That was amazing! I- Are you sure you don't sing? I've never heard such a wonderful voice", you do your best to string together a coherent compliment, but it looks to have worked.

The doctor perks up, pleased that you seem so impressed.

"Oh now you're just flattering me", he swats the bow of his cello, waving you off, "I hope my requester doesn't mind, but I took the liberty of performing the song in it's original language. It didn't feel right to do it any other way"

"I'm... Sure they won't mind", you smile hesitantly, "Say... I didn't know you spoke Spanish"

"Oh yes!", he beams, "French, Italian, German, and Latin as well. I rarely get the opportunity to use them unfortunately, so I like to get in some practice when I can"

"That's... Quite the list", you chuckle.

The doctor rests his bow to stand and stretch, "Hm? Oh, thank you", he responds casually. A wave of heat rolls off him, only truly serving to remind you of the aching cold all around you.

Pity. Until now, you'd completely forgotten about it.

His arms reach far over his head, nearly touching the low hanging roof of the place. A small sliver of skin appears just below the hem of his sweater. You're not sure why it catches your eye, but something about that dense trail of hair leading down to his waistband gives you a little food for thought...

Otto shivers and lowers his arms immediately, returning his sweater back to it's normal position. He wipes his palms on the front of his pants and turns to you, "Well, thank you for joining me, but... I don't mean to keep you if you need to get going"

"Oh. Y-yes...", you go to get up, "I don't mean to over stay my welcome", you laugh nervously.

Suddenly the doctor looks taken aback with worry, "Oh! No no, it's not that, I just- Well, I don't want to throw you out in the cold, I-"

"No no, it's alright!", you double back and try to reassure him, "You've been very kind, thank you... I just... Well, I wish the power would come back on. It's much colder over there then in here", you laugh.

The doctor is quiet for just a moment, thinking on what he's about to say next, "Would... Would you like an extra blanket to take with you?"

You stare back at him, wondering for a moment yourself if he's serious. Then... you give him a little smile, "I'd love that, actually"

The doctor stands up tall with a reassured smile. He implores you to wait there for a moment and disappears down the short hallway. He's only gone for a few minutes before he comes back. The corner of his mouth is pulled back in a small, nervous wince. In his hands he holds an article of clothing, one large sweater.

"Well... It would appear I need to do some laundry", he huffs a laugh, "but, if you'd like... I can offer you this?"

He holds it out to you gingerly, as though at any moment he might change his mind and rescind his offer out of sheer embarrassment. You take it upon yourself to accept before he gets the chance to do so.

"Thank you! I'll bring it back tomorrow-"

"No need, you can hold on to it until the power comes back on if you want", he smiles warmly, although admittedly he seems a little surprised that you took him up on his offer at all. You thank him once more and with some friendly good byes, you make your way back to your home.

Once inside, you slip the shirt over your head and shoulders. It fits like a tent, absolutely devouring you. But it's warm and soft like nothing you've ever felt before. After such an exciting night, you slink off straight to bed. Cautiously, as though there were any possibility of someone watching, you give the collar a little sniff.

It smells like herbs and spices, filling you with a renewed sense of warmth all on it's own.

You sigh deeply, drinking in the comforting scent before twisting down into your sheets. The doctor may not have been anything like what you were expecting, but... You weren't quite counting on him being such a romantic figure either....

Holding the sweater tight around your body, you let the folds of knitted fabric cushion your head and bathe your senses.

---

Otto comes storming into his apartment. Covered in snow and filled with indignant rage, the doctor shrugs the snow off his shoulders, slamming down his things.

Some days are almost enough to make him want to quit. Hardly two days into his work week, and already Osborn has managed to piss him off to the core. You'd think the man owned him, like a piece of machinery or a simple minded dog, the way he treats him.

But... As much as he might like, he can't leave.

No because, genius as he is... He has no funding. Nowhere to go.

He needs a successful project, and the payment that comes with it, if he ever wants to get out from under Norman's thumb. Hmp, and he suspects Osborn knows it too...

Is this all part of the plan? The constant heckling and annoyance... Does Osborn think he doesn't know he can't leave? Is this a push to force him out, humiliate him, then have him come crawling back? But what good would that serve? Aside from stroking Norman's ego.

Bah, this is just the problem.

Mind games.

It's always something with him. Always some strange and ulterior motive that only benefits Norman Osborn. And if not him directly, then his damnable corporation.

Ha, maybe he should go to one of his competitors... That would be the perfect set back. But then... No to that too. He's invested too much time in his current work. His work that's saturated with the Oscorp copyright on the blueprints.

Amidst all his raving, the doctor seems to have found his way to his stool.

There stands his cello, faithful and faultless. It's his only true company these days. He does have some good news though. Last night, he managed to snag himself a pillow for the hard wooden seat.

