#bookworm;

[Your muse just caught mine singing when they thought they were alone. Send “Nice voice” for my muse’s reaction to them realizing yours was listening]

Sometimes it would get really slow, and really quiet in the library, and it would drive Robert absolutely crazy. He needed some sort of noise to keep him at ease. Often times there would be a program going on, or kids from the high school hanging around, but in between all of that were lulls where the place would be practically empty. So, he would do something that he’d always loved to do, which was to sing. He sang to himself, an old Billy Joel song that had stuck in his head on his drive to work that morning. He’d made it about halfway through the song, while checking in books, before somebody spoke up and his attention was grabbed. His head shot up and a surprised expression came over his face, then a blush quickly took over as he looked away bashfully.

Rob hadn't noticed anybody new move into the apartment across the hall from his, so he was caught off guard when he found an envelope addressed to, 'Gerard Way' in his mailbox. 

Tucking the rest of his mail, mostly rejection letters, and maybe one or two approvals, under his arm, he held on to the letter, making sure that he locked up his box before heading into the elevator to go up to the fourth floor. He figured he'd rather look stupid trying than to have this potential person miss out on their mail. The writer stopped back in his own apartment, noting as he unlocked his door that he did hear a TV on through the wall behind him. Huh, so somebody really had moved in... 

From this plot, please read before replying. Thanks! 

Coming back from a particularly rough meeting with a publisher, Bert just wanted to strip down and take a nap. Maybe not get out of bed for several hours. He was exhausted. 

Because of the way his bedroom was set up, the window was right in the middle of his dresser and his bed. He'd developed a bad habit of undressing directly in this spot, often forgetting that there was another apartment building directly across the street and that anybody could see him if they just happened to look up at the right moment. Sometimes he got that 'being watched' feeling, but he never really thought that somebody would actually want to watch him. After all, he was just a weirdo writer who sometimes drank more alcohol than he should. Nothing exciting. 

Practically throwing himself into his bedroom, Bert trudged over to the window. He dumped his things; cigarettes, lighter, phone, keys, papers, onto the night stand, and kicked off his shoes. There was an itching notion in his mind that maybe he should look up, but he ignored it. He stepped on the loose toes of his socks, lifting each foot to pull the socks off without having to bend over too much. The thought came back and he didn't glance up until he'd turned around to face the window, his shirt pulled up over his belly. 

Bert quickly locked eyes with somebody through another window, freezing in place as he did. 'Holy shit,' he thought to himself, realizing, as he started to push his shirt up again, that this person was intentionally watching him. Rather than shying away, he decided that this could be really fun, and that he could toy with the stranger a little bit. After all, he had nothing to lose.