It's a chair covering that he... Borrowed, from Oscorp. He has since defaced it enough that it has become truly his own. No longer does it remind him of the hell he comes here to escape.

The doctor nudges open a little box and takes out some oils for his bow. With a slow, meticulous hand, he prepares the string for another show. He must admit, he hasn't been as good to his instrument as he should. Not enough cleaning, not enough polish... But no more.

It has become his only companion. His only escape from the wretched outside world...

And as the snow continues to fall in it's steady waves, he fears more and more that he will be forced to rely on it soon.

You mutter a curse, throwing down your pencil into your notebook. The glow of your laptop illuminates your face and the blanket covering your head and shoulders. Damn this class. And damn this homework.

Bio chemistry is killing you. Why oh why do you need this class?

You fall back against your couch, alone in the dark. With a dejected sigh, you close your eyes to relax. There's no possibility of putting it off, it's due by midnight. You check the clock on your computer.

Barely even halfway done the assignment, and only two hours left.

A distraction sounds nice, but... You surely can't afford one right now. So... you wait. Maybe some rest will do you a service. You sit in silence, until...

The sound of music wafts in.

It's slow and sad and bassy. Relaxing and a little mysterious, with a tinge of a romantic quality. Eyes closed, you sigh deeply, sinking back into your seat.

There's that secretive neighbor of yours again.

While it's true you haven't been living here long, you find it a little strange you haven't seen him yet. He leaves early in the morning, just a little bit before you leave for campus. Then, he only ever seems to come back late, late at night.

A part of you has these fantastical ideas about him. What he might look like or what he does for work. Or... maybe he's just like everyone else around here. A shitty job and a mundane life. You huff a laugh.

Not too unlike yourself then.

The concerto continues and after one or two songs, you feel a renewed energy. Perhaps these questions aren't so daunting. You work in peace, still putting up a fight with your homework, but at least you feel more relaxed.

By some miracle, you're finished at last before the dead line. Your mysterious neighbor stopped playing over half an hour ago, but that's alright. Instead, you substituted his absence with some Cello music of your own. The music through the speakers doesn't quite feel the same, but it's enough.

Better then the damnable silence at least.

Even after the work is done... You leave the playlist running for a little while more. A few songs peak your interest here and there and you casually file them away into a personal playlist for later.

One song however, stands out to you like none of the rest.

Maybe it's the deep vibrato. Maybe it's the tasteful touch of singing and the singers rich, bassy voice that makes it that much more stirring... Whatever it may be, you can say with confidence that the way its rousing timbre makes your heart skip a beat and your chest swell with emotion before the end definitely has something to do with it.

You put it on repeat, and each time it never seems to lose its luster.

Then... It gives you a bold idea.

You tear off a scrap of notebook paper and jot down the name of the song and artist. Not but a few seconds later, you behold your work. Then... A mite of doubt begins to creep in.

As much as you'd love for your talented neighbor to perform this piece... You're afraid it'd be asking too much. After all, it's not as though you know one another. Then again... He doesn't have to know it's from you...

And if he wants to disregard it, you'd be none the wiser, right? Yes. Yes...

For now you hold onto it, storing it carefully on a nearby table. Perhaps tomorrow you'll make your delivery.

And that's just what you do.

In the morning, on your way out to class, you slip the paper sheet under the door and go on your way. He's long gone for whatever job he works by this hour. At least that fills you with some confidence regarding the preservation of your anonymity.

Later that afternoon, the doctor slams open his front door with a growl. Money, funding, and contracts be damned. He has half a mind to never go back to Oscorp again.

Why oh why is that bastard so insistent on antagonizing him? It's not his fault Norman's damn military project is failing. How is he at fault simply because his project is succeeding instead?

With even greater force then before, Otto shuts the door with wicked strength, the bang of wood echoes all along the barren hallway.

Fucking egotist. It's always about making Norman fucking Osborn look good. Not Oscorp. Not the hard working men and women contracted there within. Always... fucking... hi-

The doctor jumps straight up with a yelp.

In the wake of his abused door, a small sheet of paper flys up in the air. It passes up past his head, then flutters slowly towards the ground. With only a few clumsy misses, the doctor frantically snatches it out of the air.

Please don't be more bills... He's very much not in the mood.

Otto adjusts his glasses, pushing them back up his long, crooked nose as he scrutinizes the shred of paper. In quick, excitedly scribbled hand writing is a note. A... request.

The doctor's heart flutters with surprise and excitement all his own. He's been playing for so many years, and never before has he received an actual request for his music. Sadly, he's a bit more use to being told to quiet down.

Suddenly, it crosses his mind that whomever it was who left him his note, could very well have been near enough to listen in on his little tantrum moments before. Sheepishly, he peaks outside of his door. Empty.

Well then, perhaps not.

Like a child on Christmas day, he hurries back into his home, excitedly re-reading your note. He's never heard of this song before, meaning it must be contemporary. That puts a doubt in his mind of it's quality, but he'll give anything a try at least once. With a little research...

Ah. The doctor scoffs. He doesn't know where you found this song, but the one by the particular artist you named seems to be a cover. An English cover that is, of the original Spanish version. Undoubtedly an attempt to appeal to a greater audience, but nothing can beat the splendor of a song sung in it's native language. Although...

He that's not to say he can really sing, per say...

Well, he could if he tried of course, but effort alone hardly equates to skill. Still, the doctor shakes his head free of such thoughts. He still has yet to actually hear the piece.

But, after giving it a fair chance... He can understand why you might like this song so much.

The doctor replays it again, this time with his bow and cello and hand. Otto gives it a moment so he can pick up on the melody, then plays along soon enough. The first try isn't as perfect as he'd hoped, but he is pleased to find that his ear for picking up chords and rhythms is just as good as ever. With a little more practice, he finds he can play through the whole thing with ease.

And on that final, perfect playthrough, his heart pounds with pride as he saws the last note.

This is just what he needed, a brand new challenge. Something to get his mind off of-

The doctor's thoughts are interrupted by the insistent ringing of his phone. With a groan he rolls his eyes and goes to check it. His suspicions on the caller's identity are proven correct. It's work. Of course they want him back, especially after he stormed out early...

It rings and rings and rings... The doctor's eyes are transfixed on the little answer symbol. His sense of integrity demands he pick up, but his pride begs to differ. Why should he come at Norman's every beck and call? He's his own man with his own life.

No. Whatever it is, it'll have to wait.

The doctor tosses the little device onto the couch where it mercifully rings its last.

He turns back to his cello and music. You know, it's rather lucky you picked this song to send his way... He knows quite a few languages, Spanish being one of his favorites. Thankfully there isn't much singing in this song, as there shouldn't be, but what is in there he believes he can manage.

He's heard enough by now that he has the simple lyrics committed pretty solidly to memory. With a great clearing of the throat, it's all the warm up he intends to do. Starting out quietly for the first singing play through, he thinks he does decently enough.

For now, he gives it one more playthrough to do everything in one go before taking a well deserved break.

Throughout all this practicing, have yet to have heard a single note. No, you've been far too busy fighting your way through the absolute blizzard that's kicked up since this morning.

The snow has been off and on for the past couple days, but this seems to be the one last great hurrah of it all.

You don't get home until much later then normal. So much so that you almost wonder if you'll run into your neighbor on his way home as well. No such luck however.

By the time you're safely inside your apartment, you're frozen to the bone. You've long forgotten about your musical request earlier today, and to be quite honest... Right now you don't care.

Your fingers tremble and ache, burning with dryness and numb with chill all at the same time, you reach for the light switch to click it on. Nothing happens. Frantic and frustrated, you click the light back and forth, on and off, several more times before finally admitting defeat.

Shit.

You walk a little deeper into the room only to see that all your plugged in appliances and electronics are offline. Does that mean... You race over to the vent above your couch. It should be spewing hot air as usual, but... Despite your desperate dance of stretching and waving in an attempt to catch any warmth... The vent is perfectly quiet.

Shit.

Of course you should've expected that the wiring in this place wouldn't hold out forever... But you didn't quite think it would give out now, of all times. You run about and test a few more things. You have running water at least, but it's freezing cold. No shower tonight, you suppose.

With no end in sight for the winter storm, you gather up a mass of blankets and perch yourself on your trusty couch. You know... There's still homework to be done. You groan and flop down on the cushions allowing the weight of the blankets to smother you.

In all honesty, you're not sure if you'll be able to get the work all done before your laptop dies...

Fine then. Resolutely, you decide to shun the work. With one little email sent out over data waves, you relax at last. Well... As much as one can when faced with the freezing cold.

Your fingers and even now your toes, have long since gone numb. No amount of shivering or tightening of blankets seems to make a difference. But what else can you do? With nothing and no one to draw a source of warmth from... It would appear you'll have to hold on and hope.

You huddle one of your many blankets up over nose. Your ribs themselves feel cold and shake ceaselessly. The freezing numbness in the tip of your nose does not surprise you.

Before long, you drag yourself over to the kitchen, blanket now doing even less to warm you. Damn, you're hungry... But only now does it dawn on you that you have no means of cooking any of your frozen meals.

Now you're starting to panic. F-fuck... Maybe you'd be better off trying to sleep through this all? Hard to think of even when you can't stop shaking though....

Suddenly, a knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts.

Hmp, good. Maybe it's the land lord come to explain when the power will be restored. You hop across the freezing floor. Not that it's temperature matters, considering you've lost all feeling below your shins.

Your hands no longer hurt, in fact they don't feel anything at all, as the flex and grasp for the door handle. With a bit of effort, you open the stuck door wide. But it's not the land lord waiting for you. A large man in a thick sweater stands nervously before you.